Emmaline chuckled. So far, the offerings had been poor indeed, but she was determined to remain hopeful, even if only for duty's sake, “The evening is not over yet and if I know Lady Beaufort she has arranged twice the number of dances we ordinarily partake in.”
“That woman would have us all dance until dawn and wed to partners by breakfast if she had her way,” Jane pointed out and Emmaline couldn’t stop from laughing. She could imagine it all too easily.
“We had best be sure to pick the perfect suitor before dawn then, hadn’t we?” Emmaline suggested playfully, turning her eye back to the room. Noting her stepmother close by, she forced herself a little further into the light.
If she or Jane were caught hiding from prospective suitors, they would both be in trouble.
If something happened with the India shipment, their last hope might well be marriage. And though the idea of it frightened Emmaline, she had always been determined to do what was best for her family.
“Who is on your dance card next?” Emmaline asked her sister, glancing over the room in an attempt to pinpoint Lord Beaton whose name was written in her next slot.
Jane glanced at her card. “Lord Ryeworth, it appears. At least his conversation is usually entertaining.”
Emmaline wished she could say the same for Lord Beaton. “Can we swap cards?” she jested but the second Jane looked at Emmaline’s card, she wrinkled her nose.
“Perhaps you could feign a headache?” she suggested, her eyes filled with sympathy.
Emmaline shook her head. “Mama would most definitely have something to say about that were she to find out, and then I truly would have a headache.”
Jane bit her lip and covered her laughter with her fan. When she dropped it again, she folded it and pointed across the room, “It appears we are in luck. I do believe the musicians are taking a welcome break.”
Emmaline followed her sister’s fan to the musicians who were set up on a balcony at the far end of the ballroom. It appeared to her that they were actually having some kind of technical difficulty with one of the instruments, a string snap or some other such trouble.
And though it seemed many in the ballroom were quite disappointed with the fact, Emmaline breathed a sigh of relief. Another minute or two to rest her sore toes was most welcome.
Her relief was short lived as her eyes traveled from the balcony to the group of guests waiting below. It was an ordinary sight to see, guests mingling, talking between dances. And yet, one guest in particular caught Emmaline's eye like none ever had before.
Though she could only see the profile of his face, she thought he was perhaps the most handsome man she had ever seen.
With a shock of jet-black hair and one perfectly shaped brow to match, he was striking enough compared to the many fair-haired, chestnut-headed, and brunette men and women standing all about him. In fact, the man he appeared to be talking to was so blonde that they were quite literally opposites.
And no matter how she tried, Emmaline couldn't pull her gaze from the dark-haired gentleman. The profile of his face was all sharp, masculine features. His strong jawline was peppered with dark stubble, as though he had been freshly shaven when he had prepared for the ball, but it had already begun to grow back.
And as Emmaline watched him talking to the blonde-haired gentleman, her heart stopped. He had turned his face ever so slightly, just enough for one eye to catch hers.
And by heavens, that eye, it was so dark. Even all the way across the room it was so dark that his gaze was black, mysterious, boring into her in a way that she could not avert her gaze.
Even if she had been able to, she did not want to. Though she felt uncomfortable, it was a thrilling sensation, not at all like the discomfort she had experienced when dancing with the Beaufort sons.
“Emmaline? Emma!” Jane hissed in her ear, but it was only when her sister gripped her forearm that Emmaline very nearly jumped out of her skin.
Blinking out of fright, she finally managed to pull her gaze away long enough to ask, “Jane, who is that man?”
“Which?” Jane asked, following Emmaline's inclined head.
When Emmaline looked back, she was disappointed to note that the gentleman was no longer looking her way.
Whatever connection had befallen them had been severed the moment her sister touched her. The fact made her stomach twist painfully.
Still, it gave her the opportunity she needed to examine the gentleman more closely.
He was luxuriously, if plainly, dressed as if he knew his worth and wealth yet did not wish to flaunt it as so many among thetonso often did. His black leather boots were polished so finely they shone even at a distance, and Emmaline suspected if she drew closer, she would be able to see her reflection in the toes of them. He was dressed in dark navy with paler blue accents upon his pocket square and cravat and his long, curling hair had been tied at the nape of his neck by a piece of blue dyed leather.
The golden flawlessness of his skin caused him to glow in the light of the chandeliers and though she felt Jane watching her, she could not look away from him.
She was like a moth to a flame. Absolutely foolish of her, she knew, the moment Jane told her who the gentleman was.
“Haven't you been introduced yet?” Jane asked, sounding quite shocked. “That is the duke!”
