At first she’d been intimidated, but they were all so kind. They insisted they be referred to by their first names, and within moments she had felt quite part of their circle. All her fears about this night had faded away, and she was left with a sense of peace instead. Of belonging, like she was an old friend returned to their little flock of beautiful swans.
But now they had all scattered, some to the dancefloor to swing in time to the music with their handsome husbands. Others were joined in conversation with other guests. All that was left now was Isabel, the wife of the Duke of Tyndale. They were very recently married, and the duchess still had a glow of newlywed bliss about her.
Amelia could only hope she would have the same joy when she was wed. Though it was a funny thing that she had not found herself thinking of Aaron all that often during the night. Not even when the ladies talked of husbands and weddings and implied scandals associated with it all.
“Look at James and Emma,” Isabel said, motioning to the crowd. “I swear they make us all look so untalented when they dance together.”
Amelia followed her friend’s indication and smiled. Emma was the Duchess of Abernathe, and at present she was in the arms of her husband. The two moved in perfect accord together, perhaps a bit too close, but as if they had been built to waltz together.
“So lovely,” Amelia mused.
“Ladies.”
She jerked around at the deep voice that suddenly intruded on her fairytale thoughts. She knew that voice, though she’d only heard it once before. And there was its owner, the Duke of Brighthollow, standing behind them, dark eyes boring into hers just as they had in the parlor the day before.
“Brighthollow,” Isabel said, reaching out to squeeze his arm with a smile. “I didn’t see you arrive. Do you know Miss Amelia Quentin?”
Amelia swallowed. “We—we met,” she stammered.
He inclined his head. “We have indeed. In fact, I came to find out if Miss Quinton would favor me for a dance. The waltz has just begun, and I think we could still find a place in the crowd.”
Amelia stared at him. He wanted to dance withher? This man of dark stares and full lips and strong arms and…what in the world was she thinking? Had she answered? No, and now Brighthollow and Isabel were both staring at her expectantly. There was no way to refuse.
“Yes!” she blurted out, far too loudly. “Er, I would be delighted.”
Brighthollow held out an elbow, and she drew a deep breath before she put out a hand and slid it into the crook. Immediately she was met with a shock of unexpected awareness. His arm was very strong and very warm, and now he was staring down at her, far too close, and she could not remember how to breathe.
“Have fun, you two!” Isabel called out after them as he led her to the dancefloor.
Somehow Amelia managed to nod at her new friend, but then everything else was swept away as Brighthollow twirled her into a space on the dancefloor and they began to move in time together.
He was very graceful. She would not have expected that since he was so very tall and broad-shouldered. Yet he led her effortlessly. She almost felt like she was gliding on air and that the only people on the dancefloor were the two of them.
She stared up into his face as they moved. As always, he was looking right back at her. His expression was unreadable and so very focused. That same odd tingling she’d felt with him before began again in her stomach. Like a root unfurling through her body, fingers reaching to every part of her until she trembled with the power of the reaction.
“You seem to have become a fast friend of the duchesses,” he said when it felt like an eternity of silence had stretched between them.
She blinked, trying to find some kind of focus through the fog he created around her. “I-I don’t know. I’ve only just met most of them. They are wonderfully kind. So welcoming. I’m sure it has nothing to do with me, though. They must be like that with everyone they meet.”
“Hm.” His lips thinned a little and his gaze darted from her face. It was odd. When he looked at her, she felt uncomfortably exposed. But when he looked away, she didn’t like that either. “I think the duchessesarevery kind and would likely be lovely to anyone they met. But it’s more than that.”
“More?” she croaked out. That brought his attention back to her face and her knees almost buckled.
“Yes,” he said. “I think you would…you would belong in their circle.”
“Only if I were a duchess,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Certainly, I would never be that.”
He shrugged. “But if you were, do you think you would be happy in their company?”
The music slowed and then came to a stop. He stepped back and executed a formal bow. She was meant to curtsey but didn’t. Instead she just stared at him, utterly confused by his questions and his looks and just…him in general.
The others on the dancefloor began to filter away, but she stayed in her place. “Why would you ask me such a question?”
He did not reach for her, nor make a gesture to move her along. “I’m curious.”
She pursed her lips. “But…why? I’m sorry, I realize I’m being entirely impertinent and my father would rage at me if he knew, but I have no choice.”
“None?” he asked, and there was a lightness to the question, even if he didn’t smile.
