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A cane thumped beside her, and a quick glance at her grandaunt informed Ellie that she had seen the silent communication between her and Lucien.
“You will dance three sets with Mr. Hayford tonight,” her grandaunt began imperiously. “Then two waltzes. The one at ten and then the supper waltz. It will signal to thetonthat an alliance has been cemented.”
Ellie took a sip of her champagne and took a bracing breath. “Are you aware grandaunt, that I do not love him?”
“Bah!” she said scathingly. “I thought you knew better than that. Marriage is not about love.”
“Then what is it about,” she softly asked, “if not having a partner who loves, cherishes and values your thoughts, opinions, and wants? Is it about marrying a baron so that I can be said to be alady?”
Her grandaunt did not answer, for Mr. Hayford had approached. His eyes pinned her, and he smiled his most charming smile. “Miss Fairbanks, if you would honor me with the next set.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hayford, but I will not be dancing tonight.”
Her mother gasped, and the dowager duchess had stiffened, outrage lining her elegant frame.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I know it is not done,” she said with a smile to lessen the sting, “but I shall not dance tonight.”
He lowered his hands, flushing and tugging at his cravat. The quick look he exchanged with the dowager countess informed Ellie they had discussed this earlier. She felt Colin’s stare upon her, and when she looked at him, she allowed her mouth to smile, daring him to object when he stood beside the love of his life.
Then she risked a glance up at Lucien Glendevon, who stared at her with that same piercing intensity. She offered him a smile that trembled, for inside, she was frightened. Here she was going against everything she had ever thought she wanted for her future when Lucien might not want marriage or forever with her. The doubt piercing her heart felt terrible, then she closed her eyes and recalled every moment spent with him, every written word, and all the complex feelings inside.
This time when she looked up at him, she allowed her mouth to smile and mouthedyour move.
Elle had refusedseven offers to dance. The woman standing beside her gripped her cane as if she fought off the desire to slap Elle with it. He recalled her telling him that to refuse to dance with a gentleman could incite rumors and gossip-mongering, and it was just not done.
A very stupid societal rule to his way of thinking. A lady could be forced to dance with someone who truly offended her because someone made up a rule that said a lady should have no agency to decide whom she danced with at a ball. To refuse meant she was ill-bred and impolite. Not a lady.
Damn hypocrites.
As he watched Elle refuse dance after dance, a stirring went through the throng by some who thought her actions were of interest. The damn hope that burst in his heart had his hands shaking, and he shoved them into his pockets. When she met his gaze again, he lifted his chin, quickly pointing it to the outside gardens, a clear signal for her to meet him there.
She made no return signal, only looked away from him to talk with her sister. This was repeated three more times over half an hour before a shock of awareness went through his heart. The realization stole his breath and almost brought him to his knees. Lucien made his way down the stairs, his heart a pounding drum in his ears as he waded through the crowd over to Elle.
Those standing beside her who noted his approach stared at him with varying degrees of curiosity and shock. Lady Celdon’s lips pinched, and she narrowed her eyes at him. Speaking with her sister, Ellie broke off in mid-sentence, and her lips parted. Her eyes widened, and her hand fluttered to her throat.
Had he misread?
There was no room to step back anymore. He held out his hand. “Miss Fairbanks. Would you honor me with the next dance?”
A round of gasps echoed.
Lady Celdon drew herself up, and he expected that cane to swing at his head at any moment. Fire in her eyes, the dowager countess began, “She will not—”
“Yes,” Elle said, slipping her hand into his.
Lucien almost dragged her into his arms and kissed her right then and there. He understood her actions. She wanted to show her family that she had chosen him, and she had done so at the cost that she might be gossiped about.
“Fuck, Elle,” he muttered, “You could have sent me a letter.”
“It’s the Fairbanks’s way.” She laughed, and in her eyes, he spied nerves and such burning love he was speechless. “Can you dance the waltz properly?”
“Two-left feet, I’m afraid. I can only do the naughty swaying we have done in the gardens.
She gasped and he chuckled. “Dance with me.”
Then he twirled her onto the wide dancefloor, aware of many eyes upon them and some whispers questioning his identity reaching them. None of that mattered as Ellie stared up at him, her heart in her eyes. “I love you, Lucien.”
