Page 42 of A Duchess Worth Stealing (Saved by Scandal #2)

“ A ball!” Mason’s mother exclaimed with a joyful clap of her bejeweled hands. “I never thought I would see the day! Why I thought the day would come when Parliament dissolved itself before you agreed to such a thing. How on earth did this happen?”

From beside him, Cordelia’s lips curved innocently… far too innocently.

Mason sighed. “Ask your daughter-in-law. She appears to possess the singular ability to make me forget every reasonable objection I might have.”

The Dowager turned her bright, triumphant gaze to Cordelia. “My dear, I am utterly shocked and utterly delighted. We have not had a true ball at Galleon Hall in… oh, ten years at least! You must tell me everything, decorations, music, guest list…”

“I suppose,” Mason said dryly, “that my opinion on the matter of guest numbers will be entirely ignored?”

His mother waved a dismissive hand. “Naturally. One cannot hold a proper ball with a meagre list.”

Cordelia tilted her head, feigning solemnity. “We shall keep it modest. Perhaps no more than two hundred?”

Mason let out a short laugh. “Modest, is it? Remind me never to ask what you would call extravagant.”

The Duchess leaned toward Cordelia as if her son were no longer in the room. “I think the north gallery would do splendidly for the musicians. The light is lovely there, and we might hang fresh garlands along the banisters.”

“Yes,” Cordelia agreed, eyes bright. “And the terrace doors can be opened, so guests may step into the garden between dances. Lanterns along the path, perhaps.”

Mason raised a brow. “Shall I assume I will also be told what I am to wear in my own house?”

His mother gave him a sweet, falsely innocent smile. “Something dark, naturally, so that Cordelia may shine.”

He shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. They were already deep into decisions on flowers, musicians, and menus, and he had the distinct feeling this “family discussion” would end with him simply nodding along.

“I daresay,” Mason began, leaning back with exaggerated patience, “that the decorations alone will bankrupt me.”

Cordelia’s eyes sparkled. “Nonsense. I shall limit myself to merely ensuring that the house looks magnificent enough to make every guest gasp.”

“Every guest and every relative , ” his mother added, waggling a finger at him. “Including your aunt Gertrude, who will inevitably find fault with the linens, the napkins, and perhaps even your waistcoat.”

Mason groaned theatrically. “Why must my every action be a subject for critique? Can one not host a ball without a tribunal present?”

Cordelia leaned closer, her smile mischievous. “You could, if you allowed me to manage it entirely. But then, of course, you might feel excluded.”

“I see,” he said, mock-stern. “So, my only role is to smile politely and hand out compliments at precisely the right intervals?”

“You may do more than that,” his mother said sweetly, “if you are capable.”

“I am capable of dancing, ” he replied, giving Cordelia a pointed glance. “And judging by the way you speak of waltzes, I suspect you have other intentions.”

Cordelia laughed, her fingers brushing his as she reached for a note of music. “Intentions? Only that you enjoy yourself.”

“Enjoy myself, yes,” he said with a faint smirk, “and perhaps survive the scrutiny of my mother and your relentless cheerfulness.”

“And I,” the Duchess said, “shall ensure that both of you are suitably mortified at the proper times.”

Mason shook his head again though the corners of his mouth twitched with reluctant amusement. The room hummed with Cordelia’s laughter and his mother’s further enthusiastic chatter about flowers, music, and seating arrangements.

He let his eyes drift toward Cordelia as she leaned over the table, animated and radiant, discussing which dancers might be best paired. The sight made his chest tighten with a warmth he rarely allowed himself to name.

I would endure all the waltzes, the endless criticisms, and even Aunt Gertrude’s sharp tongue… just to see her like this, he thought, a small, private smile tugging at his lips.

No one noticed the quiet shift in his expression.

To them, he was merely playing the part of the indulgent host, occasionally rolling his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.

But in truth, Mason felt an unfamiliar lightness, a quiet anticipation.

For the first time, he realized that he was not simply agreeing to this ball because of duty or persuasion.

He wanted to be here, surrounded by the people he loved, planning something beautiful with them.

And most of all, he wanted to see Cordelia’s joy reflected in every detail of the night they were about to create together.

The evening of the ball had arrived.

Cordelia stood at Mason’s side, her fingers brushing his as they rested lightly on the polished wood of the balcony railing. Mason lifted his glass, the room’s chatter falling into an expectant hush.

His voice, calm and steady, carried across the hall.

“To love,” he began. “It is often spoken of lightly, as if it were some trivial indulgence or mere adornment to life’s grand affairs.

But we know it to be the truest measure of courage.

It asks for patience, for honesty, for the willingness to stand beside another through every trial, every disappointment, and every triumph. ”

He paused, letting his words sink into the attentive faces before him.

“Tonight, we gather not merely to celebrate our home nor the grandeur of this hall but the people who grace it and the bonds that hold us together. And if there is one thing I have learned through fortune, through misfortune, and through the quiet days of discovery, it is this: love is not measured in words alone, nor in declarations of wealth or station. It is measured in steadfast devotion, in trust given freely, and in the courage to cherish another wholly without condition or reservation.”

Mason’s eyes found Cordelia’s, and the warmth in his gaze deepened.

“To my wife, Cordelia,” he said, his voice softening just enough to reach only her though everyone could see the tenderness in his tone, “who has taught me that love is not merely to be felt but to be lived. You have shown me the strength of gentleness, the bravery of kindness, and the joy in surrendering oneself to another. For this, and for all that is yet to come, I am endlessly grateful.”

The hall erupted in applause, glasses lifted, and Cordelia felt a tide of emotion sweep over her.

Her heart swelled with pride, admiration, and a love so profound that it left her nearly breathless.

She had never felt so certain of anything: to stand by Mason’s side, in that moment, was to stand in the very center of her world.

Her fingers found his, entwining naturally. He glanced at her, and in that single, steady look, she saw everything: strength, devotion, and a pulse of love that mirrored her own.

“Now, music!” Mason exclaimed, and the whole place erupted in melodious sound.

He offered her his hand, and she took it joyfully. The moment his fingers closed around hers, warmth and a thrill of anticipation ran through her.

“Shall we?” he asked, an amused gleam in his eyes.

“Yes, if you promise not to step on my toes,” she teased, letting her laughter ripple across the music.

He gave a mock bow, tilting his head with a smile. “I cannot promise, but I shall try… for love.”

Cordelia’s chest tightened at the word and the way it fell from his lips as naturally as breath. “Love, indeed,” she murmured, leaning into the motion as he guided her across the floor. “I suppose you mean love for me?”

He drew her closer, spinning her with gentle precision before dipping her ever so slightly. “Is there any other kind worth mentioning?” he countered, his voice playful, yet undeniably tender.

She laughed, resting her head briefly against his shoulder. “I suppose not.”

“I rather enjoy the challenge of keeping pace with you… and perhaps of keeping you in my arms.”

Her cheeks warmed at the intimacy in his words, and she pressed a little closer, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand. “I love you,” she whispered, almost shyly, as the orchestra swelled around them.

Mason tilted his head down, brushing a gentle kiss against her temple. “I love you, too. More than words could ever properly contain.”

They spun, dipped, and swayed, teasing each other with whispers and smiles. The world beyond the music and the glow of candlelight seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them, their laughter, their warmth, and the steady, unfaltering love that bound them.

As the final notes of the waltz faded, Mason guided her from the floor, his hand still resting warmly at the small of her back. Cordelia’s cheeks were flushed, but her smile was as bright as the candlelight spilling across the hall.

They had barely reached the edge of the crowd when Jasper materialized with a glass of champagne in hand and mischief in his eyes.

“Well, well,” he drawled, “if it isn’t London’s most dazzling pair. Tell me, were you dancing just to make the rest of us look inadequate, or was it a happy accident?”

Cordelia laughed. “You flatter us far too much, Jasper.”

“Not at all,” he said, grinning. “Half the room has given up entirely on finding partners, and the other half is now frantically studying your footwork. You’ve ruined the competition.”

Mason gave a quiet chuckle. “And here I thought we were being subtle.”

“Oh, subtle,” Jasper replied, feigning deep thought. “Yes, nothing says ‘subtle’ like gazing at each other as though the rest of us are invisible. Quite inconspicuous.”

Cordelia arched a brow. “I don’t recall inviting you to oversee us so closely.”

“I wasn’t overseeing,” Jasper said smoothly. “I was observing, purely in the interest of art of course. If I ever take up painting, you two will make an excellent study in mutual adoration.”

Mason smirked. “Just be sure to capture my good side.”

“I don’t think you have a bad one,” Jasper replied with mock sincerity. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

Jasper leaned a little closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a juicy secret. “Speaking of less cheerful matters,” he said, a sly glint in his eye, “I read the papers this morning. It seems your former guardian, Lord Vernon, has been arrested and is now in prison to stand trial.”

Cordelia froze for a heartbeat, her hand tightening lightly on Mason’s arm. “Arrested?” she whispered, hardly daring to believe it.

“Yes,” Jasper continued, his tone almost conspiratorial. “Forgery, embezzlement, and if the reports are accurate, attempted coercion. Not to mention various unsavory dealings that have finally caught up with him.”

Cordelia’s chest lifted in a long, trembling exhale. Relief coursed through her like warm sunlight breaking a long, grey winter. The man who had cast such a shadow over her life, who had schemed and manipulated, was finally held accountable.

Mason’s hand closed over hers, grounding her. “Is that… true?” she asked softly, looking to him.

He gave a slight nod, his eyes warm with reassurance. “It is. I told you I would take care of it. We are finally free from him entirely. No threats, no tricks, no shadows from the past. Only what we build together.”

Cordelia felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes though she blinked them back.

Relief mingled with the joy and pride she already carried in her chest. For the first time in years, the weight of Lord Vernon’s tyranny was gone.

And beside her, Mason’s steady presence made it impossible to feel anything but hope and love.

Jasper’s expression softened just a fraction before he stepped closer, looping one arm around both her and Mason in a warm, almost brotherly embrace, wedging himself cheerfully between them.

“Well,” he said, grinning, “now that we’ve settled both the romantic and the criminal matters of the evening, I do believe I see Lady Matilda across the room. She looks far too composed for my liking. I had better go and annoy her a little.”

Cordelia laughed. “Do try not to cause an outright scandal.”

“I make no promises,” Jasper replied with mock solemnity before releasing them and slipping off through the crowd.

Mason’s quiet chuckle joined hers as they watched him weave his way across the ballroom, clearly intent on his next victim. Cordelia shook her head fondly.

“He is entirely incorrigible,” Mason remarked.

“Yes,” Cordelia agreed, smiling up at him, “but I am rather glad he is here tonight.”

The music drifted softly behind them as Mason led her toward the balcony. Cordelia felt the gentle brush of his fingers against hers, the steady strength in his hand, and a quiet sense of completeness settled over her.

The moonlight shimmered across the gardens below, and for the first time in years, she felt the burdens of the past entirely lifted.

Lord Vernon’s shadows had vanished, and Jasper’s mischievous laughter had faded into the distance.

Only Mason remained, steady and true, a constant she could trust without hesitation.

She leaned into him, as the subtle scent of his cologne mingled with the crisp night air. “I never imagined a night like this,” she whispered, her voice soft but full of conviction.

“Nor did I,” Mason admitted, his own voice resonant and certain. “But here we are. And you, my dear, are free. Free to live, to love, to be yourself without fear.”

Cordelia smiled, her heart swelling. “I am free… because of you,” she said, and he pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, a promise without words.

They stood together in the quiet night, hands entwined, gazing at the moonlit gardens of Galleon Hall.

The world beyond could wait. Tonight, there were only the two of them, their laughter, their whispered declarations, and the enduring, unshakable love that had grown from trust, courage, and devotion.

And as the soft breeze carried the faint strains of the ballroom music, Cordelia knew, with absolute certainty, that she would never want to be free of him.

The night held them in its quiet embrace, and the bright, unshadowed future full of promise stretched endlessly before them.

The End?