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Does she love me? A liar and a charlatan?
Esther’s tender words were a heated spear ramming through his guilt-laden heart. Felton pressed a hand to his eyes, “I do not deserve you.”
Her hands slipped away from him, “Why do you think so?”
“I—” he paused, warring with himself. He had the perfect time to confess all that was brewing in his heart, but he could not bring himself to utter the words. “It is going to take me a long while to explain, and we do not have time for it. Your heartfelt words rest with me, Esther, and please know that I am not brushing them off; I just need to find the words to say. Until I do, let's rejoin the ball.”
Esther’s face fell a little, but she nodded, “Sure.”
They took the unused glasses back to the tables and set them apart to be washed. As they left the nook, the Duke of Ayles met them.
“Esther?” Duke Ayles’ astonished voice had Felton bracing himself. John’s eyes flicked from his sister to him “And Captain Morgan.”
There was no variance in the man’s tone from when he greeted his sister, but Felton felt there was more to his salutation. Regardless, he needed to get an issue between them out of the way.
“Your Grace,” he bowed his head, then exploited a revised tactic he had learned from his years of war, “I have come to know that you’ve expressed an interest in my personal affairs. If you would like, we could arrange a meeting so we can discuss it?”
The Duke’s cheekbones tinged, and while his gaze flickered to a silent Esther, then back to Felton, he shook his head, “No, no. It's quite all right. We have no reason to do so.”
Altercation avoided…for now.
“As you wish, Your Grace,” he said. “My compliments on your lovely ball.”
“That is all my mother’s doing,” John replied. “But I will take the good wishes on her behalf. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening.”
He did not spare a second look before he hurried off, and Felton breathed out in relief. Esther gave him a brimming smile, “See, I knew he would not push.”
I am still not so convinced.
The usher called for a dance, and Felton said, “On that note, would you care to dance?”
“I would.” She gave him a cheeky look. “And while we dance, you may have that time to conjure your words of undying adoration to me.”
Laughing, he led them to the dance-floor, and the moment she went into his arms, the room and those in it seemed to fade. He danced to the beat of his heart, rather than that of the symphony, and they moved together in perfect unison.
They did not speak, not for the lack of words on Felton's part, but more so that he was trying to read the emotions flickering through her eyes. And what he did decipher did not sit well with him—all he could see was pure, unfettered adoration aimed at him. Only to make him feel like mud and muck in the streets.
When the dance ended, the urge to both kiss her and fall to her feet and beg her forgiveness, both assaulted him, but he pulled away and bowed. And coming up, uttered, “Thank you.”
She smiled and took his arm, and while he led her to the seat, noticed a few ladies standing by a potted palm and fluttering their fans—their eyes were on him. Was he gaining the attention of the wrong sort? Notedly, anyone who hovered in the Duke's sphere and his family would draw attention, but Felton could not do with such scrutiny now.
He got her to her seat and nodded to her faithful maid, then moved away. He needed a moment to himself, a few minutes to come to grips with what had happened only a quarter an hour before and the confessions he and Esther had shared.
He found himself back on that same balcony. Now, the turmoil in his heart was not if he should confess; it was how he should admit his faults? There would be little time that night, and he supposed the best opportunity would be at Vauxhall the next night.
Pressing his forehead on the cold glass, he steeled himself—he only had to survive that night and the next, come hell or high water; he was going to bare his fragile soul to Esther and hope she did not crush it.
***
“My Lady?” Margaret asked quietly, “Are you all right?”
Esther pulled her gaze away from the direction Arthur had left towards and faced her maid. Her mind flickered to the tortured look on Arthur’s face when he had confessed his fault at being romantic and his fears about her leaving him before he would become the man she wanted from him.
“Mostly,” Esther said as she dug into her reticule and fished out her fan. Though she did not need it, Esther needed to keep her hand busy, and to fan herself was the only distraction she could think about.
“I’m concerned about Arthur. You know that John was about to pick Arthur apart yesterday, and just a while ago, Arthur offered to have a sit-down with him to show that he has nothing to hide. I am in awe of him, Margaret. He had constantly shown me that he does not shy away from facing difficult circumstances and is an honourable man.”
Nodding, Margaret added, “I can see that. I supposed his past occupation had forced him to face a daunting situation with bravery.”
“…I told him I love him, Margaret,” Esther confessed, and strangely felt pleased when her confidante did not look surprised. She was sure that Margaret knew how she felt about the Captain long before she had concluded it herself.
“And though he did not repeat the words, I have this feeling that he loves me too. Call me fanciful, but I have gotten to read Arthur’s eyes when his face is expressionless. I know he holds me, dear, I heard it in his words, and though I would want to hear it, I’ll take the fact that he shows it to me.”
Reaching over, Margaret held Esther’s hand, “I hope he does soon too, My Lady. I feel that you will make him know what happiness is, because I feel that, and pardon me if this is too bold, but I have this deep impression His Lordship has few people to trust and to lean on.”
“He does not,” Esther replied, proud that Margaret had picked up on the same knowledge about Arthur that she knew to be true. “And now, I think if given him a reason to trust me, and I think, in a day or two, I might be the happiest woman in London.”
