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T he duchess, now the dowager duchess, had left the planning for the ball mostly in Sarah’s hands.

“It will be good practice for you, my dear,” she said with a smile.

Sarah had nodded and tried to smile confidently back. “Of course. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Her mother-in-law wasn’t fooled. She patted her hand comfortingly. “Don’t fret, Sarah. I am still here if you want my advice, but I have confidence in you.”

“You are most patient with me. I am sorry to be so poor a pupil.”

“You are not a poor pupil at all!”

“Am I not? I feel as if I can never remember all the things you tell me.”

“You are doing extremely well,” said the dowager.

“Thank you, Mama Duchess,” said Sarah gratefully, and the two women embraced. Sarah reflected that she could not have been more fortunate in her mother-in-law.

Her parents and younger siblings did not remain for the ball, as the vicar needed to return home to attend to his flock, but Deb and Ruthy were permitted to remain to enjoy their first ball.

Mary was most upset to be excluded from this treat, particularly as Heather, who was the same age, was going to attend.

The two girls had formed a fast friendship during the Watsons’ stay and Mary was devastated to be forced to go home early.

Sarah asked her mother if Mary could stay, but Mama shook her head. “Your father says she is too young for such frivolity, and I agree. Mary is impressionable. She hasn’t the sophistication and experience of the Layne girls. She may be the same age as Lady Heather, but she is less worldly.”

Sarah had to concede this was true, and so Mary was torn away from her new friend, protesting bitterly, weeping and red eyed.

“I shall write, Mary!” said Heather, weeping too, for she was a sweet-hearted girl and distressed by Mary’s excess of emotion.

Thus, Sarah took a tearful farewell of the rest of her family, and the cavalcade lumbered down the drive with the boys hanging out the windows waving to them. Though Robert had assured her parents that he would bring her to visit with them shortly.

Sarah wiped her cheeks and had the comfort of Robert’s arm around her, squeezing her against his side.

Their attunement to each other had been quite wonderful these last days especially, and she knew herself hopelessly lost in terms of defenses against him.

If the heat between them in the sheets was not enough to cement the relationship, he was also making every effort to please her.

His absence all day yesterday she put down to the demands of his role.

Last night he had shown her in no uncertain terms how much he had missed her during the day and the tender way he held her until she fell asleep had been very comforting.

Her only worry was over Madeleine. The woman cast a long shadow that Sarah could not dispel. Her vulnerable heart trembled at the notion that he would return to her when they went back to London. She didn’t think she could bear it.

She could only hope that his evident desire for her since their wedding meant that he was developing stronger feelings toward her.

Yet he never voiced them, except in the throes of passion, when his speech became hot, extravagant, and frequently crude, or in its aftermath when he uttered such lovely sentiments that her heart quaked with tenderness.

Like the other day when he had said such lovely things to her in the wake of their passionately fast coupling on her dresser stool.

She had been more than halfway convinced he must be developing deeper feelings for her then.

He had followed them up with more passionate, hot compliments that night when he took her on her knees.

She blushed thinking of that. The position was so obscene, surely no lady should enjoy it, yet in the heat of passion it seemed one could do almost anything and love it.

It was a mystery, but it underlined that fact that she couldn’t trust what he said in that state.

For if she was transformed by it into a wanton creature, he was also transformed into something other than himself.

Therefore, she dismissed anything he said in that state as an indication of lasting emotion, for when restored to his normal faculties he was quite proper in his manner toward her, treating her with respect and teasing affection.

Surely that should be enough? But it wasn’t.

She wanted the words to underline the actions, to convince her that she held his heart.

She longed to find the key to unlocking his reserve outside the bedroom and to unlock his voice in regard to his deepest feelings.

*

Additional attendees from the surrounding neighborhood had been invited to swell the numbers for the ball, and Sarah knew a moment’s pride when she could view the ballroom from the vantage point of the balcony above filled with their guests.

The room was decked out in flowers and greenery, candles shimmering in the vast chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and music gave a tuneful backdrop to the buzz of conversation.

She stood and watched as couples began forming for the next dance. Among them, she spotted so many faces that she now knew quite well. Her husband’s friends, not only Ashford and his wife, but the dashingly handsome Marquess of Ravenshaw and the tall and awkward Earl of Pendrell.

She had only met him a couple of times. He was present at Ava’s ball and now at the wedding.

The man was so harsh featured that when his face was in repose it was positively quelling.

But she had seen him blush and stumble awkwardly when trying to address any lady, even herself, and she felt sorry for him.

He was like an overgrown schoolboy, who had no clue how to talk to a female.

In marked contrast with the polished and charming Ravenshaw, who was still making Daphne blush and giggle.

Then there was Baron Greathouse, Ashford’s friend.

He was another dashingly handsome gentleman, a dark-haired Adonis with soft brown eyes and a gentle, calming manner.

He quite put poor Ashford, with his disheveled appearance and unremarkable looks, in the shade.

Yet the two men seemed to be friends, for the baron went everywhere with the Ashfords.

She recalled having met him briefly in their company at the Castlereagh’s ball where the four of them had formed a set for the quadrille.

She noted also in the line of dancers her sisters and Robert’s eldest two. The girls who were not yet out would not be permitted to waltz, but they were allowed the country dances. Deb and Ruth had never before attended more than a provincial dance at Winchester’s assembly rooms.

She frowned, noting that Deb’s partner for the dance was Kenrick, recalling her conversation with him about Deborah at Ava’s ball.

She needed to keep an eye on that situation.

She would speak to Robert about it. Deb was an innocent, and the last thing Sarah wanted was her sister falling for Kenrick’s particular brand of charm.

She looked for her husband in the throng of guests and spotted him against the wall with his mother.

He was looking around and his gaze swept up and found her.

She smiled, and he smiled back. She indicated that she was coming down and headed for the stairs, a warm feeling of proprietary happiness in her heart.

She was finding her feet, and this, her first ball was showing signs of being a success.

Several hours later she rather thought it was a success, moving among her guests, ensuring they had everything they needed, accepting the congratulations of neighbors and compliments upon her gown of rose-colored silk and ivory lace.

She wore it with the Layne diamonds, an intricate necklace and diadem with delicate gold leaves between diamond flowers.

The duchess had given her the diadem at her wedding, but Robert had produced the matching necklace the next day.

“Mama reminded me it should be worn with the diadem,” he’d said with a smile at her expression.

“I shall be terrified to wear it. What if the clasp should fail or one of these delicate fronds breaks off?” she had said, touching one with a delicate finger.

But wear it she did. And paradoxically, she found it gave her confidence. She was beginning, she thought, to feel like a duchess at last.

A waltz was forming when Viscount Ashford approached her. Robert was leading his sister onto the floor, and she had been contemplating finding a quiet corner to sit down, as her feet were getting sore.

Ashford bowed and said, “Can I tempt you to a waltz, Your Grace?” His usually disheveled appearance was enhanced by a hectic color in his cheeks and a blazing fire in his eyes that made her wonder if he had been drinking. However, he seemed steady enough on his feet, and his speech wasn’t slurred.

“Would you mind if we sat this one out? My feet are aching,” she confessed.

His shoulders dropped which made her realize how tense his body had been, and he said, “Of course. Would you like to sit in the garden? It’s devilish hot in here.”

“That would be lovely,” she said, resting her hand on his arm. She wondered what was amiss. His usual smile was absent, and he seemed to be laboring under the effects of some strong emotion, despite his obvious attempts to mask it.

He led her over to the double doors that gave onto the terraced gardens that dominated the rear courtyard.

The air was appreciably cooler out here, the sky a velvet midnight blue scattered with stars, and a rising moon to plate everything silver.

Jasmine filled the air with its scent, and Sarah reflected it was a romantic setting.

If only Robert were here to share it with her.

Instead, she had a troubled viscount for her companion.

She glanced at him, but he was frowning directly ahead and appeared oblivious of her scrutiny.