A Forbidden Waltz With the Dashing Duke

by Hazel Linwood

  Beside her, Catherine sat with a contented smile upon her face while working on a white work project of an intricate diamond patterns surrounded by a floral border. Embroidery came with such ease to her sister.

  Suddenly Pugsley sat up, his ears back. A moment later footsteps sounded in the hall and Lady Hazelshire entered the room. The little black dog rushed across the room and Rowena’s mother picked him up, cradling him as though he were a babe.

  “Good boy,” she cooed and walked behind the settee to inspect her daughters’ work.

  “What beautiful detailing, Catherine. Very nice,” The pride in her voice was evident, causing Rowena to break into a cold sweat.

  How ridiculous it is that at the age of two-and-twenty and as an almost married woman, my Mother inspecting my needlework still reduces me to jitters?

  Just then, she felt her mother place a hand on her shoulder. A resigned sigh escaped the woman’s mouth and then a deafening silence which was interrupted only by Pugsley’s small yaps.

  “Your Father wishes to see you, Rowena,” her mother said at last.

  “Papa has returned?” Catherine asked, excitement in her voice. She had already placed her needlework aside and was getting ready to stand when Lady Hazelshire stopped her.

  “He returned this morning from Shropshire and has just now come in from Parliament. You may see him later, Catherine. For now, he would like to see Rowena.”

  She looked at her sister whose childlike face had taken on a crestfallen expression. Her eyes were watery with tears and the corners of her mouth downturned. Their eyes met for a moment before Catherine took up her needlework once more without another word.

  Rowena felt badly for her sister, for she knew how attached she was to their father, they both were. However, she had to admit, she was thrilled that he’d sent for her. While she loved her mother, it was with her father whom she was truly close. Aside from Betsy, he’d always been her closest companion.

  “Is Papa in his study?” She rose and placed the unfortunate embroidery on the side table where her mother picked it up.

  “He is,” Lady Hazelshire sat down on the settee, the needlework in her lap. “I will see to this. Let’s hope His Grace is not keen on fine embroidery,” she shook her head and began to pull stitches out of Rowena’s work.

  “Papa?” Rowena knocked on her father’s door and let herself in once he called for her.

  “My dear child!” He rose from his armchair and came rushing toward her, placing a kiss on her cheek.

  “I feel as though I have not seen you in weeks, Papa.”

  “I feel as though I have been away for weeks myself. I will tell you, Shropshire has entirely lost its appeal to me. If I never have to see the place again, it will be far too soon. I dare say, if the troops had lured Napoleon to Shropshire, the war might have been over many years ago.”

  They shared a laugh and Rowena felt lighter than she had in weeks. Her father always had a comforting presence. Alas, she worried for him. His face was drawn and the lines on his face seemed to have deepened. And there was a strain in his eyes she had not seen before. Even the way he walked had changed. As he motioned toward the heavy armchairs by the fire, he walked as though he was carrying a heavy weight upon his back.

  “Care for a game?” her father asked as he sat down in his armchair. To her delight, she spotted their old chess game still set up on the table beside the chairs. They always had a game of chess at the ready or in progress, both here and at their country home.

  “Of course, Papa. It has been so long, you may even stand a chance of beating me this time,” she smiled at him as he broke into a laugh.

  “I should hope not. In fact, I had a game just this afternoon with a young lord at White’s. We didn’t finish, but I must say I fared well.”

  Rowena made her first move, opening the game.

  “Very well then. You have an advantage over me for I have not played at all since last we finished our game at Farnsworth Manor.”

  The two settled into their game, with Rowena deep in concentration, while her father told her all about his experiences at the vineyard.

  They both loved chess. It was a game he had taught her at a young age. They would often spend several hours together, playing and talking. It was quality time that Rowena cherished. Suddenly, she found herself growing sad at the thought of not being able to have these regular games with her father. She looked up at him and placed a hand on his.

  “This I will miss, above all.” she said, aware that the sadness was evident in her voice.

  Her father had just picked up a pawn and was ready to place it when he looked up, his hand floating in the air with the pawn clutched between his index finger and thumb.

  “My Darling, we will still play chess together. Not as often, but we will. You are not going far. Crawford Castle is just outside Barrington, which is not far at all from Royston. Two hours by carriage, perhaps. You shall see so much of us you’d wish that I’d made you a match with a lord from further away.”

  He laughed his haughty laugh and reached over to pinch her cheek. She sighed, attempting to force a smile onto her lips, but failed.

  “It will be well. The Duke is a good man and he is wild about you. He will secure our family’s future further, and yours in particular. He could not stop talking about how beautiful you are, and what an accomplished dancer you are. You really made an impression upon him.”

  “I wish he had on me. Papa, it is terrible, but I cannot remember him at all. I know all about him, as I do all the lords. I know the Thornmouth family history as well as any others, but the man himself, I simply cannot picture him.”

  The old man frowned and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  “Your Mother has informed me of this. Do not worry yourself too much. You will remember him when you see him. And if you do not, then you will make new memories. You have a lifetime ahead of you. You will see. Perhaps one day in the future you will laugh about not remembering him at first.”

  She nodded, “I very much hope so. Faith, Papa. I worry so about disappointing you.”

  He shook his head. “You would never disappointment, child. Well, you will if you let me win at this game.” He pointed at the board and set the pawn down in its intended place.

  “That you do not have to worry about, Papa.” She was about to place her own pawn in an attack position when her father looked up and snapped his fingers.

  “I almost forgot!” He rose and went back to his desk, retrieving an item from the drawer while Rowena followed him with her eyes. He pulled out a handkerchief and returned to their table, placing it between them, next to the chess board.

  “I had commissioned this some time ago, from Mister Henson at the jewelers. It intended to give it to you when I informed you of the husband I had chosen for you. But then of course, everything got rather hectic with the vineyard and such. I wish I could have broken the news of your impending marriage in a more personal way, but I simply…” he paused and shook his head. “In any case, this is for you. I hope in the months to come, as you settle into your new life, this will provide you with some comfort.”

  He pushed the handkerchief across the table, and she picked it up.

  The item felt light and she took care to unwrap it.

  “Papa!” She exclaimed and clutched her chest. “It is beautiful.” She held the pendant in her hand, letting in dangle before the light of the fireplace so that it sparkled even more. She let it slide into her palm. The front was designed with her father’s signature roses: one for Mama, one for Catherine, and one for her, with a strong stem holding them up, which she knew symbolized her father. She turned it around and read the inscription, tears filling her eyes.

  “Papa,” she said quietly and got up, wrapping her arms around him. “Thank you. I shall cherish this for all of my days.”

  She noticed that her father’s eyes were watering up as well. He quickly turned his face away and took a large sip of his ale before she could
say anything.

  He was a sentimental, emotional man, quite the opposite of his wife. While Lady Hazelshire was usually only maternal to Betsy, her father had no qualms about showing his affection to any of his children. He loved spending time with them but given his busy life, he often was not able to.

  Lord Hazelshire had a habit of making up for his lack of time with gifts, such as this one. She stared at it, turning the pendant in her hand back and forth.

  “It almost didn’t make it here,” he said while keeping his eyes on the chess board.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The messenger was ambushed in an attempted robbery and the necklace was separated from the letter which accompanied it. If it wasn’t for Lord Westmond and his determination to reunite it with its rightful owner, I would have had to start all over again and it would never have made it to you in time before the ball.”

  “Lord Westmond? The Duke who took ill and all but vanished?”

  I recall the stories. They say he was struck down by the same ailment as Napoleon. Dreadful.

  “His son. The elder Duke passed away some months ago. His son just took his place in the House of Lords and lives nearby. He came upon the robbery, stopped it, and then found the necklace which you hold in your hands now. Honorable young man. He and his brother both. I’ve invited them both to the ball.”

  Rowena raised her eyebrows. “You have? As a thank you for returning the necklace?”

  He nodded. “And to introduce him to Catherine. The Duke is in an unfortunate financial situation right now, but I trust he will right the ship. He seems a smart enough young man and he is a duke, after all. Can you imagine Mama if she had two daughters both wed to a Duke?” He chuckled, pleased with his plan.

  “It would be the best day of her life. Papa, you would be served parmesan ice cream without protest each day for the rest of your life,” she grinned as her father licked his lips. Her father had an insatiable sweet tooth which he could only ever indulge in when away from home, for Lady Hazelshire insisted on limiting the access of her family to foods she found contrary to one’s waistline.

  “That alone would make such a match desirable,” her father said. “Jest aside, Lord Westmond’s family has long owned a vineyard as well as a winery and he’s offered his expert advice. So, when you are introduced to him at the ball, be sure to be especially personable. This man could provide the assistance your old Papa needs with this wretched business.”

  “Of course, I will.”

  As if she was ever anything other than the perfect lady.

  They concluded their game at a late hour so that by the time Rowena retired to her chamber, the house was already dark. She made her way to her chamber by light of a single beeswax candle and climbed into her bed. She placed the necklace on her side table.

  She found herself rather curious about the young man who might turn out to be the answer to her father’s worries with the wretched vineyard and who so generously returned her precious necklace.

  I shall wear it to the ball tomorrow. Yes. It will make Papa happy and it will show the Duke that his efforts are appreciated. It will please him to see me wear it.

  Yes, that was the least she could do. As she went to sleep, she found herself ever more curious about the young man. Perhaps the ball would turn out much more enjoyable than she thought.

  Chapter 7

  Christopher stood outside Worcester Ballroom and found himself wracked with nerves. Perhaps Henry had been right. He had put the young woman on a pedestal, hadn’t he? What if she did not live up to his daydreams? Had he made a cake of himself, thinking he’d find his future wife here tonight?

  And what if she is all I hope her to be but then she does not care for me? I am after all down on my luck, despite the grand title and fine clothing.

  It was not like Christopher to doubt himself at all. He was usually self-assured to the point of being accused of arrogance. Not tonight, however. Tonight, he felt like a young boy on his first day at Eton once more.

  “Topher, are you simply going to stand there and block the entrance or are we going inside?” Henry prompted him. Henry had come to the ball under protest, proclaiming that he would much rather continue to read his novel than prance around, dressed up in his finest.

  Of course, he had agreed to come. Christopher knew his brother would do anything for him, just as he would do anything for Henry. And right now, in this moment, he was more than grateful for the company.

  Taking in a lung full of the warm air, Christopher set one foot in front of the other and made his way inside.

  The brothers climbed the stairs and stepped through the front door. It was already well past eleven and the majority of guests had arrived, meaning the receiving line was relatively small.

  Christopher immediately scanned the area for Lady Rowena but found himself disappointed. At the front of the line, just to the left of the entrance, was the young lady in whose honor the ball was held, and her mother, Lady Hazelshire. Rowena was nowhere to be found.

  “Do not fret, your lady will be in the ballroom already, I am certain,” Henry whispered, a smirk on his face.

  Christopher opened his mouth to reply but found himself interrupted as the gentleman who’d taken their calling cards motioned for them to step forward to be introduced.

  “His Grace, Christopher Newmont, the Duke of Westmond and his brother, Henry Newmont,” the man said.

  Christopher stepped forward.

  “Your Grace, an honor to meet you,” Lady Hazelshire said as she curtsied to him. She nodded with a slight bow of the head.

  “The honor is all mine,” he said. He noticed that Lady Hazelshire appeared to look past him, and toward the entrance as if expecting somebody.

  “Your Grace,” Lady Hazelshire, she looked back at him and directed him toward her daughter. “My daughter, Lady Catherine.”

  He stepped over to the young woman who looked like a slightly younger version of her mother and shook her hand. He was taken aback by how much she resembled the painting. Whoever the painter was, he could capture one’s likeness to perfection.

  “Lady Catherine, an honor to make your acquaintance.”

  “The honor is all mine,” the young woman replied as she curtsied.

  How many times has she had to repeat this process tonight? A hundred?

  He stepped aside as it was now Henry’s turn. With the formal introductions made, the brothers made their way into the ballroom. The space was lit so brightly it was almost like stepping into daylight.

  “It must have cost a fortune in candles to light this room,” Henry commented, the disdain for the waste of money lacing his words.

  “Hazelshire is among the wealthiest men in England, Henry. He can easily afford–” He stopped so abruptly the young man who’d walked behind them crashed into him. Christopher did not even hear his muttered apology for he was mesmerized by what he saw before him.

  There she was. Not three steps away, standing beside her father, the regal-looking Lord Hazelshire. The woman from the painting. The woman he’d longed to meet for these past two weeks.

  Lady Rowena…

  She was dressed in a beautiful pale-blue silk gown which was brightened by what seemed like a million carefully applied white pearls. Her hair, which was so dark it was almost black, was pinned up and wrapped in a white bandeau which in turn was covered in blue stitching and more pearls. She was beautiful and almost angelic as she stood, her fingers hidden beneath white silk gloves.

  What drew his attention more than anything else however, wasn’t her beauty, it was the serious expression on her lovely face. She looked as though the weight of the world rested on her shoulders: The way her eyes were slightly narrowed and her lips, her beautiful lips, were pressed together.

  I wonder what is on her mind that makes her appear to serious. No matter, it almost makes her more beautiful. Truly, she is as breathtaking in person as she was in the painting.

  He felt his heart beat faster as h
e observed. And then, when she suddenly turned into his direction and their eyes met for a moment, his heart skipped a beat.

  He felt his mouth open slightly, as if he was readying himself to call out to her, when he caught himself and remembered where he was.

  He closed his mouth and nodded into her direction, making sure to never break eye contact. To his delight, she broke into a smile which lit up her entire face. The serious expression seemed to disappear, save for in her eyes, which remained haunted.

  “Ah, Your Grace,” the Earl of Hazelshire said, drawing him out of his mesmerized state. “What a pleasure.” He beckoned them over and Christopher felt himself move across the marbled floor as if in a dream. “I am ever so glad you could make it,” the older lord said as he motioned toward the lovely woman beside him. “This is my daughter, Lady Rowena. Rowena, this is His Grace, the Duke of Westmond, who so graciously recovered your necklace.”