Page 20 of A Deviant Spinster for the Duke (The Gentlemen’s Club #3)
CHAPTER TWENTY
“ I apologize, Lord Tarporley, but I cannot dance as I promised,” Valeria said, feeling a touch guilty. “I do not know if it is polite to say so, but my feet are in agony. It has been a while since I have danced so much, and I fear it has taken a toll.”
She braced for the baron’s disapproval or a cutting remark to make her feel worse than she already did. But seconds passed, and it did not come, prompting her to peer up at the man.
He inclined his head, a confused expression upon his face as if he, too, was wondering why he had not directed a sharp comment at her. “I have admired you greatly, Miss Maxwell. It has been as much of a pleasure to observe as it would have been to dance with you myself, but… you are not to blame for sore feet.”
He smiled slightly. “I wish you a swift recovery and, perhaps, we might dance at another occasion?”
“I should like that,” she replied evenly, uncertain of what she had done to the baron to make him gentler toward her.
He smiled a little brighter. “May I put my name on your dance card ahead of such an event?”
“You shall be the very first upon it,” she promised, bewildered.
Indeed, she was so struck by the change that she had to question it. “You are being awfully generous about this, Lord Tarporley. I am grateful.”
“Not at all, Miss Maxwell. It is I who should be grateful to you,” he replied shyly, clearing a dry throat. “I had not considered… certain things that you mentioned earlier. Already, I have spoken with three other ladies, using the advice you gave. I have never had a more… enjoyable evening, nor have I ever had such… engaging conversations.
“You were right to chide Roger and me. Those dull questions that everyone asks do not teach you anything, really, about the person you are speaking with.”
Beatrice, seated at Valeria’s side, crossed her arms over her chest and made a proud ‘harrumph’ of satisfaction. “My cousin is as wise as she is beautiful, Lord Tarporley. It is truly enlightening, the things a gentleman can learn from a lady if he just listens.”
She nodded toward the rest of the ballroom. “You ought to convert the masses to this ingenious method, though I suggest you wait until after you have enchanted a bride, lest you find yourself in last place again.”
The baron seemed less lenient with the spirited younger woman, shooting her one of his customary looks of disapproval. However, as he glanced back at the ballroom, an expression of worry did flicker across his face for a moment, seeing his competitors and rivals all around.
“If you will excuse me,” he said abruptly, rushing off into the crowd.
Valeria snorted a chuckle and peered at her troublesome, delightful cousin. “I believe you have just lost me a suitor, Bea.”
“Either that, or he is hurrying about, telling every gentleman he has informed of your advice that it is nonsense, for his own benefit,” Beatrice countered, sipping from a glass of cloudy lemonade.
Valeria smiled sadly. “Perhaps.”
“Still, you have many more to choose from,” Beatrice said in a too-bright voice. “You must have danced with at least seven gentlemen tonight. Anyone stand out? Can you picture any of them waiting handsomely at the end of the aisle for you, ready to spend the rest of his life adoring you?”
It was as if Beatrice had reached into Valeria’s chest, put her hands around her lungs, and squeezed with all her might. The evening, for the most part, had left Valeria feeling empty and disenchanted, like she was back at her debut again, making the realization that society was not what had been promised.
“Cousin?” Beatrice prompted, leaning forward in her chair, moving closer to Valeria. “What is the matter?”
Forcing a smile, Valeria shook her head. “It is my feet, that is all. They are in such enormous pain.”
“Did I say something to upset you? Goodness, this mouth of mine—I speak before I think. I am so very sorry,” Beatrice urged, taking hold of her cousin’s hands. “I thought you liked the viscount. I was… trying to tease and failed poorly.”
Valeria had danced a second time with Roger, which was as good as a declaration of courtship for some, but the second dance had only confirmed what she had already suspected: Roger was not for her. He was pleasant enough as an acquaintance, but he was not someone who would ever allow her to truly be herself.
The only dance that had made her feel anything at all was the one that should not have pleased her in the slightest. Yet, between the bickering that had taken place with Duncan, there had been little thrills of… real enjoyment. Comfort. Excitement. The sensation that she could be herself, and he would not bat an eyelid at her antics or interests; he would indulge them without hesitation.
And I did get my apology…
It had not been quite as satisfying as she had hoped, though whether that had more to do with him leaving directly afterward; she was not sure.
“Forgive my silliness, cousin,” Beatrice urged, mistaking Valeria’s silence.
“Dearest Bea, there is nothing to forgive. I have had a tiring night; my mood has nothing to do with anything you have said. On another night, without pain in my feet, I would be chuckling at your teasing.” Valeria patted her cousin’s hand. “That being said, if you are not averse, I think it is time for us to depart.”
Beatrice nodded. “Of course, cousin. Shall we fetch uncle?”
“We shall collect him on the way,” Valeria replied, lurching to her feet. They throbbed terribly, though she would have found the strength to dance again if Duncan were to ask her.
His foot probably hurts just as much. She blushed at the memory, half-embarrassment, half-delight, for if she thought hard enough, she could steel feel the steadying grip of his hands on her arms.
“You deserve more, Valeria.” The recollection of those words stole the air from her lungs. How insistently he had grasped her wrist and whispered that; the urgency in his voice. The trouble was, she did not know what ‘more’ looked like, and she certainly did not have the time to spare on finding out.
“Cousin?” Beatrice said, weaving her arm through Valeria’s.
“Hmm?”
The younger woman hesitated. “Are you sure there was not someone who stood out? Someone you might… favor?”
Valeria swallowed thickly, refusing to look her cousin in the eyes.
“I only ask,” Beatrice continued, when Valeria did not answer, “because I happened to see one particular dance. I was not alone in thinking it was… something extraordinary. My friends remarked upon it. They swooned , and you know my opinion on swooning—nevertheless, it was… special to behold. And I say that as someone who cannot abide the gentleman in question.”
Valeria nearly stumbled again, stunned to a halt by her cousin’s words. She had not thought about what people might say, nor had she heard anyone gossiping about her, but what if she had made a misstep? Her heart began to race, a cold sweat prickling down the back of her neck.
But it was the most fun I had… I do not want to regret it.
“No, there is no one I favor,” she said flatly, her throat tight. “Certainly not a rake like His Grace. It was just a dance.”
Beatrice gave a small nod, a glint of suspicion in her eyes. “Well, he did you a great favor. If anything, it made you more desirable to these gentlemen. Bizarrely, it appears as if that man’s attention is something akin to a mark of approval.”
“Yes, well, I do not need his approval,” Valeria muttered, returning to the matter of escaping the ball, gently pulling Beatrice along through the throng of guests.
As she walked toward the smoking room to fetch her father, her heart weighed heavy in her chest. She had not ended the night with an offer of courtship, or an offer of a second meeting. Indeed, not even Duncan had asked if he might see her again. For a moment, she had thought he might invite her to undertake more lessons in private, but the request had not appeared.
Is that not what I wanted? She no longer knew, her mind fogged with a confusion that began and ended with him.
In many ways, she wished she had not intervened in the gardens of that first ball, for then she might have been spared the bewilderment of being around him, getting to know him, and being shadowed by the ‘debt’ she had tried to refuse. And, perhaps, if that lady had succeeded in her plan, he would be a married man by now, unable to torment and confuse her with his flirtations.
Still, it was too late to undo those things now. She just had to hope that the feeling of enjoying his company, more than any other man, would pass quickly. Otherwise, her own plans would surely go up in smoke, taking Skeffington House with them.