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“It isn’t the fashion,” Josephine whispered to Isleen. “But Father always has a first dance with Mother on Christmas Eve.”
“I don’t think a duke or duchess need worry overmuch about fashion,” Isleen murmured back.
“I quite like when they set this example.” Emma smoothed the front of her gown. “Because it grants me at least one dance with my husband, too.”
Sir Andrew materialized at that moment, his hand extended to Lady Josephine. The ambassador was but a step behind, and he held his hand out to Emma, who grinned broadly at Isleen before accepting it.
Isleen looked down at the dark red of her gown, her white gloves a stark contrast to the color. She’d put rubies in her ears and a red ribbon through her hair, along with holly berries sewn artfully into her braided crown. For the first time in a long time, she felt the warmth and joy of Christmas both inside and out.
She brought her gaze up again as the duke called for attention and the musicians quieted.
Married couples did not dance together, as a rule. But who better to break society’s rules than a ducal couple, within the walls of their own castle?
“Before we begin our ball,” the duke said from his place at the center of the room, “I extend my welcome and warm wishes to all of you, friends and family both. Thank you for spending your Christmas Eve at Castle Clairvoir. May there be many more nights such as this one to come.”
Simon didn’t appear among the dancers. Where had he gone? She had spied him across the room only minutes ago. Did he mean to sneak up on her and ask for a dance?
She wasn’t about to step out with him while all the married couples swept onto the floor. What would people say? And they hadn’t even begun their courtship proper. No, she’d best retreat. There wouldn’t be any dancing with that man until later.
Teague appeared at her side before she could withdraw, standing next to her with a happy smile on his face. “Isn’t the duke’s family grand?” he asked. “You cannot deny they have a true affection for each other.”
“No one could,” she agreed with a nod.
Her brother offered her his arm. “Walk with me a moment? Along of the edges of the room, I think would suffice.”
She looped her hand through his elbow and let him lead her safely away from the dancing. They walked along the long row of windows at one side of the room.
“Lord Farleigh has asked to court you,” Teague said. “He wanted my blessing, and our mother’s. He also informed us you’d already agreed.” He chuckled, then winked at his sister. “Smart man, knowing he had to ask you first.”
“He’s learning more every day,” she quipped.
“Does this courtship make you happy?” He looked down at her, his voice soft so none but her would hear. “It has been a long time since you’ve given a man permission to show you favor.”
She dropped her gaze to the beautiful wooden floor beneath them. “I think my heart needed that time to heal. I am happy. And I hope…” She let her voice trail away as her brother stopped their progress, his expression curious. “I hope it is so much more than courtship, Teague. I well and truly want to give Simon my heart.”
Her brother’s posture relaxed, and he took her hand to bow over it. “That is precisely what I hoped to hear. Good luck, Isleen. I have the feeling he’s a match for you in more ways than one.” He winked, and then withdrew. Leaving her where she stood.
Isleen glanced about herself, and then upward, and scowled. “That dirty traitor,” she muttered.
She stood in the corner, tucked neatly beneath a sprig of mistletoe, and when she lowered her gaze again, it was to see Simon approaching. Never would she have predicted this moment between them when she first met him those several weeks ago.
He bent his head toward her but did not claim his kiss at once.
“I’ve been reading an Irish poet,” he said. “Thomas Moore.”
She could only reply to the nonsensical comment by raising her eyebrows. “I have heard of him.”
His smile turned crooked. “Have you? A woman of my acquaintance suggested I memorize one of his poems. It took me ages to pick one. Would you like to hear it?”
Her pulse raced warmly through her veins, and she wanted to shake him. She’d prepared for a kiss. Not for a discussion on poetry. “If you feel you must share.”
“I will spare you most of it.” He bent a little closer, and the sounds of the ballroom seemed to soften, as though a curtain fell between where they stood and everyone else around them.
“‘The time I’ve lost in wooing,
In watching and pursuing
The light, that lies
