“Here?” Lady Heather asked, her voice climbing an octave.
Amanda nodded.
“People are coming here?” the girl asked again.
Amanda laughed. “That’s what I said.”
“That’s never happened before,” Lady Heather said. “Father doesn’t throw parties. Is it somebody’s birthday?”
“No,” Amanda said. She was ashamed to admit the true purpose of the ball, so she changed the subject. “But even though it will be going on after you’ve gone to bed, I promise to set aside some of the sweets for you to have in the morning.”
The little girl beamed. “Sweets?”
“Yes, but you must be very good and not be cross about not being able to come down during the ball.”
Lady Heather pressed her lips together, frowning slightly. “But are you quite sure that Father doesn’t want me to at least be introduced?”
Amanda nodded. “Quite sure.”
“Are you going?”
Amanda hesitated. “Well, see it’s a grown-up party. And I am a grown-up. So yes.”
Lady Heather narrowed her eyes and Amanda feared that the small aristocrat would question the reason that a governess was to attend a society ball. Happily, she seemed to be too caught up in the injustice of not being able to go herself. Lady Heather lifted her nose into the air slightly.
“I will speak to Father about it myself.”
Amanda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You do that. Later. For now, we must begin your lessons.”
* * *
It rained all day, but Joseph found the persistent gentle tapping against his window pane soothing. Especially after the whirlwind visit from the Dowager Marchioness. He’d known her for years, of course, but he’d never had her in his home. Her eccentricity was amusing in short bursts, but having her around for any extended period of time was exhausting.
He leaned back in his chair, placing his pen in the ink pot and letting his letter dry. Closing his eyes, he listened to the rain. It would have been easy to drift off to sleep, but he was too busy thinking about this infernal ball that he had idiotically agreed to throw.
He had no idea what he was doing.
The letter on his desk at that moment was one he had penned to a friend, enlisting help in the matter of throwing parties. And then he had promised to get Miss O’Neil a new dress.
He’d been surprised by the sudden spark of shame he had felt when the old lady had chastised him for dressing Miss O’Neil in grey. He’d meant to treat her as any other governess or hired help. But he’d quickly found out during the Dowager Marchioness’ visit that Miss O’Neil was merely on loan to him, and that the Dowager Marchioness was full of plans for the young woman.
The thought saddened him, though he knew he had no right to be sad. True, Heather had taken to Miss O’Neil very easily, but a governess can always be replaced. And why shouldn’t he wish for Miss O’Neil to marry well and not have to work? It would be selfish to insist on her staying here when better opportunities were waiting for her.
I’ll talk to her tonight about dresses.
Sitting up again, he warmed the sealing wax above a squat candle on his desk and sealed the letter.
After dinner, he hesitated in the dark drawing room. The rain had slowed to a drizzle throughout the evening, and a thick fog had rolled across the fields, wrapping the manor like a heavy blanket. He has already called for the governess to be brought to the drawing room, but now he was nervous.
Nervous?
He noticed his heartbeat and how it was elevated as if through exercise, though he had merely been standing near the fire since dinner. He was going through phrases in his head, trying to decide how best to broach the subject of clothing. She would need a ball gown as well.
She had seemed to be perturbed by the idea of a ball. At the time, he had been comforted by her apparent agreement with him about the unpleasantness of such an event. Now he found that he felt guilty about getting her roped into it.
A soft knock came to the drawing room door and then she was stepping inside. Even in the simple gray dress, there was a lightness about her. Her fingers laced together so softly in front of her and her eyes lowered demurely.
“Miss O’Neil, please sit down. There are things we need to discuss.”
She obeyed silently, lowering herself softly into the same chair she had sat in the first time he had called her to his drawing room.
“The Dowager Marchioness was correct about your clothing, I believe,” he said, sitting down opposite her. Unconsciously, he mirrored her posture, lacing his fingers together on his lap. Her presence only made his elevated heart rate worse.
“If you think so, My Lord. Though I must insist that, personally, I am more than grateful for what I have, and I wouldn’t have even thought to ask for something more.”
“It’s my fault, Miss O’Neil. I may have…misunderstood your connection with the Dowager Marchioness. I had assumed that you were intending to be a governess indefinitely.”
“Oh, but I am,” she said, looking up at him suddenly with round eyes. “I…I don’t know what she told you, though I can guess. She wants me to marry someone wealthy and make a name for myself. But I…you see I…don’t think I want that. Not anymore. I’m very happy here, and I intend to stay for as long as you will allow me.”
He realized that she had no idea that he knew about her ill-fated engagement. She could see her thinking of her lost betrothed. It was as though a cloud had crossed in front of her, and her eyes went dark and misty. His heart ached, knowing how it felt to remember someone you’d lost.
“She told me about your betrothed,” he said, lowering his voice. “Please accept my deep sympathy for your loss, Miss O’Neil.”
He saw the muscles in her throat work as she swallowed, and when she looked up at him again, her eyes were wet. “Thank you, My Lord.”
“The Dowager Marchioness has a famously stubborn will, but you don’t have to do everything she says,” his voice was lower still, and feelings of guilt pricked at him as he spoke. Was he merely affirming her desire to stay at Ethelred Manor indefinitely because he wanted her?
“Like host a ball?” she asked tentatively, slightly raising a wry brow.
He sighed, laughing under his breath and shaking his head.
“I’m absolutely mortified,” she continued. “Believe me. I would never dream of even asking for anyone, let alone you, to host a ball for my benefit.”
“I’m sure the Dowager Marchioness did so precisely because she knew of your modesty. Perhaps she is right, though. At any rate, it will certainly give the gossip papers something to talk about.”
She licked her lips nervously, and her moistened lip gleamed in the flickering firelight. Joseph felt a thud in his chest as he was overcome by a sudden urge to draw his tongue across that lip.
He cleared his throat. “There is much to prepare. In the meantime, I need you to see to your dress. Have the bills sent to me. Clearly, matters of a lady’s attire should be left to the lady, so I trust your judgement in choosing an appropriate gown.”
“That’s really too generous, My Lord. I simply can’t—”
He interrupted her, rising to his feet. Perhaps it was too generous. Perhaps his desire to present her with gifts was too transparent. But he insisted all the same.
At his rising, Miss O’Neil stood as well. His pulse was still pounding, and his fingers still itched to touch her, and he felt like if she lingered with him too long in that dark, flickering light, he might do something foolish.
So, he said goodnight.
Chapter 11
Two weeks later, Joseph was chewing the inside of his cheek anxiously as people streamed into his ballroom. The room itself was large and square, with stone walls now adorned with garlands and many candles in sconces. It was bright and warm inside, and the sounds of people and music filled every corner.
He’d not seen this room filled like this, or even used at all, since the last time his
wife had thrown a party here. The memory of that night was like a sudden twinge of pain in his heart, but he couldn’t fall too deeply into depression as he was slapped on the back by an old friend.
Indeed, many of the people now milling about the ballroom could be described as old friends. In recent years, he had become withdrawn, focusing so intently on his daughter and merely trying to keep his head above the waters of grief. Filling this room with people once again gave him a hopeful, buoyant feeling, even if he was often struck by painful remembrances.
As he was drawn into conversation with a friend, Joseph’s eyes scanned the room intently. Miss O’Neil was nowhere to be seen. He knew that she would not fail to appear, as he had received a bill for a ballgown a few days previously. The amount had been smaller than he had anticipated, and he hadn’t known whether to commend her frugality or be insulted that she hadn’t availed herself more of his generosity.
He’d not seen the dress, though, nor had any description of it. So, as his eyes darted about the room, he had very little idea what he was looking for.
He was beginning to worry that she had gotten cold feet, when it occurred to him that she had not appeared yet because she was likely struggling to get his daughter to sleep, with all the excitement.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment…” he said to the small group of associates gathered around him. He slipped out of the ballroom otherwise unnoticed and strode through the house to the quiet nursery.
“Can’t I just sneak down and look?” he heard Heather’s voice from the other side of the door. He smiled gently.
“No, you must go to sleep. I promise to tell you everything, but I really must go down now…”
Hearing Miss O’Neil’s voice, he gently pushed the door open.
“Father!” Heather exclaimed, jumping out of bed and running to him.
Even as exasperated as she was while watching Heather leaping from the bed, Miss O’Neil was resplendent. As Heather jumped into his arms, he could not tear his eyes from her. The gown she wore was a pale pink that looked as soft and airy as a cloud at sunrise. Red rosebuds decorated the gown, bringing out the redness of her lips and the flush of her cheeks. Her hair, no longer in its serviceable yet utilitarian knot, was piled high with curls at the back of her head.
“Miss O’Neil, you—” he began, but he was cut off by Heather.
“Father, why can’t I at least peek at the party? It’s not fair.”
“You should already be asleep. You’ve made Miss O’Neil late.” His tone was gentle but firm. And when he sat his daughter back into her bed, she pulled the blankets up herself.
“It’s not fair,” she repeated.
“Sometimes things are not always fair,” he said. But as you lay there and go to sleep, just imagine the coming-out party you shall have one day.”
Heather’s eyes glittered as she looked up at him. “Really?”
“Of course. Though not for many years yet. You’re still just a girl.”
Heather was placated by this and did not object when he led her governess with him out of the room and closed the door softly behind them.
“I apologize, My Lord. I didn’t mean to be late. I did try to have her asleep early but she—”
“I know,” he assured her. “The Dowager Marchioness has only recently arrived herself, so it’s for the best as she is your chaperone, officially. I will walk you in.” He offered his arm to her, noticing her blush as she snaked her hand over his elbow. His breath quickened at her light touch, and it occurred to him that this was, indeed, the first time they had touched at all. His heart hammered in his chest, and as they walked through the dark corridors back toward the sounds emanating from the ballroom, he couldn’t stop glancing at her from the corner of his eyes.
Her profile was regal, and yet with the softness that can only come from a gentle spirit. She looked straight ahead, her apparent nervousness only adding to her the considerable charm of her appearance.
“I don’t care much for balls myself,” he said as they approached the double doors to the ballroom.
She chuckled a high-pitched little sound that showed just how anxious she really was.
“You’ll be fine. Assuming your dance card isn’t filled the moment you step in, you always have me to fall back on. Though I don’t know what sort of dance partner I will make after all these years.”
She blinked up at him. Her warm brown eyes looked surprised at his offer, though she didn’t say anything to that effect. “Thank you, My Lord.”
He smiled tightly at her as the door was swung open and they strode inside. Her grip on his arm tightened slightly, and he wished there was some way he could lend her some courage or confidence, but he was in low supply of both himself.
He led her directly to the Dowager Marchioness, who had taken up state in a large chair and was already surrounded by people.
“There’s my Miss O’Neil!” the old lady exclaimed, reaching for her.
“I will leave you here. Should you need anything…” he gave Miss O’Neil a communicative glance and she seemed to understand because she nodded her head shyly.
“And where are you off to so quickly?” he heard the Dowager Marchioness call behind him as he had begun to make his escape. After being physically so close to Miss O’Neil, he felt like he needed a breath of fresh air to cool his head.
“Nowhere,” he plastered a smile on his face as he turned back around. The people who had gathered around the Dowager Marchioness were all looking at him now. Miss O’Neil seemed to be studying her feet.
“Miss O’Neil should not sit out the first dance waiting about for a partner. Do you not think it proper to dance with her yourself?”
Joseph glanced around helplessly. The Dowager Marchioness was raising her brows expectantly. Apparently, she had the impression that the gentlemen in the room would be impressed to see the unknown Lady on the arm of a Marquess. It would boost her appeal by making her look like an in-demand dance partner. He could see through the old lady’s scheme, and it rankled him somewhat to be used in such a way.
Still, the opportunity to hold Miss O’Neil in his arms was impossible to turn down.
“I was just about to ask her,” he lied, smiling at the Dowager Marchioness and extending his hand to Miss O’Neil.
Miss O’Neil placed her gloved hand into his shyly and he led her away from her chaperone only moments after handing her off.
“I’m sorry,” Miss O’Neil said as they walked toward the middle of the ballroom as the dancers began to take their places. “She can be quite presumptuous, but I assure you she means no harm in it.”
“There’s no need for you to apologize for the Dowager Marchioness,” he said, “then, it has been quite some time since I have danced.”
“I’m sure no one will notice,” she said. She was so gentle, so kind. It was no wonder that Heather took to her so quickly. There was an easiness about her, a sort of casual look to her posture that put one at ease. She seemed of such a mild and loving nature that it was easy to imagine her being friends with just about anyone.
As the music started up, he was relieved to hear a tune he recognized. Once the dance steps began, he found that they came back to him readily. It was as though his mind had forgotten the dance, but his body had not. As long as he didn’t overthink it, he knew what to do.
Miss O’Neil seemed to notice his confidence recover, and she smiled at him. He noticed then how very long her eyelashes were, and how, when she smiled, the slightest hint of dimples formed in her cheeks.
“You were worried for nothing, I see,” she said as he took her hand and held it up as she passed beneath. Her hip brushed lightly against his thigh and he had to hold his breath to hide the effect such a slight touch had on him. He longed to take her into his arms fully and damn the dancing. Damn the whole ball. She was the only person in the room who seemed fully alive to him. She was a beacon of light in a room that seemed stuffed full of painful memories.
“I guess so
me things one never truly forgets,” he said, his voice sounding tight.
The gown she had chosen for the ball was rather modest compared to some of the other ladies’ gowns. By comparison, her simple elegance made the other ladies appear gaudy and garish. Still, the cut of its neckline was somewhat lower than her everyday attire, and the plump breasts he’d noticed before were on subtle display. The swell of her breasts that sloped up to the elegant curve of her neck to her ear enchanted him. The long expanse of milky pink skin seemed to call to him, begging to be kissed. He could imagine how it would feel to cup one of those breasts, squeezing gently as he plunged his tongue into her mouth.
Noticing the nascent swelling of a certain appendage of his person, Joseph quickly and abruptly averted his thoughts to safer waters.
Seducing The Perfectly Enchanting Marquess (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 8