“Out of your element, are you?”
“You know very well,Duke, that we have always avoided balls such as this. The looks of the scheming mamas alone are enough to raise my hackles.”
During their first year in Oxford, the older boys attempted to turn Matteo and Peter into rivals since both were set to inherit dukedoms. The scheme failed miserably, for it made them allies against the older students instead. The alliance, however, did not always secure them victory.
In truth, it was more often than not that they were bested, earning them the title of “The Poor Dukes”. The moniker was eventually forgotten, but the two friends retained the name for each other well after their Oxford years.
“Well,Duke,” Peter chuckled, “I am very happy to say that I have now passed all that. Not one scheming mama has looked at me with a gleam in her eye tonight.” Peter looked around and noticed at once the ladies observing Matteo.
“You, on the other hand, are looking like prey.”
“The things I must do for friendship.” Matteo looked heavenward. “If that baby is a boy, you must name him after me.”
They returned to their group with refreshments, and soon the promised dances were fulfilled. Matteo, considering his duty for the night completed, escorted Lady Wilhelmina as she made a tour of the ballroom. They moved slowly and were stopped frequently by a number of people; quite a good number weremothers with their daughters, subtly seeking to be introduced to him.
From the first moment that he had met Dahlia’s grandmother, Matteo had been genuinely fond of her. Perhaps it was because he had never known his own grandparents, or perhaps it was because he found her unapologetic wisdom utterly refreshing. Whichever reason it was, he enjoyed her company. Thus, escorting her had given him not just an enjoyable time but also a very good excuse not to dance.
“Your Grace, if you will bring me back to the family.” Lady Wilhelmina said after almost an hour of mingling. “I find that I have reached my limit for the night.”
Matteo frowned.
“Are you unwell, my lady?”
“No, merely tired. I think I shall ask to be taken home now.”
They found Peter and Dahlia. Soon, arrangements to bring the Dowager Marchioness home were made. Dahlia’s parents were to go home with her.
With the reduction in size of their group, Matteo considered making his leave as well. He would wait for Dahlia and Peter to return from seeing their family off, and then he would bid them a good night as well.
Peter cannot object to my leaving now, I am sure.
Matteo swept his glance across the ballroom, watching for his friends’ return. He was feeling restless, as if all the activity around him suddenly felt meaningless. He thought again of heading home, but the image of his quiet townhouse somehow held no appeal to him now as well.
He could go to his club. He exhaled.
Why does that seem even less appealing?
Perhaps it was the company of Peter and Dahlia’s family that had Matteo looking for something familiar, a connection of his own.
In his two and thirty years of existence, he rarely got tired of his own company. And even more rarely did he find being in the middle of a social gathering a tedious thing.
Perhaps I am getting old.
That was when he saw her. Someone familiar—not quite a friend, but definitely someone he shared some form of connection with. From across the room, Matteo watched her. A face which he had not seen in almost a year.
He caught her eye and held her gaze; he smiled at her. She frowned and quickly looked away. Of course, he must go to her; they did spend a winter together after all—well, that is, afew days in each other’s company during a visit with Peter and Dahlia at Icedale Castle, their country seat.
Matteo was accustomed to people fawning over him—ladies in particular, but this lady had always displayed barely concealed irritation towards him. He had found it quite amusing then, and however tempted he was to change her mind about him, he had, in deference to Peter, not done anything.
But now, there was nothing holding Matteo back. He mentally rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
Of course, he must go to her; it was but the civil thing to do.
“Lady Helena.”
“Your Grace.”
“Ah, it is good that you recognize me. For a moment, I had thought that you had quite forgotten me, for you refused to meet my gaze.”
