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His Grace was an amusing dinner partner, talking and listening with equal ease, and after a few minutes of most un-American awe at his title, I felt very comfortable with him, almost as if he were someone I already knew. Once, Basil rose and would have spoken, but the Duke cut him short, saying that dinner was for eating and there would be time enough for speeches later.
As I feared Basil was intent on announcing that he claimed me and my fortune as his bride, later would still come much too soon.
The meal was finally over when His Grace stood and declared that there was dancing to be done. Apparently, this was some sort of departure from the expected protocol, but as it was what the Duke wished, everyone was immediately amenable.
This time it was the Duke himself who escorted me across the vast expanse of the Great Hall to a set of double doors which were immediately opened by uniformed footmen to reveal a vast and empty room.
And Stanhope.
Chapter Seven
Clad in the severe black and white evening dress made fashionable by Beau Brummel, Stanhope was without doubt the best-looking man there, if not in all of England. He stood in the centre of the room as proudly and naturally as if he owned it, as at home as he had been in the stables. Then, his eyes warm, he smiled at me, and my knees shook even as my heart melted.
Could it be? Could I have conceived a tendresse for a man I had known less than a few hours?
“Well, at least you’re here, though it was a pity you couldn’t have joined us for dinner,” said a jovial Duke. “Cook prepared lamb just the way you like it. Miss Wentworth, may I present my inexcusably and perpetually tardy brother-in-law, Robert, Viscount Stanhope?”
I managed a small curtsey - no small feat with my shaking knees - as Stanhope bent gallantly over my hand, bestowing the breath of a kiss that I could feel even through my glove.
“We have already met,” Stanhope said, a twinkle in his eye. “Over a horse.”
“Ah, that monster Saracen you have been going on about,” the Duke said, smiling. “I look forward to seeing if the beast is as marvellous as you say.”
“Will you do me the honour of dancing with me, Miss Wentworth?”
“With pleasure, Your Lordship,” I replied, putting the slightest emphasis on the title, which made Stanhope’s eyes twinkle with suppressed laughter, “but there is no music.”
Though I could not see them, I could feel Sir Mordecai and Basil standing too closely behind me, even feel the anger radiating from them as heat does from a stove.
“You promised the first dance to me,” Basil said in tight tones. “I hold you to your word.”
Before I could deny such an allegation Sir Mordecai rumbled, “My granddaughter will dance...”
The Duke gave an imperative wave to the player of the pianoforte, bringing out a wave of music, even as Stanhope interrupted Sir Mordecai as smoothly as if the older man’s words had been a permission.
Holding my hand, Stanhope led me to the floor, and at another commanding wave of the Duke’s hands, we were surrounded by other couples. It was almost possible to hear Sir Mordecai’s angry rumble over it all.
The dance was an old and slow one, not quite as antique nor as formal as a minuet, but comprised of couples moving about in a slow and stately pattern. I was thankful that I had learned it as a child, and could follow the steps without thought.
“Trust old Gersham to come through trumps,” Stanhope murmured in a voice just loud enough to reach my ears only. “Stiff sort of stick, but a good one.”
“He and Her Grace are lovely,” I returned in similar tones.
“Is it true that you are to marry your cousin?”
“He and Sir Mordecai believe it to be so. I have not acquiesced.”
“Do you wish to?”
He held up his arm so that I might walk beneath it and I saw the concern on his face.
“Most decidedly not, but I have no idea of how to ensure that I avoid that fate.”
We linked arms and twirled in a slow circle. His eyes never left my face.
“You could marry me.”
Had his arm not been firm on mine I might have swooned. I have never been the kind of woman who took refuge in a swoon, but for a pronouncement such as that, I could have made an exception. I looked away in confusion, which was a mistake. Sir Mordecai and Basil stood at the very edge of the dancers, both glaring at me with expressions of fury. My foot missed a step.
