Page 2 of A Deal with an Artistic Lady (Marriage Deals #2)

Caleb stood at the double doors to the ballroom with his Mother – who had incessantly complained without pause in the carriage - and his sister, whose pale arms trembled with excitement at the prospect of the evening ahead. In a brief moment of darkness, he closed his eyes and willed himself to be strong in his demeanour and accepting of what he felt unable to change. He had to trust in his Father’s good judgment and allow the evening to play out.

He became aware of the change in light as the doors were pulled open and he flitted his eyes open with them, instantly assaulted by the sounds, smells and visual overwhelm of the Haworth ballroom.

‘His Grace, the Duke of Montwood!’ a baritone voice boomed as Caleb stepped forward.

The sea of bodies in their finest gowns and tailcoats, which had been mingling and moving, immediately stilled at the announcement and all faces turned toward the door. There was an audible collective intake of breath at his presence. Caleb had to fight to keep his eye-line upright when his consciousness willed him to look at the floor. He was not a bashful man but he did not enjoy attention and even less did he appreciate gossip, which was the secondary reaction. Curls bobbed as ladies ducked behind curved palms to whisper into the ears of their friends. Knowing looks passed between mothers and daughters. A hush of low-whispered voices and soft giggles travelled through the vast room in a wave. It was Caleb’s instinct to turn and leave, which he could never and would never do – he had a solid reputation to uphold and he abhorred bad manners. It was just one evening to endure - he could do that, for the memory of his Father.

‘Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Montwood!’ the voice boomed again as Caleb stepped further into the room and his Mother followed behind. He risked a look over his shoulder to see if her posture had improved. Her expression denoted that of a woman who had stepped in something unpleasant. Her sourness was only more pronounced in contrast to the wide-smiling young lady following behind her.

‘Lady Emmeline Exley!’ As his sister was announced, Caleb’s mind flashed forward to next year when it would be Emmeline’s debut season – to Caleb, she was still a tottering cherub and he could not quite envisage her coming out into society so soon, but as he regarded the crowd of faces, he saw many a young gentleman’s eyes glitter as they fell upon Emmeline. Caleb squared his shoulders; he would be his sister’s protector and it would seem next year’s season would not be without its challenges.

He brought himself back into the moment. He had to be present and alert. As a group, his party surged forward into the ballroom and the crowds sunk back in response, making room for them.

Caleb’s expression was one of apathy; his lips a straight line, his eyes disinterested. One could not have guessed at his inner turbulence or conflict of emotions. Internally, he cringed at the attention from the crowd, but he forced his face to betray none of the apprehension he had caught in the mirror that same evening.

He stood very still, assessing the room, searching for familiar faces – there were many, but none that he felt comfortable in approaching. As his eyes alighted on each one, they would greet him with a smile or a little wave – he met their familiarity with a subtle nod of the head. Then his eyes found his oldest friend, Lord Albert Dutton and a wave of relief rushed over him. Albert gestured him over. Caleb turned to his mother and sister.

‘Ladies, are you quite settled? I must converse with Dutton…’

Anne and Emmeline nodded without fuss and Caleb strode purposely across the floor to join his friend.

As Caleb approached, Albert outstretched his arms, a broad smile on his face.

‘Montwood!’ he welcomed, reaching for his hand.

Caleb happily shook his friend’s hand, a rare smile gracing his face ‘Dutton! I trust you are well, good man?’

‘Indeed I am. I daresay you are too, since tonight is pitched to be a memorable one…’ Albert raised one eyebrow suggestively and took his cue to change tack as Caleb dropped his eyes to the floor and huffed awkwardly.

‘You are familiar with Lord Nathaniel Bryant, Viscount of Leyland?’ Albert gestured towards a tall, slender man with a defined, angular face.

‘I do not believe we have had the pleasure…’ Caleb bowed to Nathaniel.

‘I know of you by your honourable reputation of course,’ Nathaniel responded, bowing in return.

‘Ah,’ Albert corrected, realising his presumption; ‘His Grace, the Duke of Montwood…’ Albert introduced to Nathaniel.

‘Montwood and I have been friends since Eton, haven’t we, old boy? We were dormitory neighbours in our first year and there commenced an instant bond, wouldn’t you say?’ Albert’s eyes darted between the two men, addressing them both with the ultimate effort to maintain social pleasantness for both parties.

‘Indeed. My closest confidante,’ Caleb nodded. ‘Though one might question why a boy should trust a friend who placed vegetables in his shoes…’ he added, with a sideways smirk at Albert.

Albert erupted into animated laughter.

‘A mere prank! To express my fondness!’

‘A strange method of expression,’ Caleb goaded, then added in lower tones ‘and rather messy toes…’

Nathaniel laughed along in good spirits.

‘Lord Nathaniel Bryant’ Albert continued on with his formal introduction ‘we met through mutual acquaintances – he is the esteemed cousin of Lady Sophia Camden…’

‘Ah!’ Caleb’s eyebrows raised in understanding and Albert widened his eyes by way of warning, for only Caleb to see, urging him to be discreet.

‘Your cousin is a friend of the family,’ Caleb elaborated. ‘Dutton’s family – and by extension, mine, as I consider Dutton as a brother.’

‘I am pleased to hear of it. We shall all be friends!’ Nathaniel expressed extravagantly.

Caleb forced a smile which only appeared on one side of his face.

‘Your Grace, are you an enthusiast of the Arts?’ Nathaniel enquired.

Caleb was wrong-footed by the question.

‘I am an academic. I favour science and factual analysis over creativity,’ Caleb clarified.

Nathaniel looked momentarily disappointed, then found a benefit.

‘As a result, all the richer our conversation should be!’ He laughed again and Caleb shifted uncomfortably.

‘And is your cousin Sophia present here this evening, Lord Bryant?’ Caleb encouraged the conversation along.

Albert looked keenly to Nathaniel for the answer.

‘Indeed she is. I am yet to set eyes on her – though, as the closest friend to Lady Hannah Haworth, I would expect she is tending to her skirts and tresses ahead of her presentation,’ Nathaniel explained.

‘Then perhaps we should be fortunate enough to meet with her later…’ Caleb intimated, looking pointedly at Albert, who allowed himself a subtle eye-roll at his friends’ jesting.

A loud trumpet sounded, interrupting their conversation and causing a collective startle throughout the ballroom, followed by laughs of exclamation and the eventual quietening of chatter.

‘Presenting Lady Hannah Haworth of Haysendale!’ the booming voice from earlier announced and a ripple of excitement tripped its way around gathered pods of people, whose faces all turned toward the sweeping staircase.

A string quartet started up – some romantic tune Caleb vaguely recognised - and a figure appeared on the platform at the top of the broad staircase. All eyes in the room were set upon her.

She was slim, with a delicate paleness and tendrils of blonde hair that cascaded down from her sparkling tiara to graze her smooth shoulders. Her dress flowed down the first few steps as though she had been positioned just so, to posture for a portrait painting, although in reality she had only just appeared and the dress fell so by lucky happenstance. It was a pastel yellow hue, resplendent with lace trim and intricately affixed pearls. Taking in her whole appearance with his eyes, Caleb came to rest upon her face and what he saw there caused him to inhale sharply.

Her eyes were wide and bright – in truth, she looked a little frightened; not the unconventional artist with a carefree disposition that he had built up in his head since his Mother had planted the idea of Hannah being a Painter.

There was a vulnerability in the way her eyelashes batted rapidly, taking in the scene of people below her. He could not make out the colour of her eyes from the distance at which he stood, but her irises caught the light of the lanterns and touched something deep within Caleb’s chest.

A waiter passed, balancing a tray of glass flutes – Caleb hungrily grabbed at one and sunk back the amber liquid, believing perhaps the sensation in his chest was the result of dehydration mixed with anxiety about the evening.

Albert noticed his friends’ eagerness to suppress a feeling and smiled quietly to himself.

Caleb looked once again at the girl on the staircase and appraised the rest of her face – her flawless skin was that of a porcelain doll and her full lips sat in a coy half-smile. She was quite beautiful. Caleb had not expected beauty to be a factor. He supposed it was a benefit, that he should not have to accompany an ugly woman on his arm for the remainder of his life, but he realised at that moment that he had never actually wondered about Lady Hannah Haworth. She had hung in his mind as an item to strike off his 'to do' list – a mandatory addition to the life his Father had scripted for him. He had never taken pause to consider what she might look like; whether they should become friends. He’d only hoped she would be mild in temperament so as not to cause upheaval in his lifestyle.

Hannah stood for what felt like far too long. Her Mother had instructed her to wait until the quartet reached its crescendo before she began her descent of the steps. Truly, in rehearsal, it had felt like mere seconds, but standing on that platform above the crowd, with the sole expectation that they should be looking at her, she felt every crushing judgment on the faces of mothers, noted every sparkle of envy in the eyes of girls and received it as a stab; she felt the unwholesome desires of the men appraising her body. She wanted none of it – yet she was compelled to stand there, forcing a smile that felt artificial and inadequate.

Her hands were trembling – could they see? Her heart fluttered like a caged bird trying to escape and as she considered her audience might mistake her elongated stance as fear over how to negotiate the stairs, she suddenly became very worried that she might trip. It had been an ongoing familiar joke between Sophia and herself – the humiliation that would be borne of a fall on the stairs during your debut. They had never seen it happen, but it loomed as both a devastating and comedic possibility among their peers. Hannah looked down at her skirts, which folded over the first step; with only two beats of the melody before her descent should begin, she bent to lift her train and poised herself to walk. It felt quite suddenly like an impossible task, but the moment had almost arrived. She took a deep breath, which was painful in her incredibly tight corset Lucy had bound her into, muttering apologies as Lady Evelyn had stood instructing ‘ tighter still!’

Hannah felt certain she would fall – a graceful tumble of yellow fabric, but a fall that would tarnish her reputation forever more – when suddenly she saw her Father in the crowd. He was standing at the front, naturally, waiting to receive his daughter for their first dance. His presence and proud expression grounded Hannah and fortified her.

Lord Vincent Haworth, Marquess of Haysendale raised his face to where his youngest daughter stood, looking so refined and radiant. His eyes had glazed over with an overwhelm of pride. He had intended to look about the room upon her arrival – to consider the faces of his esteemed guests; to watch their reactions at the presentation of his daughter. In particular, he had hoped to seek out the face of His Grace, the Duke of Montwood, to contemplate any fondness he may see there. However, Lord Vincent’s attention had been entirely stolen by Hannah as she appeared upon the staircase, rending him blind to anything other than his captivating daughter, in her special moment.

The crowd seemed to take a collective sigh of relief as she arrived at the bottom of the stairs – she had seemed unshakably confident as she glided down the steps without so much as a glance toward her feet. No other could be as relieved as Hannah though. She had kept her eyes steadfastly on the face of her Father – the kindness and warmth in his eyes drew her to him. The rustling of the folds of her dress was the only sound to accompany the strings and it was deafening to her. As she arrived in front of her Father, he took her hand and bowed to kiss it.

The music for the Father-Daughter dance began and Hannah breathed deeply as the focus of all eyes in the ballroom lost their interest and transferred back to their respective conversations.

‘You are glorious this evening, my darling daughter,’ Vincent said by her ear as they danced.

‘Thank you, Father,’ Hannah responded, noting how breathless she sounded as she spoke. It was a combination, she concluded, of the headiness of her debut and the restriction of her corset.

As they danced, Vincent was acutely aware of the eyes upon them. He felt so proud – the crowd admiring her; ladies whispering to each other and smiling with approval. If only they knew, he thought covertly, how extremely talented she also was. Her affinity with art was not an activity his wife encouraged, but Vincent knew how much he had enjoyed draughtsmanship in his younger years and how he had been an acclaimed student in the topic. He understood, therefore, the enjoyment Hannah experienced in creating and he could relate to the satisfaction of completing an impressive piece. Despite his empathy, he allowed her mother to dictate what Hannah should or should not spend her time on. She had skill though, that much was undeniable.

Once their first dance had concluded and Hannah was free to mingle, she made it her sole intention to find Sophia and attempt to avoid as many well-intentioned comments from party guests that may act as an obstacle on the pathway to her friend. Hannah knew she was expected to meet new people and socialise – it was why her father had spent such a lot of money orchestrating this event – but first, she needed to decompress and dissect her staircase debut with her best friend.

‘Darling, you were stupendous!’ Sophia exclaimed as she embraced Hannah with gusto.

‘Never have I been so tremulous!’ confessed Hannah, trembling still slightly, at her friend’s shoulder as she received her warmth and comfort.

‘Gallant, composed and graceful…’ came a voice Hannah recognised. She extracted herself from Sophia’s grasp to look around and there she saw Lord Nathaniel Bryant, looking terribly grand in his finest apparel.

‘Lord Bryant! Nathaniel - a joy to see you!’ Hannah bobbed her head and shoulders in greeting.

Nathaniel bowed from the waist. ‘Truly, the pleasure, Lady Hannah, is entirely mine. What a splendid display and how elegant your appearance!’

‘Thank you, my Lord,’ Hannah replied – with any female friend, she would no doubt reveal the apprehension she’d experienced and her visceral belief that she had appeared ungainly and incompetent. For Nathaniel, she merely smiled with her gratitude.

The three of them found themselves standing by the refreshment table which displayed an indulgent array of choice.

‘Shall we have something to drink, ladies?’ suggested Nathaniel, gesturing toward the table.

‘I’m not sure I could consume anything in this corset,’ Hannah confided to Sophia, who giggled in response.

‘Do try,’ she whispered back.

Hannah simply watched as Nathaniel asked for a glass of wine, his cousin Sophia following suit with a delicate glass of lemonade. As they gathered their drinks, they looked to Hannah with expressions of encouragement. Hannah stepped forward and accepted a lemonade as well.

They went to a quiet corner and - keen to distract her friends from the unlikelihood of her drinking at all, due to both her waist restriction and her jittery nerves - Hannah launched into a topic she knew would engage them entirely.

‘Are the rumours correct, my lord, that you have discerningly procured an original Sir Thomas Lawrence portrait?’

Nathaniel’s eyes lit up at his favourite subject.

‘Indeed I did! My cousin has been offering up my gossip, no doubt?’ Nathaniel glanced playfully at Sophia, who smiled and shrugged.

‘Have you yet been in receipt of it, or are you anticipating delivery?’ Hannah asked, enviably.

‘Why it arrived just this afternoon. I had my steward affix it in the library, however, I am of the afterthought perhaps it should command elite positioning in the entranceway or lounge.’

‘But of course it should, dear cousin,’ Sophia insisted. ‘Tell me how rarely one might take tea in the library?’

Nathaniel laughed at the suggestion. ‘Well, never!’

‘Then you understand my point. Certainly, we should want to admire it whilst we take tea. I would suggest the dining room or drawing room would be most suitable.’

Nathaniel considered this, with a perplexed expression.

‘Whilst I appreciate your opinion is undoubtedly correct, I am conflicted as already the walls in both those sociable rooms are adorned by my absolute favourite paintings.’

Sophia’s eyes flicked to the left top corner of her vision, clearly recalling the pictures in her mind.

‘They are bold and handsome – compulsory assets to any artwork displayed in prime positions … however, I feel compelled to assert that the Sir Thomas Lawrence must be visible to all visitors. Such a commendable purchase and quite the talking point.’

‘I acquiesce,’ Nathaniel assented, with a smile. ‘I shall have my steward relocate the painting tomorrow morning.’

‘Lady Hannah and I shall enjoy visiting you to view it in its advanced location!’ Sophia jested.

‘Why of course, you must!’ Nathaniel looked to Hannah for approval.

Hannah shrugged happily ‘I should be honoured to visit and view the painting, wherever it should be – hang it in an understairs pantry and I would still be an avid spectator!’

They all laughed and Nathaniel assured her ‘Certainly, it should not be there!’

The three of them took a moment to glance about – Hannah was satisfied to notice that the eyes of the room were no longer assessing her, but focused instead on their drinks and amiable company.

‘Lady Sophia tells me, Lady Hannah, that your most recent creation is quite astounding?’ Nathaniel enquired.

‘Oh…’ Hannah looked bashfully at them both. ‘I simply paint what I see, my lord. I do not consider it astounding in the least…’

‘She tells me you have been experimenting with perspective. It is a valiant approach – I should be anxious to see it for myself, if I may be so bold?’

Hannah was quite taken aback.

‘It is not yet finished…’ she blushed at the prospect of a gentleman viewing her art, which she produced purely for the love of creation and never with any grand delusions of display.

‘This is true,’ Sophia agreed. ‘However, your sunflowers are completed – as is the stunning beach landscape…and the painting of Haysendale estate…’

Hannah raised her eyebrows, considering her recent creations.

‘So many to speak of!’ Nathaniel exclaimed ‘why, you practically have a gallery!’

‘She sincerely does! And each one a treasure!’ Sophia gushed with enthusiasm. ‘Although the tragedy is that they are stored stood facing a wall; never seeing the light of day…’

‘Why, that is a catastrophe! You should be exhibiting!’ Nathaniel enthused.

His expression was so genuine; so full of faith in her that Hannah felt at once validated. The artwork she produced that her Mother poured scorn upon; that her Father agreed was not a lucrative investment of energy; that her sister would never entertain as a valuable pastime. This man saw her; he had a conviction for her artistic pursuit and empathised with her passion. Hannah smiled as she took a deep breath; momentarily whisked away from the glittering ballroom with its rigid formalities. For the first time that evening, she felt relaxed and at ease.

Sophia and Nathaniel smiled with her, soaking up the good feeling. Sophia’s eyes flitted upwards, behind Hannah.

‘Your Mother approaches…’ she warned ‘perhaps we should change the topic…’

Hannah felt her posture immediately straighten and she turned to greet her Mother with a smile prepared to mask her apprehension.

‘Mother!’ she beamed as Sophia and Nathaniel prepared to greet Evelyn.

‘Hannah,’ Evelyn came to a stop near her daughter and took a moment to appraise her visually. ‘Why, that was delightful. Your appearance quite brought water to my eyes and heat into my heart.’

Hannah exhaled with a rush of relief and joy. It was a rare thing for her Mother to bestow compliments upon her.

Going closer to her daughter so that she was out of earshot of Lord Bryant, Evelyn continued;

‘Extra practice with Lucy was certainly worthwhile. I shall commend the girl.’

Hannah’s shoulders slumped slightly that the compliment should not be entirely to her but that her Mother should assume credit was due elsewhere.

‘Mother, you remember Lord Nathaniel Bryant, of course,’ she gestured towards Nathaniel and Sophia.

Lord Bryant bowed at the waist and Evelyn smiled, bobbing her head in return.

‘May I offer my gratitude, Lady Haworth, for the excellent hospitality. Such an exquisite event in honour of your talented daughter,’ Lord Bryant greeted her.

‘Talented?’ Evelyn questioned the adjective; a flash of concern upon her face.

Sophia, with a deeper understanding of the complexities at play, jumped in to save Nathaniel from inadvertently shaming Hannah by mentioning her paintings to her misguided Mother.

‘One must be talented to negotiate that staircase in a trailing gown!’ Sophia said too loudly, laughing heartily. Hannah and Nathaniel joined her in her laughter and Evelyn half-smiled, looking among the three of them with an expression of bewilderment.

‘Hannah, I regret to extract you from your fine friends…’ Evelyn reached out to hold her daughter’s arm ‘Your Father would have you meet with His Grace, the Duke of Montwood…’

Evelyn dipped her head and raised her eyebrows, fixing her daughter with eyes that told Hannah this was not a mere request.

Immediately, the relaxed ambience of moments before fell away as Hannah’s chest gripped with anxiety. She had heard of this Duke of Montwood through social circles – a stoic man society said, quite disinterested in most things. If she were to paint a picture of such a man, he should be a very tall tree, blackened from a lightning strike, so high above everybody else that he did not lower himself to consider them and his arrogance constituted pretension that rendered him oblivious to the darkness everybody else saw in him.

Hannah shook her head to banish these thoughts. If her Mother knew she always framed her thoughts about a person or a situation with a method of a ‘ how would I paint this?’ she would be incredibly angry.

Tonight, Hannah had to extinguish her imagination and creativity – tonight she had to be beautiful, courteous, amiable, and sociable. She swallowed hard on a lump that had formed in her throat as she turned to bid her friends a brief goodbye.

Nathaniel dipped his head with a relaxed smile and Sophia – understanding the weight of the scenario – reached out to squeeze Hannah’s hand and offered a flash of an encouraging grin.

Hannah smiled sadly back and took a deep breath as her Mother linked arms with her to cross the ballroom.

Evelyn spoke in a low voice, her head inclined towards her daughter as they walked.

‘His Grace, Caleb Exley, inherited his estate and fortune from his Father prematurely, after his unfortunate early demise.’

‘Oh,’ Hannah whimpered compassionately, feeling some sympathy for this intimidating Duke she had yet to meet.

‘Your Father did a lot of business with the late Duke of Montwood. They held each other in high regard and were fond confidantes in their youth.’

As they parted crowds on their approach, Evelyn straightened up, plastering a smile upon her face to greet individual faces in the sea of people that she found familiar or notable.

Now her Mother had stopped talking, Hannah knew the moment was upon her. Her parents were not introducing her to this Duke without some intention. She pulled herself to her most elegant height, batted a barrel curl away from her face and – stealing a glance at her Mother’s expression – echoed it. Chin up, eyelids feathery light, wide smiling mouth, graceful neck.

Lord Vincent had been humouring Caleb with fond tales of times spent with the late Duke of Montwood, Caleb’s Father.

‘If it had not been for his interception at that precise point in time, I daresay the scoundrel would have gotten away with it all. Your Father had a sharp intuition and unparalleled perception,’ Vincent assured Caleb.

‘Indeed he did, my Lord, though it is generous of you to say so,’ Caleb nodded sombrely.

‘You certainly follow your Father superficially – and I perceive from mere minutes of speaking with you that you inherited his inimitable wit also, do I presume correctly?’

‘A man who should agree would lack humility. I strive to be the man my father was.’

Vincent nodded his head just once, satisfied with this response.

As they sensed movement through the crowd, they both turned to see the two ladies moving toward them.

‘My wife and daughter…’ Vincent advised under his breath before straightening up.

Caleb felt suddenly unprepared – the nostalgic conversation made him vulnerable. He quickly pulled himself up to his full height, lifted his chin, and set his mouth in a firm line that betrayed nothing.

Then he saw her for the first time up close. He searched out her eyes which had only previously reflected the lanterns – he was intrigued as to what colour he would find in them. She was looking at the floor, but as she raised her eyes, they met his instantly. Hazel-green. She had hazel-green eyes. And her skin was as flawless as it had appeared on the staircase.

Caleb took a sharp intake of breath as he registered a strange sensation in his chest – the same he had felt earlier when he saw this young lady on the balcony above the stairs. He breathed out slowly, willing the feeling away. He was here to fulfil a duty; to honour his Father’s wishes. No other emotions were appropriate in this formal space.

Then she was there, standing right in front of him and – whilst he held his gaze politely upon her face – he felt the urge to smile. He suppressed it. Friendliness was surplus to requirements.

‘Ladies, may I introduce his Grace, Caleb Exley, the Duke of Montwood…’ Vincent’s voice had taken on a stiff formality since his hushed gentle conversation with the Duke.

‘Your Grace, please meet my wife, Lady Evelyn Haworth of Haysendale…’

Caleb bowed to Lady Evelyn as she curtsied, with a smile tickling at the corners of her mouth.

‘…And my daughter – Lady Hannah Haworth of Haysendale…’

Here, Vincent paused, indulging in the moment. Both he and Evelyn’s eyes turned between their daughter and the Duke as if they were watching a match of tennis.

The Duke seemed disappointingly detached – his face remaining stoic and sombre as he regarded Hannah by looking down his nose at her. He was polite and cordial but gave no indication as to whether he was pleased to meet their daughter.

Hannah – looking more radiant that night than they had ever seen her – had a sparkle in her eyes that suggested she approved of their choice. The blush that began on her chest and threatened to snake its way up her neck showed that she was flustered in the presence of the Duke. However, the hopefulness that graced her face as she looked up at Caleb quickly fell away when her smile was not reciprocated.

She was graceful in masking it – not allowing her head to drop or her affability to fade. She kept the smile on her face, though her Mother could tell the difference between her open, willing smile as she approached and the false smile she wore now; steeling herself against the discouraging expression on the Duke’s face.

‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Haworth,’ the Duke gestured in a slight bow and delicately kissed the back of Hannah’s hand.

‘The pleasure is mine, Your Grace,’ Hannah responded, curtseying to him, with a bob of her head.

His lips upon her hand felt warm and soft; a contradiction to the coldness he emitted through his demeanour.

As if on cue, the orchestra began to play a new piece of music – it was a waltz. Caleb knew what was expected of him and he did not wish to disappoint.

‘Would you care to dance?’ he offered his hand to Hannah, who nodded and took his hand.

Swiftly, Caleb led her to the dance floor where they took their places.

In his mind, he tried to catch the rhythm of the music – he was not a natural dancer and it concerned him that if he started on the wrong beat, it would throw him off for the whole dance. That would be humiliating.

Hannah stood, poised; every part of her body tensed and taut, holding herself to be the best she could be and also bracing herself against the coolness of apathy that rolled off the Duke.

He wasn’t looking at her – seemed to be focused upon something entirely in his own head. His grip on her hand felt a little too strong; his hand on her back was territorial; his palms were cold and there was such a rigidity about him that Hannah could never imagine he was capable of affection.

The dance began and a few steps in, the Duke released a stressed sigh. Hannah flicked her eyes up at him, only to find that his expression had not changed. His grip relaxed a little as they found the flow of the music together.

Hannah struggled to focus on the steps she should be performing whilst searching for some point of conversation. When she danced lithely, she could not concentrate on any words, and when she sought out engaging discussion, her steps would falter. She battled internally with which to prioritise.

‘You are a beautiful dancer, Lady Haworth,’ the Duke commented, although his expression belied a sneer.

Hannah laughed and promptly corrected herself.

‘Thank you, Your Grace. I must confess it is not my preferred pastime.’

‘You prefer to play music, than to dance?’ Caleb asked her, avoiding her eyes, looking over her head.

‘No, I….’

Hannah cursed the topic of favourite pastimes – she should not mention her love of painting to this stranger. It would scandalise her Mother.

‘Do you hunt, Your Grace? Montwood is certainly a fine estate…’

‘I prefer literature,’ was his curt reply.

Hannah could not find any response. She too, enjoyed books, but his tone closed the conversation and she did not feel venturing further into this topic was a viable option. They moved together awkwardly – above the music was only the sound of Hannah’s skirts swishing across the floor.

A few times, they fell out of synchronisation with one another – Hannah was unsure if it was her steps or the Duke’s which faltered. The result was the same – the shame of affluent and influential members of the Ton looking on in judgment. Hannah sought out the eyes of her Mother and was surprised to see her smiling enthusiastically. Perhaps she wasn’t performing as badly as she anticipated.

As they swooped past a crowd of faces, she saw a woman who glared at Hannah openly, with narrowed eyes and a sour, pouting mouth. It quite took Hannah aback – was her dancing so atrocious?

Some part of her found comfort in the height and physical breadth of the Duke – his sturdiness felt safe and secure, but there was a defensive wall around him that created such distance and Hannah bristled against it. It seemed no more would be spoken between the two of them – she simply endured the last few moments in a stifling lack of communication.

It was only one dance, she assured herself. Promptly, she would report to her parents that he seemed a pleasant man but that she did not wish any further involvement. This helped her to relax a little, but only at the end of the dance when they parted, bowing and curtseying respectively, did she release the breath she must have been holding in for the duration of the waltz.

***

‘Isn’t he rather serious?’ Sophia analysed as she watched the Duke ignoring his dance partner.

‘Does she seem uncomfortable to you?’ queried Nathaniel with concern.

‘How is the evening?’ A voice interrupted their whispers. Sophia and Nathaniel turned to see Lord Albert Dutton who had approached from across the room.

Sophia recognised the gentleman instantly, from her debut season last year. They had locked eyes across various ballrooms and been formally introduced but only once shared a brief conversation.

Sophia stood a little too quickly, disrupting the chair she had been sitting.

‘Lord Dutton!’

Nathaniel shot his cousin a knowing look and smiling wryly, stood, bowing to the newcomer.

‘Lord Dutton, how are you faring?’

‘Quite splendidly, Lord Bryant,’ Albert bowed back.

Turning his attention to Sophia, he took her hand and kissed it, bending very slowly, maintaining eye contact, with a mischievous smile on his face.

‘Lady Camden, thrilling to see you again.’

Sophia regarded him with narrowed eyes and an amused expression ‘ Thrilling , Lord Dutton?’

‘Absolutely,’ he straightened up and continued. ‘It is a pleasure to meet with many here this evening – Lord Bryant, for instance; I take pleasure in meeting with him again. We discuss the prominent art galleries in town that we enjoy frequenting. The Duke of Montwood, I spoke with earlier – always a pleasure; friends since Eton, much shared history to discuss. But to meet with you again, Lady Camden…’ he paused, loading his sentiment with poignancy ‘is a thrill to me.’

Sophia couldn’t stop the smile that etched its way onto her face, nor the laugh that broke out at his teasing.

‘How fortunate for you, dear cousin. To be the thrill of the ball!’ Nathaniel contributed. Sophia shot him a mocking look of reprimand and the three of them laughed.

Sophia delicately took back her hand, which Albert had continued to hold. The two of them watched as she slipped her palm gently from his. Albert was known for his charm and recklessness. Sophia noted the twinkle in his eye and whilst it caused her pulse to race, she warned herself against it – no good could come from attraction to a rake such as Lord Albert Dutton.

The music changed and they all turned instinctively to the dance floor as the tempo picked up.

Albert turned enthusiastically to Sophia.

‘Would you like to dance, Lady Camden?’

Sophia’s lips fluttered with a smile and she looked reluctantly down at his extended palm, deliberating whether to accept.

‘Cousin, it is an evening for joy – do accept and dance!’ Nathaniel urged.

Sophia cast a look quickly over at her cousin, then back at Albert, whose eyebrows were raised in expectation. It struck her that he had no consideration she might say ‘no.’ Here was a man with unfaltering confidence.

‘I would,’ Sophia quietly nodded, placing her hand in his.

Nathaniel clapped his hands together, watching as the two of them made their way toward the dance floor.

As they took their places, Sophia appraised Albert’s self-assured stance. He stood tall and smiled down at her fondly. Sensing a stirring in the crowd around them, Sophia turned to look at the faces bordering the dance floor.

Several of the ladies, all in the finest gowns and jewellery, were staring openly at Lord Dutton – a few of them watching the couple and sharing gossip behind hands that masked their lips. Eyes betrayed a spark of envy and when Albert followed Sophia’s gaze, a few of the ladies fluttered eyelashes at him or giggled holding a palm to their chest.

They turned back to one another and Sophia raised one eyebrow, silently challenging him to impress her. Roguishly, Albert grinned, accepting the unspoken dare.

They began the jaunty dance and Sophia was instantly pleased she’d accepted. Albert smiled throughout and never took his eyes off her face. He certainly was handsome, with sparkly blue eyes framed by dark lashes. Nathaniel had been right – this was fun.

Albert was a wonderful dancer; much more adept than most of her dance partners throughout her debut season. Their steps of the Quadrille seemed so perfectly in time; they moved together in smooth synchronicity.

‘You are a close friend of the host family, is that correct?’ Albert inquired.

‘It is so! Lady Hannah Haworth and I have been the closest of confidantes all our lives. Our Mothers were good friends before us and we were schooled together.’

Despite their talking, they retained fluid movement throughout the dance.

‘She made quite an impression on many of the gentlemen this evening upon her appearance,’ Albert raised an eyebrow.

‘She is beautiful and talented. Her most wondrous asset though is her humility – she has no concept of her allure,’ Sophia glanced over at Hannah, who stood with her mother, looking awkward.

She glanced back to Albert who continued to look at her intently.

‘Are you…’ Sophia queried, ‘hoping to ask Hannah to dance this evening?’

‘No,’ he replied simply, then leaning forward, whispered ‘I prefer dark haired…’

Sophia laughed a little, despite herself.

‘In blue dresses…’ he added cheekily.

Sophia looked down at her dress.

‘I believe this fabric was called Peppermint…’

Albert feigned dramatic disappointment. ‘Then I’m afraid I must depart from our union…’

Jesting, he went to let go of her hands and leave the dance floor.

‘No!’ Sophia laughed, grabbing at his hands; amused but simultaneously distressed that he may actually leave and publicly scandalise her.

He laughed and pulled her back to him.

‘I knew you liked me!’ he jested with her.

Sophia rolled her eyes at his playfulness.

‘Tell me, Lady Camden, how do you spend your time?’

‘I love horse riding!’ Sophia’s eyes sparkled as she spoke of her passion. ‘I tend to horses at the stables where I ride – I love to brush them; they are such gentle animals. I also volunteer my time helping physicians.’

‘Really? What do you actually do there?’

‘A variety of tasks – sometimes preparing an audit of the medicines available; checking if something is missing; oftentimes simply offering my help if needed.’

Albert’s eyes were smiling now. How refreshing Lady Camden was! Albert had expected answers regarding embroidery and piano playing, the like of which he’d heard time and time again from pretty debutantes keen to impress him. Such small hobbies bored him – but here was a lady who enjoyed being out in the fresh air; he envisaged her cantering side-saddle, the wind in her hair.

‘There is more to you than I knew.’

‘My Lord, there is very little you know of me,’ Sophia fluttered her eyelashes at him.

‘Then what an adventure we may have ahead!’ Albert insinuated as he flung Sophia into a twirl.

‘And you? How do you spend your time, my Lord?’ Sophia attempted to bring the heady conversation back on an even keel.

‘My passion is to learn. I am hungry for information! Along with my learned friend, the Duke of Montwood, I attend various intellectual lectures. I am also the Treasurer of an esteemed Debating society.’

As he spoke, Sophia noted that he did not flaunt arrogance, simply answered her question factually, omitting any sense of inflated ego.

‘Debating, indeed? One must be quick-witted in such an environment!

‘And adept with financial detail to be their Treasurer!’ Albert smiled crookedly at her.

Sophia tipped her head back, laughing with him. She had expected his answer to speak of gambling and gaming as most philanderers tended to invest their time. She narrowed her eyes at him, shaking her head very slightly, suggesting perhaps her preconceptions concerning this handsome man had been wrong.

***

A little time later and as their dance had come to a close, Hannah curtsied to Caleb’s bow, looking down at the ground. She did not look up at him and did not sense the weight of his inquisitive stare upon her face. He escorted her from the dance floor to join her mother and she scampered slightly ahead of him, keen to get away. Only as she was too close to turn back and re-navigate a different path did she realise that the lady standing with Evelyn and Sophia’s Mother was the woman from the crowd with the sharp, scowling face.

Her steps faltered as she approached, noting that the woman watched her with a disapproving glint in her eye.

‘Darling Hannah,’ Evelyn gestured for her daughter to join them ‘may I introduce you to Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Montwood- ‘it was Her Grace’s son, the Duke of Montwood, with whom you danced.’

Evelyn conducted herself with smiles and graces but the firm way in which she held her posture and the tautness of her face disclosed to Hannah that this lady was to be impressed.

With this in mind, Hannah forced a smile despite her instinct willing her to distance herself from the negativity that rolled off this woman in waves.

‘Your Grace, it is an honour to meet you,’ Hannah lowered her eyes respectfully. ‘I am-’

‘Hannah Haworth, I know.’ Anne finished the sentence.

A look of alarm flashed between Evelyn and Hannah at the joint recognition that the formal title of ‘ Lady ’ had been dropped in the Duchesses’ interruption.

‘Yes, Lady Hannah Haworth of Haysendale,’ Evelyn clarified politely, saving her daughter’s grace.

Anne did not smile, neither did she take her eyes off Hannah but rather there was a hint of enjoyment as she watched the girl blush.

‘Did you enjoy your dance?’ Evelyn queried in an attempt to move the conversation along. ‘The Duke is quite striking and I daresay you made a beautiful pair on the dance floor!’ Evelyn cooed, her enthusiasm attempting to compensate for Anne’s lack.

‘I…of course,’ Hannah swallowed hard.

Finding the scrutiny unbearable, Hannah noticed her best friend out of the corner of her eye, rejoining the boundaries of the dance floor after her dance had finished.

‘If you will excuse me – I must speak with Lady Camden…’ Hannah bobbed a curtsey to the Duchess and avoided her mother’s judgmental eye as she scurried away.

Joining Sophia, the difference between the two friends’ experiences of the same dance floor was distinct. Sophia was beaming with radiance and Hannah looked almost grey in pallor from her discomfort. She looked across the ballroom to where the Duke stood with his friend, Lord Dutton and as she frowned, trying to figure out something that niggled inside her chest, he turned as though he’d felt her eyes upon him. He did not smile; rather seemed to consider her with disdain and turned away. Hannah silently vowed that she wanted nothing more to do with that cold, unfeeling man.

***

In her bedchamber that evening, Hannah sat upon the end of her bed, brushing her hair with a silver-plated comb. Her Mother instructed one hundred brushes before bed as a child and this habit had followed her through adolescence. Her hair shone golden and she attributed this to the care she took of it – the nightly practice also allowed her time to reflect upon the day each evening.

Hannah certainly had an abundance to reflect upon that evening. She thought back to her fear as she stood on the precipice of the staircase with all those many eyes upon her – even as she recalled the moment, she experienced a sensation of giddiness. She had successfully negotiated the steps, which was an enormous relief. The dance with her Father had been sweet and calming and her chatter with Sophia and Nathaniel had been truly rewarding – she had been invited to visit Nathaniel’s new art piece once it was hung and he had encouraged her to exhibit her work!

Hannah’s heart sank a little as she recalled the next part of the evening – her introduction and resulting dance with the Duke of Montwood. There had been a heaviness about his energy – Hannah wondered if he struggled still with the weight of his Father’s premature passing and the consequent inheritance of his distinguished title and associated responsibilities.

Or perhaps he was simply a miserable man – they were a brand that existed and Hannah made efforts to avoid. Gentlemen such as Nathaniel and Lord Albert Dutton greeted everybody with a smile and elegance. Could the Duke not have applied a little social grace for one evening? Hannah felt simultaneously perplexed and irritated by his nonchalance.

Crossing her room, she grabbed a large sketchpad and her tin of perfectly sharpened colouring material and perched back on her bed, to do what she would always do when emotions were high and she felt in need of some release; she drew her feelings.

Almost without conscious action, Hannah’s hand flew expertly across the page, defining streaks of impassioned pink to symbolise the heightened energy of the beautified debutantes and fertile interest of the young men there, gathered. She introduced greys and black shadows to portray the darkness creeping around the borders, hinting at the brooding of the Duke and the way his presence entirely brought her down.

Hannah sighed, holding out the sketch to assess it. Such boldness and contrast – she had been feeling more than she had realised.

***

Caleb swilled the golden whiskey around the base of the crystal tumbler and it glistened as it caught the light from the candle on his broad mahogany desk. He paced the room, feeling ill at ease. Some nagging sensation agitated him that he felt he may not have performed his best that evening, although he could not identify what it was that felt misplaced. He had attended, despite his preference to stay at home – there, he had succeeded; his attendance was in alignment with his Father’s wishes. He had held conference with the Marquess, Lord Vincent Haworth to reinforce the good feeling between the two families that his Father had laid foundations for – all was well here. He had a formal introduction to the young Lady Hannah Haworth and had been pleasant and cordial. He had invited her to dance and executed the dance without any societal misdemeanour, such as stepping on her toes or embarrassing himself in some way. They parted on good terms. Why then, had she looked across the room at him with such a frown? Why was it that he felt such aggravation about the predicament. Had not all gone completely as planned? It had! Caleb swigged back the whiskey and winced as it hit the back of his throat, the burning glow of it coating his chest from within, usually comforting, but this evening strangely claustrophobic.

There was something about this Hannah. Pretty girls who wanted to impress the Duke would coquettishly fawn about him with femininity and delicate sweetness. He could barely conceal an eye-roll in such moments. Hannah Haworth had been eager when she saw him – her face open and interested. Then she had changed; closed off and appeared somewhat wounded. Had he done something without having realised? The folly of women’s emotions was not usually something he would concern himself with and he reprimanded himself. He had greater deeds to busy himself with. He recalled that it had been his intention to attend a lecture the following morning, but an urgency newly weighed upon him and he knew there were now other priorities which had to be put into action. Caleb called his footman to rearrange his coach – he would no longer require a chaise to take him into the city early, but would require a Phaeton to take him to the Haworth residence late-morning.