Staring into her eyes, he took long steps and guided her effortlessly around the other couples. She’d forgotten this feeling, of floating as he led her. His warm hand held hers with just the right amount of strength. Through the broadcloth of his jacket, his shoulders were firm.
Her eyes, in turn, drank him in. She watched his chin, his jaw, the way his hair was pushed behind his ears. Thick and straight, it had no tendency to curl, whatsoever. His valet attempted to control it with pomade, slicking it back while it was wet. But it would never stay that way. Like Michael, it had a will of its own.
When he dipped his head down, he inhaled deeply. She knew he was memorizing her scent—just as she was his.
And in his arms, she felt like a secret princess. She floated on air, feeling like an angel, as he twirled her around. They danced in perfect unison, as though two people could really become one. When she tilted her head back slightly, she remembered the sensation of his lips tracing the line of her throat.
They were in a world of their own. What a beautiful dance the waltz was. It must have been created for lovers. To be able to touch and move together, in public with no shame, was a gift.
The music continued, but the strings played more softly allowing the pianist to take the melody. It was as though the keys cried for the two of them. What should have been.
And then it ended.
Lilly curtsied, and Michael bowed.
He escorted her back to Lady Eleanor and walked away from Lilly, toward his fiancée. He leaned into the younger girl and whispered something near her ear. Lady Natalie nodded and then, taking Michael’s arm, the two of them disappeared together onto the terrace.
Michael could wait no longer.The vote was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. He and his allies were not certain, but they had good reason to believe they would defeat their opponents.
“Is something the matter, Your Grace?” Lady Natalie took his arm and allowed him to lead her outside.
“You might say that.”
She must have seen the determination on his face, for once outside, she led him along the french doors to a walkway he’d been unaware of.
“We can enter one of the drawing rooms through here,” she whispered. “We will not be interrupted.”
For a moment, he wondered if she thought he might be wanting to be alone with her for less than honorable reasons. But only for a moment. As soon as they entered the room, his fiancée released his arm, located a flint, and lit several candles. Once she’d turned around and faced him, he could hold back his words no longer.
“I cannot go through with this.” He’d not meant to blurt it out like that, but the time was right. He already felt horrible for letting it go this long.
“Oh, thank God!”
SCANDAL (ALSO KNOWN AS REALLY BAD GOSSIP)
Scandals don’t always begin in the drawing rooms of theton.They don’t always begin by ladies eager to share their rival’s latest mishap. In London, the best of scandals became public knowledge on the society pages of theLondon Gazette. Theton, it was believed, had a mole. A person within its ranks who consistently shared all of the latest on-dits with K. Carmichael, gossip columnist at large.
The morning after the Ravensdale ball, the paper flaunted plenty of fodder. The most scandalous of which read as follows:
A young Mr. J—S—, who celebrated his betrothal just last evening, has aligned himself with a family who is hiding more than one skeleton. The prospective bride’s stepmamma has acted both lawlessly and scandalously. The apparently sweet Lady B is not nearly as innocent and sweet as she has appeared all season. This reporter has discovered that the lady was not the first sister to marry Miss G—B—’s esteemed father. Not only is Lady B the stepmamma to the young miss, but she is her auntie as well, which makes the marriage not only illegal but practically incestuous! And if the marriage was illegal, then Lady B is not reallyLady Bat all, is she?
A very pleased Glenda Beauchamp arose for breakfast the morning following the ball excitedly expecting to read about herself in the high-profile society pages of the exceedingly popularLondon Gazette. The grandest ball of the season had been thrown in her honor, after all. Would there be descriptions of her hair? Her betrothal gown? The grace with which she had waltzed with her handsome fiancé? She had shears beside her so she could cut out the article and save it in her memory book.
Within moments, however, the entire household knew something had gone amiss. For a piercing scream horrifically disrupted the peace of the entire household. The newly betrothed lady screamed and ranted and raved in a hysterical fit, for what felt like hours to all of the servants. Glenda’s lungs were powerful, indeed.
Lilly and Lady Eleanor rushed downstairs in their dressing gowns expecting to find no less than a bloodied corpse on the breakfast room floor.
The shears were not plunged into a dead body, though. No, they were standing straight up in the center of the table.
Upon seeing Lilly, Glenda’s shrieks turned into ugly words. Holding the paper toward Lilly, gesturing toward the article, she shouted, “I hate you! You have ruined my life! He will cry off now, for certain! How could you? I hate you! I hate you! Who did you tell? You promised me you would tell no one! It was to remain a secret!” She went on and on and on.
Lilly grabbed the paper with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had thought Lord Hawthorne had given up on her. He hadn’t spoken a word to her since that first evening. She read it through twice, fearing for the social standing of both her aunt and Glenda even more the second time. Collapsing, she sat down on one of the high-backed cushioned seats around the table. Surely the man was mad? What could Hawthorne accomplish with this?
What would it all mean?
“Damned jackals,” Aunt Eleanor said. “They’re all a bunch of jackals.” Aunt Eleanor threw the paper on the table. “And you, girl, be quiet!” Aunt Eleanor never yelled.
Thank God, Glenda went silent.
