“Have you received an invitation to the Duke of Coventry’s ball on Saturday?” Gabriella asked.
“Yes,” Raphe told her while doing his best not to think of the kiss they’d shared. He could still taste her—rosy and sweet. “It arrived yesterday, much to my surprise. I would have thought that word of my unsuitable company would have spread since the dinner at Fielding House.”
Inclining her head, Gabriella said, “Not inviting you would have been frowned upon, considering your station. And besides, Coventry is different from the rest—more agreeable. I’ve always liked him.”
Reflecting on how pleasant the duke had seemed when he’d first met him at Fielding House, Raphe nodded his head. “Perhaps you’re right. But he won’t be the only peer there, and I’m just not sure that I want to meet any others. Not until I know that I’m capable of making a good impression.”
“While I’m inclined to agree with you, my fear is that since you’ve already ventured out into public, people will wonder why you’ve suddenly chosen to retreat from social events, allowing the negative gossip to grow deeper roots until you’ll stop receiving invitations altogether. Considering your aspirations for your sisters, I don’t believe that would be in your best interest,” Gabriella concluded.
“I quite agree,” Amelia said. “If we are to marry well, we must prove ourselves worthy. And connections must be made so you will know which gentlemen to introduce us to once we make our debuts, Raphe.”
“She is right,” Juliette said. “Hiding away is unwise.”
“I feel as though you’re conspiring against me,” Raphe grumbled.
“What I propose,” Gabriella continued, ignoring Raphe’s remark, “is that we work on your conversational skills and help you polish up on a few more areas so you can make fools of anyone who may have spoken against you.”
“Including Fielding and your father?” Raphe asked, surprised by her eagerness to go against them. When she nodded, he couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”
Folding her hands neatly in her lap, Gabriella looked at each of them in turn. “Because I believe my father, and Fielding, and whoever else was present that evening at Fielding House have greatly misjudged you. Having gotten to know the three of you better . . .” She paused then, her composure failing her as she turned a bright shade of crimson. She glanced at the ceiling, then at the floor—anywhere but at Raphe. Eventually, she straightened her back, took a deep breath and somehow managed to collect herself in a way that Raphe found absolutely astonishing. He watched with open admiration as she seriously told them, “I think you can all become respectable members of Society.”
Gabriella drew a breath. Miraculously, she’d stopped herself from melting under the heat of Raphe’s presence. Good heavens. Had he really kissed her in the garden last night, under a blanket of darkness? It seemed inconceivable. And yet, she knew from the scorching look in his eyes that it had been very real indeed.
She averted her gaze, determined not to lose focus. “Let’s come up with a plan then. If you agree, that is?”
As reluctant as he looked, Raphe gave her a firm nod. “Very well.”
“Good.” She drummed her fingers against her seat cushion, caught herself and stopped. She thought of what would be required of him and asked, “How many dances have you learned so far?”
The edge of his mouth twitched. “I’m quite familiar with the waltz.” The intensity of his gaze as he said it pierced her to the core until she felt her lungs restrict against the tightening of her chest.
The man was impossible!
“Well.” She glanced at his sisters, who appeared to be watching her with great interest. “Some young ladies will not be allowed to dance that particular dance. Not until they’ve been given permission. So, you’ll have to learn the quadrille and the minuet, at the very least.”
He produced an immediate scowl. “I don’t like those dances. They make me look stupid.”
“Oh? So you have attempted them?” He didn’t answer, which prompted her to say, “Your sisters will depend on your ability to adhere to protocol. It’s just for one evening, Your Grace, and then you can stand on the sidelines forever after, if that is what you wish to do.”
He gave her a wary look. “I will think on it,” he finally told her noncommittally. “In the meantime, perhaps there are other more useful things you can teach us?”
“Of course,” Gabriella said. Forcing a smile, she faced Amelia and Juliette, not daring to look at Huntley for fear that he would see the disappointment she’d felt in response to his adamant refusal to do as she advised. Because although she knew that Fielding would be her obligatory partner for the waltz until she told him their courtship was over, she’d had the silly idea of partnering with Raphe for one of the other dances. She shook her head, unsure of herself once more. He’d made no promises. . . . Realizing everyone was staring at her, she pasted a smile on her face and addressed Raphe’s sisters. “Have you been practicing your walks and your curtsies?”
“That, as well as sitting and pouring tea,” Amelia told her proudly.
“Excellent,” Gabriella said. “Let me see.”
For the next half hour, Amelia and Juliette took turns improving their poise and elegance. For Juliette it seemed to come naturally, while Amelia continued to struggle with her posture and ease of movement. Her steps were often too hasty. “You are certainly doing much better than when you started,” Gabriella remarked before taking a sip of the tea that had recently been requested. “But how will you fare on the arm of a gentleman?” She gave Huntley a shrewd look. His presence continued to unsettle her, leaving her composure in tatters while he sat carelessly by her side. It wouldn’t hurt to add some distance between them, or to make him suffer a little under her tutelage. So, quelling her fluttering nerves, she asked him sweetly, “Will Your Grace please oblige?”
The narrow-eyed look he gave her reflected the sort of mistrust one might feel when suspecting that a prank was about to be carried out at one’s expense. She paid him no mind as she gestured toward Amelia, who presently stood waiting.
“Very well,” he muttered as he straightened himself and rose to his feet.
Pleased with herself for managing to bother him just a little, Gabriella watched as he and Amelia took a turn about the room. “Slow your pace, Huntley. There’s no hurry,” she called.
He glared at her, but there was a hint of amusement about his eyes, the effect producing a devastating culmination of heat in the pit of Gabriella’s stomach. Lord, the man had a maddening effect on her! Schooling her features in the hope that he wouldn’t see her discomfort, she waited for him to return to the starting point, where Juliette now stood, her posture the perfect image of a well-bred lady.
Reaching her, Huntley drew his arm away from Amelia’s and turned to face his youngest sister. “You must excuse yourself to Amelia first,” Gabriella chastised. “She is not a rag for you to toss aside.” Huntley’s jaw hardened. His eyes darkened. Gabriella refused to let the effect of it keep her from her purpose. “Thank Amelia first, step back and bow, then turn toward Juliette and ask her politely if she would care to accompany you on a tour of the room.”
