“Ripon!” came a voice with the sound of Eton about it. Yet another old school chum. They seemed to be multiplying, for he found himself surrounded by five or so of them. “Join us in the card room. Old Flicksy is getting a game of loo going.”
Tristan opened his mouth to refuse and closed it. If he didn’t go with these men to the card room, then his only other option was to stand here like a lovesick swain and become an object of attack for the matchmaking mamas who had begun to cast calculating glances in his direction. Better to retreat now.
And, really, when he thought about it, what had he expected to say to Amelia as she basked in her moment of triumph? Propose marriage again?
He snorted. Not bloody likely.
She’d made her feelings on that matter very clear.
Impossibly, he grew grouchier. He would turn into a bear by the end of the night at this rate.
So, he nodded and took himself off to the card room, even if he might’ve given the ballroom one last quick scan on his way out.
Chapter Eleven
Amelia stepped insidethe Marchioness of Sutton’s sparkling ballroom that positively bounced to the rhythm of stringed instruments and waited for it.
For a sense of accomplishment to sweep over her.
After all, she’d done it. Her letters, letters, and more letters over the last year had paid off, and her family had, at last, gained an entrée back into the glittering heart of society before Mama and Papa returned from Samarkand.
The last year in Italy need never be mentioned again.
Of course, it wasn’t what could be mentioned about Italy that occupied her thoughts at least three times a day and haunted her dreams at night. Even her paintbrush wasn’t immune as it insisted its only muse washim. Frustrating paintbrush.
No matter. This was her moment, and she should bask in it. Instead, she felt a bit deflated. She’d made the Herculean effort to reclaim the Windermeres’ right place in society for herself, yes, but for her family, too, and they didn’t appreciate it one single bit. Delilah and Juliet had declined to come to the ball altogether, and Archie only agreed when her imploring had turned into begging, and even then he’d deserted her for the card room the instant after their names had been announced. Truly, her family were a bunch of ingrates.
Still, a quiet, sobering thought came to her. Perhaps it was simply that the life she wanted for her family wasn’t the one they wanted for themselves. And—here was the truly sobering part—wasn’t that their prerogative?
Another sobering thought followed on that one’s heels. She’d been so fixed on securing this night that she’d turned down the other life she’d been offered. The one with the Duke of Ripon.
Inexplicable tears sprang to her eyes. They’d made a habit of doing that lately. She couldn’t think abouthim, not now, not in the midst of the ball of the season as she stood at its periphery, alone, a carefully trained vacuous smile on her face. She wasn’t exactly feeling the warm embrace of society at her return. In fact, it appeared to have gotten along just fine without her. Or had it always been like this, prickly and cold?
A bead of perspiration trickled down her spine, and she saw the ball and its gaiety—some false and some true—in a way she’d never seen a ball: as a hot, stuffy affair with too many not-thoroughly-washed bodies crammed too close together. Certainly, the chandeliers sparkled and the laughter rang bright, but it feltempty.
And she couldn’t help thinking it might have something to do with that other life she’d been offered.
The one she’d refused.
The one withhim.
She made for the punch table. She needed something to do and sipping a cup of punch with this vacuous smile on her face would suffice until something better came along.
Snippets of conversation from groupings of ladies floated around her, but none invited her to partake. She had the strange sensation of invisibility. Then came a word that shot through her as solidly as a blunt object.
Ripon.
Her smile slipped, and her ears strained for more.
“The Dissolute Duke, here?” asked the one female voice.
“That’s what I heard,” said the other.
In a sudden panic, Amelia’s gaze searched from one end of the ballroom to the other. Surely, she would know if he was here, sharing the same air as her. But she found no sign of him. So, she did the only sensible thing and sidled closer to the two gossiping ladies.
“Still unmarried?”
“Andstill eminently eligible.”
