There was a solidity and reliability to the Duke of Westall that extended around him like a shield. If Frances could let herself come close enough, she too might always be as protected as she felt at this moment.
“Thank you again for the pearls,” she told Ambrose after a few minutes of silence while she absorbed his statements, hoping that he would understand that her thanks were broader than she could admit. “They do suit me well and are just right for tonight.”
The Duke of Westall’s handsome smile in response made Frances quiver inside and actually look forward to their first dance.
The ball at Fordham House was both crowded and spectacular, bright with candles and jewels and colorful with decorations and extravagant ballgowns.
“Congratulations to you both on your wedding, Your Graces,” said Lady Fordham as she and her husband received the Duke and Duchess of Westall. “We wish you great joy.”
“How could anyone be other than joyful here tonight?” Ambrose returned, nodding to the decor and happy guests as Frances smiled their thanks for the well-wishes, strangely glad to be there for once.
Walking into the midst of the crowds on the Duke of Westall’s arm, Frances felt more at ease than she could ever remember at such as large social event, despite all the interested eyes upon them.
During her past Seasons, she had always carried the weight of other people’s expectations, as well as a wariness of potential impropriety. Now, she was married to a man of rank and fortune and almost all the old expectations and fears had fallen away.
Frances might dance and laugh and eat as she wished without being judged. No one would be nudging her towards unwanted suitors, whispering spitefully of wallflowers behind her back, or warning her of the supposed awfulness of spinsterhood. Thanks to Ambrose, she was even free of the worry of seeing Oswald Keeton tonight.
“…Westall, yes, married this summer…”
“…new Duchess of Westall - didn’t you know?”
“…Duke of Westall…new wife…”
While Frances was conscious of such whispering around them from very early on, it did not disturb her.
“People will be less interested in us at our second ball,” Ambrose murmured, bending his head to her ear. “Do not let it trouble you.”
“I shall not,” Frances assured him. “It is hardly a bad thing to hear people say that we are married. It is factually true, apart from anything else.”
Ambrose chuckled and patted the hand on his arm without realizing what he did. Frances only smiled to herself, enjoying his touch as she enjoyed no one else’s and safe in the knowledge that in such a public space there was no danger of going further.
“Look, there is Beatrice with your parents,” the duke pointed out as they reached a larger reception room, filled with couples and groups drinking champagne to the strains of a quadrille underway in the nearby ballroom. “Shall we?”
On the other side of the room, Frances now spotted her younger sister in a pale pink dress with roses in her hair, her face shining with excitement to be here tonight. Had Frances ever felt such anticipation for her first ball? She did not believe so, but was pleased that Beatrice could.
Lord and Lady Scovell stood beside their younger daughter, arm-in-arm and with Helen’s head resting lightly on her husband’s shoulder. Biting her tongue and reminding herself that she must be polite tonight for Beatrice’s sake, Frances crossed the room with Ambrose.
In this tighter space, the whispering seemed thicker and more distinct.
“Look, that’s the one, the new Duchess of Westall…”
“…married more than a month now and still…”
“…seems a fine filly to me. Westall must be mad if it’s true…”
Something in the whispering now made Frances’ nerves jangle. She could not say that she was hearing anything really negative, even if some remarks from gentlemen seemed a little crude. She told herself that she was only set on edge by the usual nauseating experience of watching her father pretending to be a devoted husband.
Did Ambrose hear people talking about them too? Glancing at his face, Frances doubted it. He seemed entirely focused on her family, smiling towards them with genuine pleasure. She decided to follow his lead and ignore them. As Ambrose said earlier, people would be less interested in them next time.
Lady Scovell greeted them both with her usual affection, kissing Ambrose’s cheek and then embracing Frances while Lord Scovell shook his son-in-law’s hand.
“How fine you both look tonight,” Helen Harcourt pronounced happily, looking over her daughter and son-in-law with great pleasure. “I have never seen a better matched couple. LadyKempleforth will be very pleased with herself if she is here. Your pearls are exquisite, Frances.”
“What a lovely dress, Beatrice,” Frances remarked in turn, embracing her younger sister. “It suits you very well. I am glad to have you finally out in society too. We can keep one another company.”
“Don’t you have a husband to keep you company?” Beatrice noted with a cheeky smile, looking now to Ambrose as he raised her hand and kissed it.
“I daresay the company of a husband does not compare to the company of a sister,” he replied, flagging down a waiter to bring them all champagne, “although I hope I have my uses.”
