His gaze once more drifted across the compartment to Miranda, once more noting how beautiful she looked tonight.
No. He was happy to be right here.
Confusion wrinkled her pretty forehead. “But I don’t curtsy to you and Trent.”
“Certainly not!” His mother looked affronted by the idea, then she softened, giving Miranda’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “Except for tonight, of course, when you do.”
“Oh.” Her confusion deepened. “But if I’m supposed to curtsy to peers, how do I know if they’re peers if no one addresses them as your lordship or ladyship?”
Sebastian bit his tongue to keep from laughing. Leave it to Miranda to point out the illogical pomposity that was the English aristocracy.
His mother blinked, completely unprepared for that earnest question. “Well…just curtsy to anyone who looks important.”
Miranda nodded gravely at that sage bit of wisdom.
“Oh, and I must introduce you to the Duke of Wembley. A most interesting man. He’s had four sons, three daughters, two wives—”
“And a partridge in a pear tree,” Sebastian muttered edgily, reaching the end of his patience.
If he had to listen to one more lecture straight from Debrett’s, he would go mad. Tonight was Miranda’s official debut, and of course, he wanted everything to go well for her. But his mother’s instructions only served to make her nervous, and having had firsthand experience with the wreckage that a nervous Miranda could unleash…Well, no one needed that. Certainly not the St James House floors if she became too nervous to hold her glass of punch.
Tonight was going to be a trial for all of them.
Elizabeth Carlisle sighed patiently. “She needs to be prepared to meet everyone.”
“Not Wembley,” he contradicted. “The man’s as old as—” Good Lord, he almost said Moses, but stopped himself just as he remembered that Robert had called him exactly that. Wembley was over twenty years his senior. Was that how his brothers and the rest of the ton saw him, as stodgy and ancient as all that? “He’s too old for Miranda,” he said instead. “She needs to meet gentlemen her own age.”
“I don’t need to meet any gentlemen. I have enough on my plate just remembering my dance steps.” Miranda laughed lightly at the idea of suitors, and the lilting sound filled the small compartment like music. “Besides, however should I know to whom to give my attentions?” She gazed at him through lowered lashes in a goading look he knew was meant to appear innocent but unknowingly made her look surprisingly alluring. Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “I haven’t yet made out my list.”
His jaw clenched. An absolute trial.
“Just enjoy yourself tonight, my dear. You deserve a grand debut.” Mother hugged her warmly, placing a reassuring kiss on her cheek that made Miranda practically glow. Then she glanced out the window. “Oh goodness—we’ve arrived!”
Before the carriage came to a complete stop and the waiting footman could come forward to assist them, Sebastian had already opened the door and bounded to the street. Chesney’s carriage stopped behind theirs, and the rest of the Carlisle family disembarked. As Thomas Matteson led Josie toward the house, Robert hurried to take his mother’s hand as Sebastian handed her off to his brother to escort inside.
Then he reached back for Miranda.
When her gloved fingers slipped into his, he felt her tremble, and his chest clenched in sympathy for her. Yet she was a vision of composed elegance as she emerged from the carriage in a gown of green silk that matched her eyes, flattered her curves, and highlighted the red tones of her hair, which had been twisted and pinned into a mass of glorious red-gold curls on top her head. A silk-lined ermine stole warmed her shoulders, but she would remove it as soon as she entered the house, giving the crush of guests inside a glimpse of creamy smooth shoulders revealed by the ribbon straps of the sleeveless gown and a teasing hint of her breasts above the form-fitted bodice. With every inch of her, she appeared refined and beautiful, as if she truly belonged there among the quality.
She gave him a smile, one so nervous yet so filled with excitement that it tugged straight through him. He was glad she had this chance for a season, despite everything. She’d been waiting for this moment for far too long. And tonight, she shined gloriously.
Slipping his arm lightly around her waist, he helped her to the ground. “Careful,” he teased, leaning over to whisper into her ear. “Just because you’re wearing slippers doesn’t mean you have to slip.”
“Stop it, Sebastian,” she reprimanded, tapping him gently on the shoulder with her folded fan as he placed her hand on his arm and escorted her toward the door. “I’m nervous enough as it is.”
He gave her a half grin, then leaned in close again. “You look lovely.” He caught the faint scent of rosewater on her skin, and his grin faded with a tight knotting in his gut as memories of the masquerade came flooding back. “Beautiful, in fact.”
“Stop it,” she repeated, this time more softly, and instead of a smack of her fan, a blush pinked prettily at her cheeks.
He raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed her fingers, finding it endearing that she could blush so easily over a compliment that every other woman at tonight’s ball not only expected but saw as her birthright. “I wouldn’t lie about that.”
Then she nearly did trip on the front steps as she turned to stare at him in utter incredulity.
“Careful,” he warned again, hiding the warmth in his chest at her reaction. If he could so easily fluster her with the smallest of compliments, then what would she do if he told her the absolute truth, that not one of the women here tonight could hold a candle to her vivacity? And that he’d begun to admire her for it. With a nod, he brought her attention back to the entrance of the house. “You’ve arrived at your ball, Cinderella.”
Ablaze with glowing lamps, St James House sat full, the crush of people inside already spilling into the front foyer and drifting out into the lantern-lit side gardens, despite the winter chill in the air. The countess’s ball was always the most anticipated event of the season, one Olivia Sinclair carefully planned for months in advance. One Sebastian hoped his wife could match when he married and the time came to throw grand parties of their own.
He slid a sideways glance at Miranda, whose green eyes never stopped moving in an attempt to experience everything around her.
She would have gentlemen suitors this season, he was certain of it. How could she not, looking as beautiful as she did tonight, as full of life and glowing happiness? When she became a wife, would she be able to pull off an affair as lavish as this? The same woman who played pirates with orphans?
But then, this life was not hers in the first place, he reminded himself, feeling a stab of disappointment for her. This season, she was merely a visitor to this world, and the merchant or gentleman farmer she eventually married would have no need of formal balls and society soirees. Yet Sebastian had no doubt that Miranda would have given it her all. And that was what he admired most about her.
She handed her stole to the footman inside the foyer. Then Sebastian led her up the sweeping stairs to the first floor and along the hall to the rear stairs that curved down into the crowded ballroom below.
“You’re going to be wonderful tonight,” he told her in a low voice. Good Lord, how she trembled! “Just relax, be yourself, and enjoy your night.”
“Are you going to relax, be yourself, and enjoy the night?” she countered in a breathy whisper.
No. Those days were over. For him, tonight was about finding a duchess. The most he could do was enjoy the ball through her eyes. “I’m not a debutante,” he deflected.
“Too bad.” She looked straight ahead, but he saw the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “You’d look lovely in pink bows and lace.”
He choked back a laugh. Only Miranda could make him enjoy arriving at a ball.
The Master of Ceremonies waited at the top of the marble stairs, to take the invitations as each gues
t presented them and to announce their arrival.
Miranda tensed on his arm. When Sebastian glanced at her, the blush in her cheeks was gone, replaced by a pallid hue of pure nervous terror. But her smile was glued firmly in place, exactly as his mother had instructed. Even now, when she was terrified to the bone to be making her entrance, she was doing everything she could to please others, and his heart tugged for her. He understood that same pressure to please. But how on earth did Miranda do it, pleasing others while still being true to herself, while still keeping her love for life? He wished he knew, then maybe he could do it himself.
Hoping she wouldn’t faint before he could get her to the bottom of the stairs, he presented their invitations to the Master of Ceremonies. The garishly uniformed man, complete with white powdered wig and high heels, turned and stomped his long staff, then announced in a voice loud enough to cut through the noise of the crowd, “His Grace, Sebastian Carlisle, Duke of Trent…and Miss Miranda Hodgkins!”
He heard her gasp as the roomful of guests turned to stare at them as they stood poised at the top of the stairs before descending.
“Breathe,” he reminded her with a smile and a squeeze of her hand as they started forward.
Whispers rose through the ballroom below as he led her down, all the guests craning their necks to catch a glimpse for themselves of the new duke and the woman he was introducing this season. The beautiful woman he was introducing, he thought with chagrin as the stares of the men in the crush turned interested.
“Salmon fishers,” he muttered irritably beneath his breath.
“Pardon?” She glanced at him, the color returning to her face as the next couple was announced and the attention of the room diverted from them.
“I said…so many well-wishers,” he lied.
He didn’t know if she believed him, but she was too nervous to press. Thankfully. The last thing he wanted to do tonight was explain Quinton’s skewed theory of skirt-chasing to her and make her even more wary about the quality of the quality.
By the time they reached the floor, she was breathing normally again, her body much more relaxed and her cheeks once more the vivacious pink he found so charming.
He led her to his mother where she waited at the side of the room and released her with a bow. “Miss Hodgkins.”
She lowered into a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace.”
He grimaced inwardly. For some reason he couldn’t name, it grated whenever Miranda reminded him of his title. When he was with her, he wanted only to be Sebastian. “Enjoy yourself,” he told her. “I’ll be back for the first dance.”
She nodded as new anxiousness flittered across her face. Tonight was her formal debut, and as a special favor from the Earl and Countess of St James, they would dance the opening set as one of only six couples, with the full attention of the room on them. But oddly enough, he was looking forward to it, and to being the man who partnered her for her first society dance.
He retreated with polite nods to his mother and sister, to make his way through the crush in search of his brothers.
He found them near the refreshments table with glasses of Madeira already in hand and with Quinn doing his charming best to convince one of the footmen to bring him a bottle of St James’s private reserve cognac. Sebastian helped himself to Quinn’s glass, knowing from the size of the crowd gathered around the table that it would take a quarter of an hour before he could secure one of his own.
“You’re in for a busy evening,” Quinn taunted, slapping Sebastian on the back. “With Miranda to nanny—”
“And all those ladies on your list to not nanny,” Robert finished with a grin.
Sebastian raised the glass to take a large, welcomed swallow. “Tonight, I only need to secure dances, that’s all.” That would give him enough time with each lady to discover who piqued his interest enough for more serious pursuit.
Quinn laughed. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“This isn’t about fun,” Robert corrected with exaggerated earnestness, laying his arm across Quinn’s shoulders. “This is about Seb finding a wife.”
“Exactly,” Sebastian confirmed, wishing Quinn would have succeeded in getting the brandy. Tonight promised to be an excruciatingly long evening.
He glanced around the ballroom, and his eyes fell on Lady Jane Sheridan as she stood surrounded by a group of admirers. She looked decidedly regal in her gown of pastel pink satin and pearl-encrusted headband that held back her sable hair in a fashionable Grecian style. Her smile combined both a subdued pleasantry and a studied demureness that spoke to her good breeding.
Standing just behind Jane’s group of admirers, but clearly apart from them, Miranda shook with happy laughter over some teasing remark made to her by Thomas Matteson. Sebastian’s brow furrowed as he watched her sink into an exaggerated, giggling curtsy to the marquess. Decidedly not subdued, and not an inch of her demure.
“Ah, the lovely Lady Jane,” Robert mumbled as he followed Sebastian’s attention across the room.
Quinn craned his neck with open curiosity. “Is she to be your duchess, then?”
“I haven’t decided,” he answered, tearing his gaze away from Miranda and back to the earl’s daughter. But Jane was definitely at the top of his list, and he needed to make his way to her side before all her dances were taken. With Jane, he wanted a waltz. If he intended to court her—and so far, she was not only this season’s Incomparable but his own as well—then he wanted time alone with her before he made his intentions known. “But she has all the qualities I’m seeking in a wife. Good breeding, respected reputation, a family with political influence—”
Robert and Quinn broke into laughter. Sebastian shot them a cutting look that quelled their amusement. The last thing he needed tonight was interference from his brothers.
Or from Miranda. His gaze once more drifted to her, just as she flirtatiously flitted her fan at a young dandy who had requested a dance. His gut tightened with fresh irritation.
“It’s a shame, really—” Robert began.
“That they don’t auction off wives at Tattersall’s,” Quinn finished, choking back his laughter.
Sebastian said nothing, choosing to ignore his brothers’ antics tonight, and took another swallow of wine. They could taunt him all they wanted, but the reality was that his choice in wife was not his but one he owed to the title and to the prestige of the family. And to his father, for being with an actress the night Father died instead of with his family, a woman so inappropriate for him that he had to deceive them in order to be with her.
What he wanted as a man didn’t matter.
“The dancing will start soon.” He finished the glass of wine. “Go make your requests to dance with Miranda and make certain she has enough partners for the evening to enjoy herself.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Quinn commented with a nod of his head, drawing Sebastian’s attention to the interested looks of the men in the crush who noticed her arrival and were now making their way toward her.
“Good for her,” Robert murmured, letting his own gaze trail appreciatively over her figure.
A flash of annoyance pulsed hot through Sebastian. The last thing he needed to worry about tonight was Miranda and those gentlemen who were clamoring to meet her, falling all over themselves to request a dance from her, doing their best to draw her attention…And why the hell was Robert looking at her like that? He’d promised her to help make his brother notice her as a potential wife, not like…that.
“Request a dance, Robert,” he ordered, beginning to dislike the agreement he’d struck with Miranda. “And make certain it’s a waltz.”
He handed his empty glass to Quinn and strode forward, weaving his way through the packed room to Lady Jane. It was time to find a wife.
He reached her side, and the group of women parted around her to give him room to bow. “Lady Jane, you look lovely this evening.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” She smiled warmly at him, her eyes sparklin
g. “So good to see you again, Trent.”
They had been formally introduced two weeks ago at the Duke and Duchess of Strathmore’s breakfast, held to toast the start of Parliament. The breakfast had gone exceedingly well, and Lady Jane had moved to the top of his list. Looking at her now, he knew he’d made the right decision.
The dynamics exuding from the group of admirers flocking around her changed palpably at his arrival. The men narrowed their eyes on him in competition, and the women on her in jealousy. Good Lord, he’d be grateful when he’d settled on a wife and could go back to avoiding all this courting nonsense.
Ignoring them, he smiled at her. “I would like to request a dance, my lady, if you have any left.”
“I would be honored.”
“Dare I hope for a waltz?” he pressed.
A smile played knowingly at her lips. “Will the first one do, Your Grace?”
His lips twitched. She’d obviously been reserving that dance for him. So Lady Jane was not only accepting suitors this season but accepting him most of all. Instead of being relieved that he had no real competition for her hand, his chest tightened with consternation at the manipulation of the whole marriage charade the ton enacted every season. In which he had now been swept up.
He nodded his head to accept the waltz. “And so they go to it,” he mumbled beneath his breath as Hamlet inexplicably popped into his head.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” He smiled down at her. “Before the dancing begins, it would be my pleasure to escort you on a turn—”
He cut himself off. From the corner of his eye, he saw Diana Morgan enter the ball on the arm of her father, General Morgan, and heard the whispered hush that fell across the party at her arrival. In her white satin dress and with her blond hair swept high onto her head in a pile of golden curls, the woman looked simply angelic, and her presence captivated the attention of the entire room.
Including Miranda, who turned away toward the wall and raised her fan, but not before Sebastian saw the anguished expression on her face. His heart broke for her.
If the Duke Demands Page 11