“I rather think my brother will be the one to insist,” Andrew replied, smirking. He sobered. “Are you all right?”
Danielle’s eyes widened. “Of course.”
“I mean because, well...” He sighed as the color in his face heightened. “Because of what we did Saturday. I feared you might be having second thoughts or—”
He couldn’t finish his thought when Danielle’s lips suddenly took his. He was so stunned she would kiss him while they stood at the top of the stairs, he barely had a chance to return the kiss, and once he did, she ended it as quickly as she had begun it.
He blinked as she gave him a brilliant grin. “No second thoughts,” she said with a shake of her head. “And I rather doubt Dahlia is having any, either. I think she’s heels over head in love with Breckinridge.”
Andrew blinked, his gaze darting to where his brother and Dahlia were still standing, engaged in quiet conversation. Deciding he wouldn’t switch waistcoats after all, he turned to Gilbert and said, “Mister Andrew Comber and his betrothed, Lady Diana Dorothea Fitzwilliam.”
“Drew!” she scolded. “Hardly anyone knows my real name,” she added when he gave her a questioning glance.
“Now they will,” he replied with a grin. “Or at least those in attendance. There’s hardly anyone here yet.” He led them to the middle of the top step and waited for the butler to announce them.
A quick glance in Danielle’s direction found her gazing down onto the ballroom. He’d nearly forgotten how overwhelming the Weatherstone ball could be. Those already in the ballroom wore colorful gowns and satin evening clothes. The gas-lit chandeliers bathed the ballroom in a golden glow. Faint strains of music drifted from the quintet of musicians playing on a raised dais. The tables of champagne and other refreshments were already surrounded by gentlemen engaged in raucous conversations. A few wallflowers had taken up residence with the potted palms that lined the wall adjacent to the French doors.
Despite what would eventually become a crush below, Danielle displayed a pleasant expression, and then she allowed a brilliant smile when Gilbert announced, “Mister Andrew Comber and his betrothed, Lady Diana Dorothea Fitzwilliam.”
Aware of the heads that turned to regard their arrival, Andrew straightened and placed a hand over Danielle’s as they descended.
Before they had made it to the bottom of the stairs, the announcer called out, “The Lady Helen Tennison, Mister Alexander Tennison, and his betrothed, Miss Margaret Ewen.”
“Alex!” Danielle whispered in excitement. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, she forced Andrew to turn around so they could greet the newly betrothed couple and Alexander’s sister, Helen.
“Best wishes to you both,” Danielle gushed.
“And to you,” Alexander replied, before introducing Margaret. “I wasn’t aware you two had finally decided to make it official,” he said as his gaze went to the top of the stairs.
“Only last Saturday,” Andrew said, frowning when his brother and Dahlia weren’t the next ones in line to come down the steps. “You will afford me a dance, Miss Ewen?” he added.
Margaret’s eyes rounded. “Yes, of course,” she replied, when Alexander gave her a nod of approval.
“And I expect a dance with you,” Alexander said to Danielle.
“Anything but a waltz,” she replied. “I’ve promised both of them to Drew.”
“A Scottish reel, then,” Alexander remarked with a smirk.
“Alex!” she scolded, knowing Lady Weatherstone never had a Scottish reel included at her balls. “I’ll save you a cotillion,” she insisted.
New to thetonball experience, Margaret appeared confused by their banter, but Alexander soon took her off to a cluster of well-wishers.
Danielle glanced back up the stairs. “Where’s your brother?” she asked.
Andrew pulled her aside upon seeing the next couple set to descend the stairs. “The library?” he guessed, his brows waggling.
“The Right Honorable the Earl of Trenton, the Right Honorable the Countess of Trenton, and Mr. and Mrs. Gabriel Wellingham,” the baritone voice of the butler called out. Before they were halfway down the stairs, he added, “The Right Honorable the Earl of Haddon and The Right Honorable the Countess of Haddon.”
Andrew displayed a huge grin as his cousin, Juliet Comber Carlington, Countess of Haddon and future Marchioness of Morganfield, descended the stairs on the arm of her much older husband, Christopher Carlington.
“She looks happy,” Andrew remarked.
“He looks as if he’s hit his head,” Danielle said with worry, sure the earl had a bruise on his forehead.
“Probably hit it on a headboard,” Andrew whispered. When Danielle realized what he meant, she raised a glove hand to hide her giggle.
Upon hearing her scolding, “Andrew,” he added, “Juliet says it keeps him humble. She already has him wrapped rather tightly around her little pinky.”
