Page 7 of The Wedding Challenge

Callie groaned under her breath.

Francesca glanced at her. “Is something the matter?”

“Just my grandmother. She is bringing over another prospect, I warrant.”

Lady Haughston spotted the dowager duchess. “Ah. I see.”

“She has become obsessed with the idea that I must marry soon. I think she fears that if I do not become engaged this next Season, I will spend the rest of my life as a spinster.”

Francesca glanced again at the pair walking toward them. “And she thinks Alfred Carberry would suit you?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“She thinks Alfred Carberry would suit her,” Callie replied. “He is in line to inherit an earldom, though given the fact that his grandfather is still alive and hale, not to mention his father, I shouldn’t think it will be until he is in his sixties.”

“But he is such a dreadfully dull sort,” Francesca pointed out. “All the Carberrys are. I do not suppose they can help it, living all together up there in Northumberland. But I should not think you would enjoy being married to him.”

“Yes, but, you see, he is so respectable.”

“Mmm, that is one of the things that makes him so dull.”

“But that suits my grandmother.”

“And he’s nearly forty.”

“Ah, but men my age are apt to be flighty. They might go haring off and do something that isn’t respectable. No, Grandmother prefers them stodgy and dull—and from a good family, of course. Wealth would be nice, but she is not utterly wedded to that.”

Francesca chuckled. “I fear your grandmother is doomed to disappointment.”

“Yes, but I am doomed to her lecturing me. She has been doing so all winter.”

“Oh dear,” Francesca said sympathetically. “Perhaps you should come visit me. My butler has instructions to turn away all dull and stodgy men—or women, for that matter.”

Callie laughed, opening her fan to hide her mouth as she murmured, “Do not let Grandmother hear that, or she will forbid me to call on you.”

“Calandra, dear, there you are. Not dancing? And Lady Haughston. How lovely you look, as always.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Francesca replied, curtseying. “I must return the compliment, for you are in excellent looks tonight.”

It was true, of course, for Callie’s grandmother, with her upsweep of snow-white hair and slim, ramrod-straight body, was still an arresting-looking woman. She had been, Callie knew, quite a beauty in her day, and Callie counted herself fortunate that at least the duchess had excellent taste in clothes and had never quibbled about Callie’s choice of wardrobe—aside from a time or two in Callie’s first Season when her grandmother had put her foot down firmly against a ball gown that was other than white.

“Thank you, my dear.” The duchess smiled in a regal way, taking the compliment as her due. “You know the Honorable Alfred Carberry, do you not?” She turned toward the man at her side, unobtrusively maneuvering things so that the duchess stood facing Francesca and Mr. Carberry was closer to Callie.

The duchess went on, introducing the women to Carberry. “Lady Haughston. My granddaughter, Lady Calandra. Tell me, Lady Haughston, how is your mother? We must have a nice coze together, for I dare swear I have not seen you since Lord Leighton’s wedding.”

She laid a hand on Francesca’s arm and glanced over at Callie and Mr. Carberry, effectively separating the two couples. Smiling indulgently, she said, “No doubt you young people would rather not listen to us gossip. Why don’t you ask Lady Calandra to dance, Mr. Carberry, while Lady Haughston and I catch up with each other?”

Francesca’s brows lifted slightly at being put in a group with the duchess while the honorable Alfred, at least seven or eight years older than she, was termed a young person. However, she knew when she had been outmaneuvered, and she could not help but admire the duchess’s expertise, so, casting a single sparkling glance at Callie, she let the duchess steer her aside.

Callie, smiling somewhat stiffly, said, “Pray do not feel you must dance with me, sir, just because my grandmother—”

“Nonsense, my girl,” Mr. Carberry said in the hearty jocular voice that he commonly adopted with his younger relatives. “’Twould be my honor to take a twirl about the floor with you. Enjoying yourself, eh?”

Callie resigned herself to a dance with the man, reasoning that it would be easier to avoid conversation with him while they were dancing. She was pleased to find, when they took to the floor, that it was a sprightly country dance, which allowed little breath or time for talking, though it was unfortunately a good deal longer than a waltz. She found herself glancing around the floor as they went through the steps, looking for the curving plume of a Cavalier hat.

Then she had time to do no more than smile and listen to his thanks for the dance before her hand was claimed by her next partner, Mr. Waters. She knew Mr. Waters only slightly, having met him once before, and she had the faint suspicion that the man was probably angling for a wealthy wife, but at least he was a witty conversationalist and a smooth dancer.

When their dance ended, Mr. Waters suggested a stroll around the room, and Callie agreed. It was almost ten o’clock, which meant that the dancing would shortly cease and soon the guests would start making their way to the supper that would be laid out in the smaller ballroom across the hall. Callie feared that her grandmother would approach her with some “appropriate” escort to lead her in to supper, so she would just as soon stay out of the duchess’s sight for the next few moments.

They started around the periphery of the room, with her escort making polite conversation about the grandness of the ball, the liveliness of the music and the warmth of the room after the dancing. He paused at one of the doors, open to the terrace to let in some of the refreshingly cold evening air.