A Forbidden Waltz With the Dashing Duke

by Hazel Linwood

  The young woman’s dark eyes flashed with recognition and one gloved hand traveled up to her slender neck. Around it rested the pendant that was now so familiar to him.

  She was shorter than him by half a head. She extended her hand as she curtsied. He wrapped his fingers around her gloved hand, feeling how delicate it was in his.

  When she looked up, their eyes met once more and they stood for a moment, smiling at one another.

  “I thank you for ensuring this treasure was returned to me,” she said, wrapping her gloved hand around it as they spoke.

  “I am only happy to see it returned to its rightful owner. And dare I say, My Lady, it looks charming on you.”

  She blushed and looked away, but the smile remained on her lips.

  “I do not know how to thank you, Your Grace. I know it must have been difficult to locate us, without an address or letter..”

  “It was by luck and determination that we were able to return it.” Suddenly emboldened, he cleared his throat. “As for the thank you, perhaps the lady might consider giving me the honor of a dance?”

  She blinked at him and nodded.

  “Of course, Your Grace.” She turned and glanced at her dance card. “The cotillion, perhaps? It is the very first dance after the minuet.”

  Suddenly she looked at her father, as if asking his permission. The older man nodded, and she wrote his name next to the dance.

  Christopher squinted to see whose name was written next to the first dance but could not make it out. A ping of jealousy at the lucky man overcame him, but he pushed it away.

  “I look forward to it,” she said quietly almost as if she did not want anyone else to hear.

  “As do I, My Lady,” he bowed before her, not wanting to leave her side but knowing that lingering any longer would be inappropriate. He stepped back, breaking their link and forced himself to face Lord Hazelshire instead.

  “Perhaps you might ask Catherine for a dance as well. I am sure she will make room on her dance card for the man who will assist her dear Papa in getting a handle on the vineyard business,” he chuckled, though Christopher knew he was serious.

  “I will gladly request a dance from both of your daughters,” he said with a sight bow. As he straightened up, he caught a glance at Lady Rowena. To his delight, he found that she had continued to observe him with interest.

  “Now, perhaps you would like to see about some refreshments?” Lord Hazelshire suggested, pointing at an adjacent room.

  “What a glorious idea, I am famished. Come on, Topher. Let us explore.” With that, his brother grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him away toward the refreshment room.

  Christopher had no choice but the separate himself from the lovely young lady, who had enraptured his attention so.

  He looked back once more but found that the crush of people had swallowed the view of the young lady. With a heavy sigh, he followed Henry into the next room, wishing that time moved faster so he could find himself by her side once more.

  Chapter 8

  Rowena found herself looking after the Duke as he disappeared into the crowd. She placed her hand on her chest and felt her heart beating faster. The moment she’d laid eyes on him, a warmth had spread all throughout her body in a way she’d never experienced before. She’d broken into a smile quite involuntarily and hadn’t wanted to stop.

  She could not wait for the cotillion, which was the second dance of the night. At the request of her father, she’d saved the minuet for Lord Thornmouth. He was to have arrived almost an hour ago and it had been deemed proper to dance together after introductions.

  Of course, Lord Thornmouth had yet to show his face. Not that she minded. The closer she came to meeting him, the further away she wished to be. It was not the man himself she dreaded, she didn’t know him after all, but it was the thought of change. For the moment she was introduced to him, the changes in her life would be set into motion.

  Curiously, she no longer found herself occupied with her future husband’s failure to appear. No, the meeting with Lord Westmond was now foremost on her mind. Thinking of him made her feel woozy at once. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She was utterly vexed by these strange feelings that suddenly washed over her.

  What is wrong with me? No man has ever made me feel as flustered just by merely standing opposite me. How I wish Betsy was here, so I could confide in her!

  Betsy was, of course, not at the dance, given she was not of noble birth, no matter how much she felt like family.

  “By Jove, Lord Thornmouth is taking his time arriving,” her father said, breaking into her thoughts. The irritation in his voice was evident. “Your Mother is here now, ready to open the ball with your sister.”

  Indeed, Rowena’s mother was rushing across the ballroom with as much grace as possible, followed by Catherine who looked lovely in a dress made of fine silk. The pale rose color stood in contrast to her tucked-up blonde hair.

  “Come on now, we are already late. It is near half past eleven,” Lady Hazelshire prompted and rushed past her husband and elder daughter, stopping only for a moment to tuck a stray hair behind Rowena’s ear. She glanced at her husband as she did so.

  “Where is Lord Thornmouth? He was missing from the receiving line. Did we miss him?”

  Lord Hazelshire shook his head. “He has not yet arrived.”

  Lady Hazelshire clasped Rowena’s arm.

  “This is a disaster. Rowena, walk the room, see if another lord will ask for the minuet. You cannot stand by the sidelines. Not for your sister’s first dance. It would look terrible.” Her fingers were digging into Rowena’s skin so much she flinched. She felt herself growing impatient with her mother. After all, it was not her fault Lord Thornmouth was not here.

  Fortunately for her, her mother soon let go of her and proceeded to the dance floor, alongside Catherine to officially open the dance. Her mother stopped to speak to the conductor regarding the music while Catherine smoothed her dress. Rowena could almost feel her sister’s nerves.

  “Mama is right. I should be dancing the minuet. However, I declined many requests in favor of Lord Thornmouth and now there is no time to find another. Perhaps I should take the air.”

  Her father nodded. “It will be for the best. I shall step out the front door to see if the young man cannot be spotted somewhere. Perhaps he is lost.”

  Rowena highly doubted that he was but did not argue. She could tell her father was upset enough as it was.

  She let him proceed to the front door while she made her way across the ballroom toward the back, where another door led to the gardens behind the mansion.

  “Are you not dancing the minuet, Lady Rowena?” A deep voice sounded out as she passed a group of guests. She stopped, recognizing the slight Northern accents. When she turned, she found herself at once hot and cold, for it was indeed Lord Westmond who stood before her, tall and regal looking in his fine tailcoat.

  “I had promised it to a gentleman, but it appears he was delayed. I was going to take the air for a little while,” she said finding herself suddenly unable to look him directly in the eyes.

  “A fool. An utterly fool I declare, for missing the opportunity to dance with a lady as fair as you.”

  There was a grin on his face which made her feel at ease and she looked up at him. He was well over six feet and she had to look up to catch his eyes. They were an unusual grey color that reminded her of pebbles at the Brighton seaside. His hair, shoulder length and brown, was curly with rich sideburns by the side of his face. What she noticed above all was the earthy scent about him. A scent which reminded her of riding through the woods near her home after a rainstorm.

  “I would not declare him a fool yet, there might be a legitimate reason for his tardiness. Now, the music is about to begin, and it is unseemly for the sister of the hostess to not participate in the first dance, no matter the reason.” She bowed her head, ready to excuse herself. As she was about to turn away, he took a step toward her, extendin
g an arm.

  “There is no reason for you to miss the first dance. Allow me to escort you, Lady Rowena.” It was not quite a question and yet not quite a command. His arm hung in the air between them, ready for her to take it to be escorted to the dance floor.

  There was a determination in the way he stood and smiled at her. His face full of expectation.

  She nodded and placed her arm on his, feeling the strength of him as they touched.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly as they made their way to the dance floor and joined the line of other couples who were awaiting their sets.

  “I cannot allow a beautiful young lady such as yourself to suffer such humiliation. And besides, I had rather hoped for another dance with you.”

  She felt herself blush.

  “You are too kind. First you rescue my necklace and now me. It is no wonder my Father appears so fond of you.”

  He laughed out loud. “I imagine the reason why your Father is fond of me is that I know my way around a winery. In a business sense, of course.” He winked at her. “Although it does sound as though the vineyard is causing him quite the headache.”

  “It is. He should never have bought it. I know little of such affairs, but I can see how worn down he is from all the travel. Really, I worry for his health. He is not a young man.” The young Duke squeezed her arm as they stood, waiting.

  “I am glad I have made his acquaintance and I can help advise him. Do not fret, Lady Rowena, I will do all I can to assist.”

  Up ahead, Catherine opened the ball and displayed the steps of the dance to those in line, waiting. Across the dance floor, she caught the eye of her father who smiled at Catherine with pride. He stood by himself, evidently the search for Lord Thornmouth had been unsuccessful.

  “I am ever so grateful, for he needs the help. My brother, for whose benefit the vineyard was purchased, is no help at all. It is not right that my Father should have to carry such a burden. He is a good man. I do not like to see him so worried.”

  “You appear close with your Father,” the Duke commented. She glanced up at him.

  “I am. I have always found myself to be very much like him. It is why I fret so when he is stressed. It is why I do all I can to live up to his expectations.” She noticed a sad smile on the Duke’s face. “Have I said the wrong thing?”

  He shook his head. “Not at all. It is simply the notion of living up to one’s parent’s expectations. I fear I have failed my own Father in that regard.”

  She frowned for a moment, then reminded herself of her mother’s words of warning about frowning.

  “I am certain your Father would be proud of you. You are his heir, after all. You are Duke, following in his footsteps.”

  He shook his head. “It is my birthright to be Duke. Perhaps it is my burden to follow him in his footsteps. It was never my choice. The truth is, I spent many years living the life of a dandy instead of paying attention to the estate, instead of learning from him. I had no interest in the estate. The only thing that ever interested me was the vineyard. That, I must confess, was largely because it afforded me the opportunity to work alongside my brother, away from our Father.”

  She squinted as another couple whirled past them.

  “Was there a reason you sought to be away from your Father? It sounds as though you loved him and regret not being near.”

  “I did. And I do. But we had a difficult relationship. He was a strong man, and strong willed. He did not take advice kindly from anyone but my Mother. We butted heads often. After my Mother passed away some years ago, he became ever more stubborn.”

  He paused and sighed, his broad chest rose and fell.

  “Without my Mother to act as a bridge between us, we could not communicate anymore without a fight. He was hard on me, always. Harder still on my brother. Henry escaped to the vineyard shortly after my Mother passed away and eventually, so did I. It was easier to communicate with my Father by letter and messenger than in person.”

  She could not help herself, she squeezed his arm, which she had still been holding as they waited for their turn.

  “I am sorry you had such a trouble relationship with your Father. It reminds me of…” she’d nearly said ‘my Mother’, but thought better of it. “It must have been difficult when he became ill.”

  He nodded, unable to meet her eyes as he continued to look out over the dance floor.

  “I did not know just how unwell he became until it was too late. By the time I was alerted to it, we were almost ruined, and he was near death. He was hardly in a condition to speak. I shall regret it to the end of my days.”

  She blinked and glanced at him. No man had ever shared as freely with her as he did. Nobody had ever spoken to her in such a way, as if she were an equal. As if they had already known one another even though they had met but an hour ago.

  And yet, I feel as though I can tell him anything as well.

  Almost as if he had read her thoughts, he turned to her.

  “I apologize, Lady Rowena. It is not my custom to pour my heart out to a stranger. I just…well. It appears I find speaking to you comes easily. Which is quite unusual, as this does not happen often.”

  She nodded, holding his gaze.

  “I understand. I find it difficult to share my concerns with others as well. Not even Papa. Not even my sister. When we were children, it was my brother Charles who I would confide in, but as we grew that changed. Now the only person I can speak to as I please is Betsy.”

  “Betsy?”

  Rowena was about to answer and explain just how precious her friend was to her when something else caught her attention. Just as another couple passed them to dance their turn, she spotted her father. He was deeply in conversation with another, younger man. Rowena’s throat constricted and she felt herself holding Lord Westmond closer.

  She knew who he was before he ever turned around. When he did, her suspicions and her fears were only confirmed. It was him. She recognized him, and at last recalled their dances at the ball more than a year ago. The piercing eyes, the shaggy hair. Isaac Travers, the Duke of Thornmouth. Her future husband.

  Chapter 9

  Christopher could not stop marveling at the woman beside him. It was as if he were in a dream. She was everything he’d hoped for. He couldn’t explain it, but he knew more so than ever that he was right about her.

  He felt as though he had known her forever. The words spilled out of his mouth as though she were a trusted confidant, not a lady he’d known for mere moments. He would have, and could have, happily spent the entire evening talking to her, dance or no dance. However, just as the time came for them to prepare themselves for their turn on the dance floor, her demeanor changed.

  He felt it happen as much as he saw it. Her posture changed. She straightened up, her shoulder back in a regal, stiff manner. Her mouth which had flashed him smile upon smile was pressed together in a tight line he’d never seen before. And her eyes were narrowed, fixed at a point on the other end of the hall.

  What has happened to her? Have I said the wrong thing? What has vexed her so?

  He followed her gaze and saw her father standing there, talking to a young man.

  Christopher frowned. He knew the man. It was the angry fellow he’d seen at the House of Lords a few weeks ago.

  “Is that the Duke of Thornmouth?”

  Beside him, Lady Rowena removed her arm from his and let it hang limply by her side. She nodded without saying a word. Across from them Duke Thornmouth and Lord Hazelshire had set in motion and were making their way toward them. Christopher looked at the line of dancers. There were only two pairs ahead of them.

  “What is the matter, Lady Rowena? You look unwell. You’ve paled. Would you rather sit out this dance?”

  At last she looked at him, her eyes filled with such sadness and regret that it hurt his very soul.

  “I am ever so sorry, Your Grace. I will not be able to dance the minuet with you.”

  “But of course, do not worry
yourself with–”

  He got no further for at that moment, her father and the young man had reached them, just as the couple ahead of them took to the dance floor.

  “Look who has made an appearance at last, Rowena. The Duke had the most ghastly news from Cambridgeshire, ghastly indeed. There were riots regarding the–”

  “Yes, yes, very unfortunate,” the man said, cutting off Lord Hazelshire in a rude manner. He ignored Christopher entirely and focused right on Lady Rowena.

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, my dear. Now, shall we? I believe we are next in line.”