Page 25

"I must confess," she began, breaking the silence.

"I feel dreadfully ill-prepared for this evening. I had no idea there was to be a ball." She admitted.

"Please do not mistake me; I am incredibly grateful for the effort. I simply had nothing suitable to wear." She glanced down at herself.

"I hope you do not mind, but Vinnie borrowed this corset from your mother's trunks."

The corridor was lit only by candles on scattered wall sconces. Shadows concealed much of the left side of Arthur's face, his scar disappearing into darkness. In the dim light, she could not tell whether he was wearing his customary scowl.

"My rooms are lovely, by the way," she continued. Heavens help her, he must think she loved the sound of her own voice, with the way she kept prattling on.

He gave a faint nod of acknowledgement. Perhaps he was as tired as she felt, but she was determined to keep trying. This was her husband, after all. What could he do now? Run away?

"How many people are attending tonight?" she asked more directly. "Will I know anyone?"

Arthur exhaled quietly.

"My mother took charge of the arrangements, which means there are no guarantees." There was the faintest hint of resignation in his voice. "I requested a small ceremony followed by a modest supper to mark the occasion."

He looked ahead as they continued walking.

"My mother's education must have failed her, as she has interpreted a small gathering rather oddly. Instead, there are a hundred more souls than necessary trespassing across Winworth's grounds, drinking its liquor and disturbing its solitude. So, to answer your question, I suspect there will be upwards of eighty guests."

He paused.

"And yes."

He glanced down at her.

"You shall know one person," he concluded.

Eliza watched him intently as he spoke. That was the most he had said to her since they had met. His voice was wonderfully deep and rich, seeming almost to vibrate through her. She became so absorbed in watching his lips move that she failed to notice they had stopped walking.

Arthur looked down at her. One dark eyebrow lifted ever so slightly.

"Oh..." She looked around as they came to a halt before a grand white marble entrance. The sounds of animated conversation, mingling with the strains of a waltz, drifted from the orchestra and floated towards them.

She felt Arthur's arm tighten ever so slightly against hers, holding her in place, perhaps preventing her from wandering straight into the ballroom. Before she could speak again, Arthur nodded towards the attendant. It was incredible how much he could communicate with the simplest of nods. Every word, every glance or tilt of the head was precise and controlled.

The attendant struck his cane sharply against the marble floor. The orchestra fell silent.

The room followed.

"Ladies and gentlemen..."

The attendant's voice echoed across the ballroom.

"His Grace, Arthur Wellington, Duke of Buckingham..."

A deliberate pause.

"And Her Grace, Eliza Wellington, Duchess of Buckingham."

Arthur led her forward, and together they descended across the foyer and down the grand staircase into the ballroom. The room was so quiet you could hear heads turn from every direction to steal a glance at the newlyweds. Hundreds of eyes settled upon them, yet Arthur continued walking as though no one else existed.

Eliza, however, felt every stare and became acutely aware of the sound of her own shoes.

With the slightest dip of his head, Arthur signalled to the orchestra and the music resumed instantly. Conversation gradually resumed at his command, though in noticeably quieter tones, while dozens of curious eyes remained fixed upon them. Determined to ignore the scrutiny, Eliza instead drank in the splendour before her. Ladies shimmered in gowns of emerald, sapphire, lavender, and rose, whilst gentlemen stood in dark evening coats and gleaming boots.