“Fine, you may host a ball, but only with the Laurels and their families. I would prefer if this house were not overflowing with people like during the fencing competition,” he muttered. “I had intended it to be a small gathering, but you hijacked my plans.”
Her face lit like a lantern. “Splendid!”
Cassian immediately regretted every choice that had led him to this moment. He should have stayed in his workshop and carved something with his new tools.
Preparations for the ball overtook the Everthorne townhouse with speed. Footmen rearranged furniture, maids dusted surfaces that had not been touched in months, and everyone moved about with more urgency than usual.
Cassian avoided the chaos as much as possible, hoping complete avoidance meant the ball would cease to happen, but it did.
He stood in his chambers, adjusting his cuffs with a scowl as he watched streams of guests arriving through the front entrance from the window. He had kicked against the notion of attending, but several well-timed tears from his grandmother had forced him into submission.
He wished, wholeheartedly, that they would all leave.
All except one.
He caught himself. His jaw tensed.
He tore his gaze from the window and forced his attention back to the mirror, dressing quickly to avoid the unsettling hope curling inside him.
He stepped into the corridor when he was done, intending to slip away to one of the leisure rooms for some quiet before the ordeal truly began.
But then a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, a familiar silhouette gliding past the adjoining corridor.
His pulse leapt.
Isabella.
He followed instinctively, turning the corner to the ballroom, only to stop short when he found it wasn’t Isabella but another lady entirely.
Before he could retreat, two Laurels spotted him and came rushing forward.
“Your Grace!” one gasped, nearly tripping over her own enthusiasm.
“How wonderful to finally meet you alone.” The other gushed while batting her lashes.
At the sound of his title, three mamas descended upon him like hawks sighting prey, and he clenched his teeth.
“My Ladies,” he forced out, attempting to take a step back.
Encounters like these were the exact reason he had not wanted the club to continue in the first place.
“Oh, Your Grace, what an honor?—”
“My daughter simply adores the arts?—”
“You must allow us to?—”
Even more mamas and their even more eager daughters began to gather around him.
Cassian inhaled slowly, fighting the urge to flee. It was one of the longest minutes of his life.
Until, mercifully, Tristan appeared like a man sent by God.
“Ah, there you are, Everthorne!” He slid neatly between Cassian and the encroaching wall of chattering mothers and daughters. “Ladies, if you would excuse us, I must steal the duke away.”
A collective sigh of disappointment rippled through the group.
Before the mamas could protest, Tristan whisked him off toward a quieter corner of the ballroom.
