Page 8 of A Marriage for the Marquess (Barrington’s Brigade #1)

J uliet and her Aunt Geraldine stepped into the ballroom with a quiet grace. Juliet paused in the doorway. The soft rustle of her midnight blue gown whispered against the floor. The fabric, a sumptuous silk, accentuated her form. The gown was cut in the latest fashion, with a high waist and short puffed sleeves. The bodice was beautifully made. It wasn’t overly ornate or extravagant. The design reflected refinement and sophistication, focusing on details and quality rather than excessive decoration. Around her neck, she wore a simple string of pearls, one of the few pieces left in her mother’s collection.

Her hair, a cascade of chestnut curls, was pulled back from her face and secured with a comb that matched the deep blue of her gown. The ensemble spoke of elegance, but the keen observer might detect the tension in her posture and how her striking hazel eyes scanned the room not for a dance partner but a savior. She remained in place as she summoned her courage.

Her aunt leaned in close to her. “We can’t stand here all night. Come, put a smile on.”

She glanced at her aunt and gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’d rather be any place but here.”

“Nonsense.” Her aunt stepped closer to her. “We’re not going to pull an unsuspecting gentleman off the dance floor and drag him to a chapel.”

Juliet looked at her aunt, her mouth moving but nothing coming out.

“It would be a waste,” her aunt continued with a reassuring smile. “to hide your radiance in a chapel when you could be dazzling the entire room with your charm.”

A small giggle escaped Juliet’s mouth.

“You must remember that the gentlemen here,” her aunt continued, “are more afraid of you than you are of them.” She nodded in the direction of the refreshment table. “Look at Sir Haroldson over there. He’s been staring at the punch bowl since we walked in. He looks like he is working up his courage to ask for a glass.”

Sir Haroldson did indeed seem to be engaged in a silent battle with the beverage table.

“And as for the rest,” her aunt continued, leaning in conspiratorially, “they’re simply trying to recall whether they’ve left the hearth burning or their horse tethered. You have nothing to fear. Now brighten up. You look as if you’re about to face a firing squad rather than a room full of potential suitors.”

The humor in her aunt’s voice and the absurdity of her advice eased the tightness in Juliet’s chest, and she found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since she began to dress.

Juliet and her aunt ventured out into the room. They wove through the throng of guests. Juliet’s smile was practiced and serene, but her heart raced urgently. Her father’s desperate attempts to salvage their fortunes had come to naught. Soon, the whispers of scandal would begin and cling to her like shadows dancing along the ballroom walls.

She and her aunt stopped to speak to several people. The gay laughter and music swirled around her, a facade that contradicted what she and her family faced. She knew the role she must play, the sacrifice demanded of her to restore her family’s honor. It was a bitter draught to swallow, yet she held her chin high, her eyes blazing with purpose.

*

“Are you gentlemen enjoying yourselves,” Lady Gladstone asked with a flourish. Her silver hair was styled in a fashionable updo, and her gown was made of a rich blue brocade. Her smile was genuine and warm, a detail that didn’t escape Glenraven’s notice.

“As promised, Lord Glenraven accompanies me this evening.” Barrington nodded toward him.

“Ah, indeed, you have kept your word.” Lady Gladstone turned her attention to him with a smile that lit up her features. “Lord Glenraven, it is a delight to see you once more.”

Glenraven respectfully inclined his head, his expression one of polite gratitude. “The pleasure is mine, Lady Gladstone. Your invitation was most unexpected, yet entirely welcome.”

“And it is I who am in your debt, my lord,” Lady Gladstone responded, her eyes sparkling triumphantly. “Your presence here tonight bestows a singular honor upon Gladstone Hall. It is a coup indeed to host the first gala graced by your return.”

Lady Gladstone offered them both a nod of approval. “Gentlemen, please, do enjoy the evening.”

With a tilt of their heads, he and Barrington moved on and continued to mingle among the guests, enjoying the soft hum of conversation and the gentle cadence of music that filled the air.

He navigated the ballroom with the ease of a seasoned diplomat, his recent return to London causing quite the stir among the ton . As he made his way through the ballroom, he could feel the calculating gazes of matrons upon him, their eyes appraising him like a coveted trophy, each silently vying to claim him for their daughters.

A trio of gentlemen, old acquaintances from his club, halted him with hearty handshakes and slaps on the back.

“Good heavens, Glenraven, is it truly you?” exclaimed Sir Thomas, his monocle nearly dropping in surprise. “We’d heard you’d taken up permanent residence in Paris!”

He chuckled, deflecting the subtle probing comment with a practiced charm. “Paris could never hold me for long, though it tried with all its might,” he quipped, leaving the details to their imaginations.

Before another word could be exchanged, Mrs. Hargrave, a determined matron with matchmaking in her eyes, approached with her daughter in tow. He caught the glint of intent in her gaze and excused himself with a polite nod, “Gentlemen, duty calls elsewhere.”

He slipped away just as the woman opened her mouth. He weaved through the crowd with a grace that contradicted his urgency. And then, as if fate had steered his course, he found himself face to face with Miss Juliet Hayward. Her eyes, a calm oasis in the sea of social intensity, met his with a welcoming recognition.

“Miss Hayward,” Glenraven greeted, the surprise in his voice genuine but welcome. “It seems destiny has a sense of humor tonight.”

“Miss Hayward.” Juliet and Glenraven turned to the gentleman who stood next to Juliet. “May I have the honor of this dance?”

Juliet’s polite smile did little to mask her hesitation, a subtle shift in her stance that Glenraven caught instantly. Stepping forward with the poise of an experienced gentleman, he interjected smoothly, “My apologies, but I have already claimed the next dance with Miss Hayward.”

The gentleman, though disappointed, bowed and retreated, leaving him and Juliet to take their place on the dance floor.

He turned to Juliet with a courteous nod, his eyes betraying a hint of mischief. “Miss Hayward, I must confess, the prospect of this dance has been the sole beacon of light in an otherwise dreary evening.”

*

Juliet’s lips curved into a smile, her earlier nerves dissolving under his playful banter. “Lord Glenraven, you flatter me. Though I must warn you, my dance card is perilously close to full.”

“Then I shall consider myself most fortunate,” Glenraven replied, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”

They stepped onto the dance floor. The music, a lilting melody, seemed to echo the change in both of them.

“I trust the evening finds you well?” Glenraven inquired as they began to dance, their movements graceful and harmonious with the music.

“Quite well, thank you,” she responded, her gaze steady on his. “And your father? I was grieved to hear of his accident.”

Glenraven’s expression softened. “He is a resilient man. Your concern is most appreciated, Miss Hayward.”

Their conversation flowed as smoothly as their dance steps, from the trivialities of the season’s fashions to the latest novels. “Have you read Mrs. Radcliffe’s latest?” she asked with genuine interest.

Glenraven smiled, his expression twinkling with interest. “I am fond of Mrs. Radcliffe’s works. Her tales of mystery and romance are quite captivating. However, I also enjoy the works of Sir Walter Scott and his vivid historical narratives. And, when I seek a bit of philosophical reflection, I turn to the essays of Mr. Addison. What about you? What captures your imagination?”

Juliet’s eyes lit up with interest. “Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels are indeed captivating. I find myself lost in her tales of mystery and suspense. As for Sir Walter Scott, his historical narratives are truly engaging. I also enjoy Lord Byron’s poetry and Jane Austen’s wit. Their works offer such a rich tapestry of emotions and insights. It’s wonderful to know we share a love for literature.”

As the music ended, Glenraven offered her his arm and escorted her from the dance floor. Their steps were unhurried, which suited her.

“Miss Hayward,” Glenraven began, his voice a soft murmur amidst the chatter of the ballroom, “this evening has been a most unexpected pleasure.”

Her smile was touched with a hint of melancholy. She was well aware that the moment was fleeting. “Indeed, Lord Glenraven. I shall treasure our dance.” Her gaze lingered on his.

A loud announcement from Lady Gladstone abruptly burst their intimate bubble. They both turned to listen.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I present to you a special performance by none other than the esteemed diva of the London opera, Miss Angelica Catalani. Renowned for her unparalleled soprano and captivating stage presence, Miss Catalani will grace us with an operatic solo that promises to be the highlight of our evening. Please join me in welcoming her to Gladstone Hall.”

Glenraven’s hand tightened briefly on hers before they were separated. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Hayward.” Was that a note of regret in his voice? Or was she dreaming?

“The pleasure was mine,” Juliet responded, her heart sinking as the current of the crowd surged forward, pulling them apart.

As the performance finished, Aunt Geraldine came up to Juliet. “I saw you dancing with Lord Glenraven. You make a handsome pair. It is common knowledge that he must marry to hold his title and lands.”

Aunt Geraldine tilted her head toward her.

“Close your mouth, my dear. It’s not becoming.”

“Miss Hayward, I believe the next dance is mine.” Lord Carter, an impeccably dressed gentleman, stood next to her.

“Of course, my lord.” She took his lordships offered arm. They nodded to her aunt as they entered the dance floor.

Lord Carter danced with precision, but his conversation was as dry as the champagne he favored, lacking any hint of passion or wit. He was suitable by society’s standards, but he didn’t pique her interest.

He returned her to her aunt.

“Thank you, Miss Hayward. You are a wonderful conversationalist. I do hope there will be room on your dance card for me in the future.” He nodded to Aunt Geraldine and stepped away.

“Wonderful conversationalist?” her aunt asked.

“Yes. I let him do all the talking.”

Aunt Geraldine’s laughter rang out. She quickly covered her mouth with a gloved hand, her eyes bright with amusement. “My dear Juliet,” she managed, her voice laced with laughter, “you have indeed mastered the art of conversation with such grace that it leaves the gentlemen utterly enchanted.”

Juliet shook her head. “Aunt Geraldine, you mustn’t laugh so loudly. “You’ll give away my secret to surviving these endless dances,” her tone a playful scold.

Still smiling, Aunt Geraldine gave her niece a fond look. “If laughter is the key to enduring the season, I shall laugh as heartily as I please. Besides, it seems to me you’ve found a far more enjoyable diversion tonight.” Her gaze shifted meaningfully towards where Glenraven had disappeared into the crowd. “Ah, if I’m not mistaken, here comes your next dance partner.”

Juliet nodded to Sir Collingwood, who led her onto the dance floor. The gentleman had a reputation for bravery, but his brashness on the dance floor and the boastful tales of his exploits left Juliet feeling underwhelmed and seeking a retreat. Excusing herself with a practiced grace, she slipped away to the refreshment room, yearning for a moment of tranquility. To the world, she was Miss Hayward, a lady of poise and potential. No one suspected the silent desperation that clung to her like a shadow. How much longer could she keep her family’s financial state a secret, or the pressing need for a marriage that could save them from ruin? Yet, in the quiet solitude of the refreshment room, she allowed herself a brief respite from the relentless pursuit of suitors who knew nothing of the urgency behind her smile. She stared blankly at the refreshments.

“Miss Hayward, might I tempt you with a refreshment?” Glenraven approached her with a glass of lemonade and a gentle smile.

Juliet accepted the glass, her fingers brushing against his, sending an unexpected shiver through her. “Thank you, Lord Glenraven.” Her voice was soft. “It’s quite warm in here, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, it is,” he agreed, his eyes not leaving hers. “But I find the company more than compensates for the temperature.” Their shared laughter was light in the heavy air as they parted. Juliet felt a warmth that lingered, one that seemed to radiate from within rather than from the room itself.

After her refreshing encounter with Lord Glenraven, Juliet again found herself amidst the crowd of dancers. She was led onto the floor by Mr. Harrow, a gentleman of respectable standing whose impeccable manners were marred only by his constant talk of the weather. His attempts at conversation, as predictable as the dance patterns, left Juliet politely nodding but inwardly yearning for the intellectual banter she had shared with Glenraven.

Her next partner, a young Viscount named Mandeville, had a charming smile and a lively step. Yet, as they spun across the floor, his eyes wandered more than Juliet found comfortable, often leaving her words hanging in the air as he greeted acquaintances with a nod or a wink. This dance partner lacked the connection she craved, and as the music ended, Juliet excused herself with a gracious smile.

Unable to stand another dance, Juliet retreated to the library to avoid the next gentleman on her dance card. Closing the door behind her, she took a deep breath, thankful for the quiet haven away from the overwhelming clamor of the gala.