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“I have thought much of you since we last parted.” He walked around her, making her stand tall.
“You have?” She questioned this idea, for the last time they had met, he had barely spoken to her at all. “I seem to remember you were rather more interested in talking to a Miss Yates the last time we met.”
“Ah, Miss Yates was entertaining company for an evening. I find myself in search of good company that will last a lifetime now.” He practically whispered the words in her ear as he took her hand and led her through the choreography of the dance.
What does he mean by that?
Ophelia was left so uncomfortable that she leaned away from Lord Chester as much as she could, trying to create space between them. Recognising soon enough how rude she would appear, taking little part in their conversation, she spoke up.
“How are you, my lord? Have you stayed in London for the winter?” They were ordinary pleasantries, but they accomplished what was needed. Lord Chester went on at length of his time in London, dancing around her.
When he took her hand, it was a little too firm, and she worked to loosen his grasp upon her. He paid particular attention to a shooting trip he’d had and told her in detail of the pheasants he’d shot. It struck her once or twice how much he enjoyed talking of himself, and when they reached the end of the dance, she noticed he had not asked her any questions.
A man preoccupied with himself. It does not surprise me.She had often noted such a part of his character before.
“Well, it has been an interesting conversation, my lord.” She tried to sound sincere and not betray her true thoughts, that she had found him insipid and really rather dull. She had not thought it possible for one to go on at such length of how many pheasants they had shot in one hunting trip, nor the details of their injuries.
“Perhaps we could have a second dance?”
No!She tempered her initial thought as he led her from the dance floor, allowing herself to reply more politely.
“I thank you for the offer, but my spirits are not yet cheered enough. I must return to my friend.” She was about to part from him when the air in the room seemed to change. Even the violins hesitated, not quite performing their next number yet. Heads craned around others’ feathered headdresses and slicked hair, trying their best to see what had caused the sudden gossip. “Is something amiss?” Ophelia asked Lord Chester.
“Ah, I see the source of the whispers.” He came a little too close for comfort as he gestured past her toward the door of the ballroom. Ophelia angled her head around to see a gentleman had entered.
So tall that he stood above most people’s head height, he was quite a presence in any room. His black hair was tousled on his head, curling slightly, as if someone’s hand had just trailed through it. The dark eyes set in his face stared back at the crowd who watched him like a hawk. His broad shoulders showed he was an athlete, and the friend at his side who was tugging on his arm showed he had not come alone.
The strange appearance and the reception, though, spoke volumes. Ophelia couldn’t help feeling that thetonrather wanted to belittle this stranger by staring at him so openly.
“Who is that?” she asked.
“The Duke of Northmore, Elliot Filmore. They stare at him because the rumours say he is completely broke. If they are to be believed, he is days away from debtors’ prison.”
“The poor man,” Ophelia whispered, feeling very sorry for the stranger. He turned away from the crowd staring at him, at the bequest of his friend who was still pulling on his arm, and walked away. “People should not stare so. It is cruel.”
“Ah, but thetonlove having a tale to tell, do they not?”
“Whether we all want to hear it is another matter.” Ophelia could see Lord Chester did not understand her meaning. “If you would excuse me, Lord Chester, I must return to my friend.” She thanked him once more for the dance and curtsied quickly before hurrying off.
She found Margery by the drinks table, sipping rather eagerly from a champagne glass. As Ophelia approached, her friend held out a flute.
“Oh, thank you. I am in need of this,” Ophelia said gratefully, taking it from her.
“Parched from dancing? Or for another reason?”
“For the number of times I had to say, ‘How interesting,’ to Lord Chester’s description of shooting pheasants.” Ophelia’s words made Margery laugh into her glass, nearly choking on her drink.
“What did you think of the gentleman who arrived just now?” Ophelia asked, turning away and trying to catch sight of the duke again. She wasn’t sure why she was looking, but something about him intrigued her. She kept thinking of the dark eyes, the handsome face with the strong jawline, and his impressive height.
Well, I suppose that’s what they call attraction.
She felt a lurch in her chest as she turned to face Margery.
“The Duke of Northmore? Hmm, I am not sure what to think.” Margery shook her head. “Thetonhave been gossiping about him for months now. It is very unfriendly indeed. His name has been mentioned in the scandal sheets many times, talking of his misfortune.”
“Thetonare cruel,” Ophelia whispered. “I meant, though, what doyouthink of him?”
“Oh, I have not been introduced to him. Though I was watching him just now.” Margery moved to stand nearer to her so they could whisper together conspiratorially. “He is not talking or engaging with people. He seems to be keeping to himself and the friend he has come with. He seems rather rude, perhaps arrogant.”
