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“Oh, I nearly forgot to give you this.” He pulled a small package from an inner pocket. “This is for your father. A special shell-type auricle hearing device made of thin metal and ivory by F.C. Rein and Sons. I was told it could aid his hearing.”
“Thank you, Your Grace, that’s very kind.” And wholly unexpected.
“Good night, Viola.” He left swiftly, there one moment, and gone the next, leaving her cold. Confused.
No confusion. Nothing unclear about the situation.
He was promised to another.
And she had promised her friends that she was in control of her heart.
She would attend the ball tomorrow and ensure that the Delamar sisters had a wonderful, safe, and carefree evening.
She’d ignore Westbury as best she could.
Though if she caught a glimpse of him dancing with Miss Chandler, it would only serve to drive the final nail into the coffin of this doomed, delusional desire.
Chapter Twelve
Westbury was impossible to ignore.
Everywhere Viola looked in Lady Pickering’s elegant ballroom, there he was, the stern, understated black-and-white evening attire he wore serving to emphasize the impressive width of his shoulders and the long, lean lines of his body.
He was a fallen angel on the prowl, halo of golden hair and the devil glinting in his eyes.
He was wicked, he was trouble, and he was beautiful.
And betrothed.
Miss Vanessa Chandler was a bewitching creature. Always in graceful motion, set to bold music, her hair a deep auburn shade and her lips vermillion, brown eyes bright and gaze vivacious. Garbed in a gown of white satin with a silver net overlay that sparkled like starlight with every sinuous movement, she captured and held every gaze in the room.
Next to Miss Chandler’s shimmering, silvery flute of a presence, Viola felt like an inelegant French horn that had been left out in the rain and had rusted until the only sound it produced was a waterlogged croak.
She fingered the worn ecru muslin of her gown which had seen its best days five years ago. She’d been so pleased with the new gold satin sash she’d purchased to tie around her waist, and the matching gold ribbon she’d threaded through her upswept ringlets. Now they seemed drab and pointless compared with the real silver netting adorning Miss Chandler’s statuesque figure, and the astoundingly large diamonds glittering around her swan’s neck.
Viola’s neck was short, just like the rest of her, and circled by a simple strand of pearls, the only jewelry she possessed. Her stature was too small, and her curves too full, for the current fashion.
Miss Chandler laughed at something Westbury said and swatted his arm playfully with a carved ivory and silver fan.
Viola heard the murmurs of the crowd.
She’s a beauty but so excessivelyAmerican.
Westbury should have chosen a more suitable duchess... although I suppose his wickedness frightened most respectable ladies away and Miss Chandler’s fortune was the deciding factor.
They were something out of a fairy tale, the most arrestingly attractive couple London had ever beheld, both shocking and scandalous in their own ways.
She forced herself to stare at them even though it was like rubbing salt into a wound.
Stare at them, burn the image into your mind, like looking at the sun. They are beautiful. Made for each other. He fair, she dark. He titled, she wealthy beyond belief. They are two halves of a whole.
Her jealousy was irrational and pitiful and must be stamped out ruthlessly like a fire in a dry forest on a hot summer’s day. She wasn’t here to moon over Westbury, she was here for his sisters.
Their official chaperone tonight was one of their elderly spinster aunts, Miss Miriam Delamar, a soft-edged woman who fluttered her bejeweled fingers nervously when she spoke—which was constantly. She’d kept up a steady stream of commentary since they’d arrived, barely pausing to breathe. At least she’d accepted Viola’s presence as companion to the Delamar sisters with approval.
“I’m happy to have the help, Miss Beaton,” she confided as she and Viola stood against the wall, watching the young ladies dance. “Miss Belinda has such high spirits. I fear she’s less than proper at times. Just look at her playing the coquette. Has she slipped the bodice of her gown lower when I wasn’t looking? Good gracious! She’s in danger of showing more than she ought. And isn’t her partner enjoying the sight. If his neck cranes any lower, he’ll topple over and take them both to the floor! At last, the dance is ending. I must go and take Belinda to the retiring room and adjust her costume.”
Aunt Miriam bustled off and Bernadette joined Viola at the wall.
