The ballroom glittered with crystal and candlelight, a thousand reflections scattering across polished floors, but Rowan scarcely noticed any of it.
The night felt different. Almost unfamiliar.
“So, I think I have done it,” Lucy announced, her voice lilting over the music as she appeared beside him, leaning slightly in, as if the bustle of the room existed only around her and not them. “I have spoken with nearly every lady in the room, Your Grace.”
She looked far too enthusiastic to give him away to the first lady who ticked all her boxes. She was moving with such haste that it made Rowan wonder if she dreaded marrying him so much.
“That one, with the sapphire brooch,” she continued, pointing to the far end of the room. “She is far too reserved. I don’t thinkshe suits you. Also, the younger Miss Ellsworth, her manners are impeccable, but her eyes wander constantly. I had to repeat myself multiple times. Definitely not suitable for you, Your Grace.”
Rowan let the words wash over him, but he wasn’t listening. He could feel her presence; he watched the soft sway of her gown as she moved and the way her hair caught the candlelight and framed her face. Every other voice, every laugh, every tinkling note of music blurred into background noise.
“This one,” Lucy continued, tapping a note in her book with a delicate finger. “She has spirit, certainly, but is far too prone to gossip. No, Your Grace, you will require someone…” She paused, as if weighing her words. “… someone steady, clever, not easily distracted.”
Rowan’s mind wandered backward, replaying the carriage ride from the estate, the moments before the ball. How they had practiced every single detail. How he would approach the ladies and talk to them. Yet here, amidst the glitter and grandeur of the room, he could not, would not, look anywhere but at her.
Her gown, deep emerald, hugged her waist and fell gracefully, the soft shimmer catching the light in the room, and he was aware of the subtle, unintentional curve of her shoulder as she shifted. He noted the glint of her eyes, alive with curiosity, and he realized he could not recall a single other face in the entire room. Not one.
He had seen hundreds of beautiful women in these rooms before. Yet, tonight, Lucy had consumed every thought, every glance, every fragment of his attention. He could not comprehend why. Perhaps, he thought with a twinge of something he would not name aloud, the coaching, the shared lessons, had shifted how he saw her. Made her… different. More magnetic.
Made him more curious about her.
Lucy, entirely unaware of the effect she had, continued, “Now, Your Grace, if we are to make an impression, you must try to talk to some of them.” Her hand brushed his arm lightly as she gestured, and for a heartbeat, the world stilled. He caught himself staring again and quickly reminded himself that he was supposed to be in the moment.
“There is one person I think you will like,” Lucy said. “Although there are some things I am skeptical about her. From what I have heard, she can be... superstitious. But other than that, she ticks all of the other boxes. She’s funny, intelligent, she can hold a conversation, and she is very beautiful.”
Rowan cleared his throat. “Interesting, and who might that be?”
“Lady Judith Brown,” she answered. “I think you will like her, Your Grace. She is refined, reserved, and has experienced sorrow in her life. Widowed only a couple of years into her marriage, which has made her cautious in company, particularly with men who do not already command her trust.”
Rowan raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Cautious, you say?”
Lucy gave a small, almost imperceptible shrug. “She will respond only to genuine conversation, to someone who does not merely flatter her. She is someone you can have a deep conversation with.”
Rowan chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to echo just for her. “Very well, then. Introduce me, Lucy.”
Lucy’s eyes flicked toward Judith across the room. “One moment, Your Grace,” Lucy said, and without waiting for a reply, she stepped lightly across the floor, her skirts swaying just so.
Rowan watched her go, his pulse quickening in a way that had little to do with the prospect of meeting Lady Judith and more to do with the image of Lucy retreating.
Lucy reached Judith and greeted her warmly. Rowan watched them have a short conversation before they both looked up at him. Seconds later, Lucy made her way back to his side with Judith following behind.
“Lady Judith, may I present… the Duke of Langridge, His Grace, Rowan Clawridge.”
As Judith’s eyes met his, Rowan straightened, his attention immediately divided between the lady he had been instructed toget to know and the woman who had commanded every thought since she had appeared in the ballroom.
“Your Grace, may I present Lady Judith Brown?” Lucy introduced herself before taking a step back.
Rowan inclined his head, his eyes catching the gleam of her gown, a rich, deep azure blue. He liked the color, particularly that shade.
“Lady Judith,” he began, “if I may say, that shade suits you exceedingly well.”
Judith glanced down at her dress with a slight smile. “Thank you, Your Grace. Azure has long been a favorite of mine.”
He raised a brow, intrigued. “I confess it is one of my own preferred colors as well though I suspect for different reasons.”
“Oh?” she replied, curious.
He hesitated then, choosing his words carefully. “In its truest form, that hue was once made from lapis lazuli, mined in distant lands and prized above most pigments in Europe. A color of rarity and of patience, much like the sort of conversation I hope to have this evening.”
