Belle of the Ball

by Dayna Quince

  “You don’t look very happy this evening.”

  Anabelle held open her palm and the crinkled list. Hazel took it and opened the wrinkled paper.

  “Oh.”

  “I am very happy for them. It’s not the man I am envious of, it’s their soon to be wedded state,” Anabelle said morosely.

  “We’ve lots of time, Anabelle. There is no rush for us to wed.”

  “And no gentlemen of which to wed,” Anabelle said testily. “Unless eligible gentlemen of marriageable age are lurking in the shadows.”

  “Perhaps, I know of one at least,” Hazel returned smartly.

  Anabelle wouldn’t meet her sister’s gaze.

  “You pretend there isn’t something going on between you, but it is quite obvious there is. He’d be with you right now if you were not sulking in a corner. This isn’t like you, Anabelle.”

  “You don’t know that. I’ve never faced this sort of problem before. I can’t even predict what I will do.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “I want to be in love, Hazel.” I want the stars and the moon. I want my heart to beat frantically when he is near and sulk in his absence. I want him to look at me like he feels the same way. I want what Heather and Fallon have.”

  “Then perhaps you should open your eyes,” Hazel urged.

  Anabelle looked over at her. Hazel indicated to their left and across the room. There was Draven, quite pointedly looking at them.

  Anabelle averted her eyes. “I don’t love him. And he certainly doesn’t love me.”

  “No, perhaps not, but you both feel a great deal of something towards the other. He is coming over here now. I suggest you consider what I’ve said.”

  “What would you do, Hazel? What is it that you want from the man of your heart?” Anabelle said quietly.

  “I don’t know exactly, but I don’t want something I have to search for, I just hope I will recognize it when it happens.”

  Draven approached them. “Good evening, Lady Hazel, Lady Anabelle.”

  “Good evening, my lord,” the twins murmured.

  “This is our dance,” Draven reminded her. It would be their second of the evening, and it would be tantamount to a declaration of their own.

  Anabelle felt like she was standing on a cliff with a strong wind at her back urging her to fall. Hazel stepped away as her own partner found her and they moved towards the dance floor.

  Draven watched her, his gaze unreadable. “Do you wish to not dance?”

  Absolutely. But, no doubt, he would find a private place for them to rest, and she would not resist him. She would lose herself to the desire and be no better off than she was before. Perhaps even worse. “I don’t want that,” she stated.

  He frowned. “I’m not following.”

  “I don’t want to go somewhere private with you, because then I will succumb to your masterful tactics, but I’m also afraid to dance with you because…”

  He smiled crookedly. “You will succumb to my masterful tactics? I’ve never been more flattered.”

  She rolled her eyes and focused on him. “If we dance, what will it mean? It will be our second dance.”

  He sobered. “It will only be a dance if that is all you wish it to be.”

  “That is not what society will think.”

  “I don’t give a damn what society thinks.”

  “I do,” Anabelle returned angrily. “I don’t want my life dictated for me.”

  “No one is doing that. You give them too much power. Dance if you want to dance with me, or don’t. All I’m asking for is a dance. It doesn’t have to mean anything we don’t want it to. It can be just a dance, Anabelle.” He put out his hand.

  Anabelle felt her heart thud painfully. She felt like weeping and it was the most absurd thing. She nodded and put her hand in his.

  Setting it on his sleeve, he escorted her to the floor and they joined the throng of dancers, taking their place among them. The newly betrothed couple was staring adoringly at each other in front of them.

  The music started and Draven began to expertly lead her in a waltz. “He was on your list, wasn’t he?”

  Anabelle nodded once.

  Draven took a moment before he spoke again. An intense wave of jealousy spread through him. “Have you met before?”

  “Only very briefly. Certainly nothing to form any attachment to.”

  Draven pondered that. “Is he why you are upset?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “You didn’t care for him?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  “But you are distraught because he is no longer on your list?” Draven kept his voice calm and cool.

  “No.”

  Until now, she had been looking around the room. Finally, she looked up at him. Her eyes glittered with emotion.

  “He was the last name on my list. There are no more.”

  Draven clenched his teeth. Emotions ricocheted inside him. Relief, anger, jealousy, too many to name. He released a breath and reclaimed his voice. He looked down into her eyes. They twinkled under the chandeliers, a bit darker than usual.

  “You still haven’t put my name on your list, Anabelle. I am the only one of those men who sought you. They are fools.”

  She bit her lip. A slice of desire cut him across the stomach. A small line appeared between her brows. “I never considered that.”

  “Consider it now. It is I who asked to dance with you twice, even knowing you don’t want to appear attached to me in any way, and it is I who sees the stars in your eyes. Consider me, Anabelle.”

  She was silent. Her mouth slightly open—from surprise no doubt—and her eyes glittered in that way they did when she was aroused or annoyed with him. He liked that he had a claim to both emotions within her. He’d kiss her if they were alone, but alas, they were surrounded by fools.

  “Don’t look so astonished. I’m not the worst prospect in the world, or even on this dance floor.” He snorted, trying to ease the taught thread of tension between them or he might really kiss her—audience, be damned.

  She gave a huff of laughter and then smiled. “If you insist.”

  “Is that a yes?” He almost miss-stepped. A true testament of his surprise.

  “You’re not asking me to marry you, merely asking to be considered for marriage. Correct?” Her smile broadened teasingly.

  “That is correct. I am only begging for your consideration.” He smiled in return, victory singing in his chest.

  “You begging… Now, that is something I’d like to see.”

  “Careful or I may drop to my knees right here and beg to kiss you.” Color filled her cheeks and her lush lips clamped shut.

  Anabelle couldn’t believe what she had just done. Had she just made a bargain with the devil? He looked very pleased with himself, and when he had smiled at her, it had sent trails of tingling warmth to her stomach. It was a smile she wasn’t accustomed to. It was a genuine smile, and more shockingly, a happy smile. She had made him happy by agreeing to consider him. That was a revelation. She felt less like a pawn in his game and more like a treasured prize because of that smile. Did he truly care for her that much?

  It was dizzying.

  “My mother would like for you to come to tea, with your sisters and mother, of course,” she blurted. She felt warm enough to need a fan.

  “I’m sure they will be delighted.”

  “Excellent. My mother will send a note with the date and time. Now that the end of the season is nearing, our schedule is quite packed. A quiet afternoon tea will be lovely.”

  “Do you have time in your busy schedule for a ride in my phaeton? I have a lot of wooing to do before the season ends.”

  Anabelle giggled nervously. Draven, of all people, had actually said the words wooing. “I think I can spare some time.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow.” She nodded. “After afternoon calls.”

  “I shall be sure to come early and chase away all of Haz
el’s prospects. She was very appreciative before.”

  “She was indeed. There is only one prospect she wishes to entertain, and he doesn’t come calling or send flowers.”

  “Ah, I suspected as much.” Draven tilted his head to the side. “How troublesome to have daughters that need husbands.”

  “In a sense you have two.” Anabelle cocked a brow. He spun her in an elegant circle and their eyes locked again. His looked hard for a moment but then eased. “I suppose. But if we marry, I will release that burden to you and my mother.”

  Anabelle didn’t respond to that. The waltz came to a flourishing close and they nearly collided with Hazel and her partner on their return to their mother. Draven disappeared quickly after greeting her parents. Anabelle felt off kilter, but a sense of joy infused her. She didn’t want to dwell on the odd concoction of her feelings or their reason.

  Chapter 19

  Draven arrived early as promised and found Anabelle enjoying herself among a bevy of eager swains. They dispersed quickly after his arrival, which Hazel thanked him for, but even she seemed less perturbed by him than usual. In her hand, she held a sprig of witch hazel, its yellow blooms vibrant in her pale hands. He stared at it curiously before turning his attention back to Anabelle.

  “I see our second dance hasn’t dampened any spirits.”

  “On the contrary,” she waved one arm throughout the room. “Notice that we do not resemble a flower shop this afternoon,” she said cheerily.

  Draven was happy to see it, but there were still quite a few blooms. Lady Wellsford joined them shortly, handing Draven a missive for his mother. He took it dutifully and ushered Anabelle out the door to his Phaeton. As much as he actually enjoyed teasing Hazel and charming Lady Wellsford, he had serious business to attend to. Wooing was not natural to him and it would take all his attention.

  The afternoon was fine, a light covering of clouds, but no accompanying chill. Anabelle looked like a Christmas candy in a white day dress with thin red stripes. He found her delectably enticing. She unfurled her parasol and twirled it as he took the lane towards Hyde Park. Being seen driving with him was another one of those occasions that would lead the masses to thinking there was a budding engagement between them. He wondered if she would mention it or felt at ease because of it.

  He hadn’t been confident she would take to the dance floor a second time with him last night, but she had, and he hoped it meant that her opinion of him was changing. He’d never had to convince anyone of his better nature, never cared to actually. Though, with her, it felt like he was walking a fine line, and he didn’t want to falter.

  But what if he did fail? His pride had already suffered a blow by practically begging to be on her damnable list, and he was the last to boot. The last gentleman of her choosing and yet the only one to actively pursue her. He knew other gentlemen had interest. Her name was even in the betting books at Whites as one of the first to be wed this season. But none of them dared to actually approach her father, which is exactly what Draven had done.

  Perhaps she would be married by now if she hadn’t been determined to find herself a love match. Draven smiled smugly. Perhaps she would be engaged if Draven hadn’t been engaging her secretly. He hadn’t thought of that until now. Their little dalliance had kept her distracted as it had him. How fortunate for him. If he hadn’t been stealing kisses from her, she might have been stolen from under his nose.

  He needed to stake his claim. Once he did, no other man would dare to poach on his territory. This drive was a good start. A drive in the park was one of the many ways a gentleman could politely and appropriately stake his claim on a woman. He only hoped that the woman sitting next to him would want to be claimed openly by him.

  There was a lot at stake. A different weight settled upon his shoulders. It was the weight of uncertainty, the weight of pressure to not only wed, which he had never felt before, but also to specifically wed her, or his future happiness could be at risk. Draven had never considered what that idea meant. In the past years since his father’s death, he had simply carried on. Enjoyment came and went in fleeting moments like passing clouds. He didn’t consider himself unhappy, but happiness was something that sounded unattainable, like catching a star.

  Up until now, the idea of happiness was a figment of imagination, a children’s fable. Characters lived happily ever after in stories, people—real people, lived a life sometimes good and sometimes bad and then they died. Was there more to it than that? He looked at Anabelle from the corner of his eye. She was smiling at two boys chasing a ball down the walk.

  Draven had never wanted happiness until now, and he honestly believed happiness would be found in marriage with Anabelle. He didn’t know what he meant exactly, but if happiness were an obtainable thing, then surely it was waking up next to her in the morning, claiming her body at night, and listening to her peck and lecture him about his less than appropriate behavior.

  He wondered what she would think of his rambled musings. No doubt, his own mother would be quite shocked if she knew what he was thinking. Even he barely recognized his thoughts at times. He’d never taken the time to consider these things before. Was this what women thought about?

  He snorted.

  “Did you say something?” She turned to him.

  He kept his gaze on his horses. The street got more crowded the closer they got to the park. “I was just thinking.”

  “Really?” she said with skepticism.

  “Yes, really. I do, on occasion, think of things,” he said dryly

  “What sort of things?” she asked with dubious interest.

  He cut his eyes to her for a moment before returning his attention to the street. “Women, their odd behaviors, things of that sort.”

  “Our odd behaviors? Have you considered your own behavior of recent?” She laughed.

  It was a tinkling light laugh, and although he should feel a measure of insult, he was enjoying himself. “I have considered my behavior, actually.”

  “And?” She angled herself towards him.

  “I never said I understood it. I just go with it. If I want something, I take it. If I decide to do something, I do it. My methods haven’t failed me yet.”

  “If you want something, you just take it? Including women?”

  “It depends on the context. If I want a woman, I can be sure she wants me, too.” He slowed as they approached an intersection and glanced at her. Their eyes met, and he was sure to let his meaning show. Her cheeks had a beautiful pink flush. Good.

  “And if she doesn’t want you?”

  “They always want me.” He winked.

  That earned him a playful swat.

  “Such arrogance.”

  “You deny that you have desired me? Don’t play games Anabelle. We are far too gone for that.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, using the parasol as a shield between them. “This is not the time or place to discuss such things.”

  “No one can hear us.” He flicked the reins and they began to move again. “I’ve done my part to show my interest. I’ve spoken to your father, I’ve gained your agreement as well, but the real question is… what do you want, Anabelle?”

  She was silent for a moment. “I’ve told you what I want.”

  “You’ve certainly laid out a foundation, but there are pieces missing, aren’t there? First with the ridiculous list—”

  “My list was not ridiculous. It was simply a means to—”

  “Narrow down husbands, yes, much like chores or tedious obligations one must tend to. But you spoke to me of love. How can a list show you love?”

  “That’s laughable coming from you.” She returned tartly. “The list was simply a means of direction. If I am to be honest, I will admit that I don’t know anything about love or how to identify it.”

  Draven considered that. “Nor do I. Do you think you’ve witnessed love?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I believe Heather and the duke love each other. I base my
idea of love on them.”

  “Not your parents?”

  “Well, I’m certain my parents love each other, but there are other aspects to their love I am not and would rather not be privy to, but I can recognize it as something I want.”

  She hesitated, but Draven was sure what her next question would be.

  “Were your parents in love?”

  He shrugged, struggling to find a memory of them together. He spent so little time thinking of those days. It was easier that way. “It is only recently my mother has been well enough to leave her bed.” He could feel her gaze on his face. He felt uncomfortable sharing something so private, but with Anabelle, only complete honesty would do.

  “I’m sorry she was ill,” she said.

  “She wasn’t ill, not in any traditional way. My father died, and suddenly, she didn’t have the will to get up. I was sure she was going to die, too. I did everything in my power to prevent that, frequent visits with my sisters, fresh flowers daily… I read to her, had the girls perform plays for her and sing for her. Anything and everything to see the glimmer of a smile, to hope that she could care a little less for him and a little more for us. At least enough to keep living.” Draven clenched his jaw. The memories made him angry all over again.

  Anabelle was silent. He was upset now, that much she could tell. She was amazed he would share something so intimate with her, something so personal and obviously, painful. It was as if his façade was cracking, and underneath, there was a completely different man, a human. Ethan. He was hiding who he was or at least a very large part of himself.

  “I’m sorry. That must have been very difficult.” She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she wasn’t sure that was something he would want. There was still so much she didn’t know about him.