Page 3 of Diamond of the Season (Heiress #1)

Chapter

Three

L ater that evening, Nathaniel, seated at his desk, heard the soft, melodic strains of the pianoforte drifting from the ballroom. He placed his quill aside, leaned back in his chair, and allowed the music to wash over him. It was Beethoven, though he could not place the specific piece. Regardless, it transported him, offering a momentary respite from his responsibilities.

Curiosity got the better of him. Rising from his chair, he strode toward the ballroom, drawn by the skillful playing. As he approached, he saw the door slightly ajar and paused, standing in the shadows as he observed Lady Rosalind at the piano. She was utterly lost to the world, her fingers gliding over the keys with ease, her expression serene.

He debated turning away, but as her guardian, it was prudent to know her talents— such accomplishments were invaluable in securing a good match. At least, that was what he told himself. Steeling his mettle, he pushed the door open and strolled into the ballroom, only halting when he was beside the piano.

"You play very well, Lady Rosalind." He leaned against the instrument until she finished her song. "Pray tell, do your sisters share your talent?"

Rosalind ran her fingers lightly over the ivory keys, seemingly marveling at the fine craftsmanship of the pianoforte before gently closing the lid. She lifted her gaze to meet his, and for the first time since they had been introduced, he noticed how striking her dark-blue eyes were—almond-shaped and framed by long lashes. Confidence and intelligence shone within them, and for a fleeting moment, he found himself taken aback. With the distractions of dinner, even sitting beside her, he’d not taken in her appearance much, but now…

"My youngest sister, Lady Clementine, also enjoys playing, but my other sisters do not share our enthusiasm," she replied. "They prefer embroidery and painting, though none of us are masters of any art." She smiled wistfully before adding, "We have always been more inclined toward the outdoors—riding, exploring, and caring for our animals, much to our father’s dismay. It is likely the reason we are all plagued with freckles."

Nathaniel’s gaze dipped to her nose, noting the faint dusting of freckles across her fair skin. She was undeniably beautiful, and that thought alone unsettled him. He straightened, pushing the notion aside.

"Your piano playing will certainly serve you well in London," he said. "And what of dancing? Are you all proficient, or shall I engage a dance master to instruct you?"

"Oh no, we can all dance, my lord…I mean, Your Grace," she assured him, though she had momentarily forgotten his newly inherited title. "We were raised with all the proper etiquette expected for a London Season by our dearest mama before she passed. You need not concern yourself."

"Very good." He hoped he did not. Without thinking, Nathaniel extended his hand. "Perhaps we should test your dancing abilities. Shall we?”

Her eyes widened, but after a brief hesitation, she stood, adjusting her gown and smoothing the fabric before stepping closer.

What the hell am I doing? She’s your ward, man. No need to dance with the chit .

He debated withdrawing the invitation, but it was too late. He had come to assess her abilities, not to dance with her. And yet, as she stepped into his arms, the warmth of her body and the gentle swish of her gown against his legs made him acutely aware of how long it had been since he had last held a woman whom he had not paid for her services. A woman of quality and breeding.

Before coming to the country, he had been too consumed by the demands of his estate to warrant entering society and trying to find an acceptable wife. Now, in a house filled with six young women, the eldest one distracting him most, that absence was becoming far too apparent.

He led them into a waltz, testing her skill, and as she moved with ease, he could not help but admire her grace. She was an exceptional dancer, far surpassing his expectations. When she looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips, he found himself struck by her beauty.

This was wrong.

He was her guardian, tasked with ensuring she found a suitable match. It did not matter that there were only a few years between them. He had been entrusted with her care, not to entertain improper thoughts.

"You will have many admirers in London, Lady Rosalind." He broke the silence at last. "With your dowry and beauty, you shall have no shortage of suitors. Tell me, what sort of gentleman do you hope to wed?"

She considered his question carefully before replying, "A kind man. One who values me for more than my dowry, who is not cruel or overbearing. I could not bear to be married to a man with a mistress."

Nathaniel inclined his head. "A worthy desire, though not always an easy one to fulfill. Many gentlemen maintain mistresses while keeping their wives in respectable spheres."

She frowned, a light blush kissing her cheeks. "Then I would live in regret of my choice."

Something about her quiet certainty unsettled him. She deserved better than that, of course. He had seen the fate of too many wives cast aside by their unfaithful husbands. The idea of Rosalind suffering such a fate did not sit well with him. Even though he enjoyed having a whore in his bed, he had always favored the idea of marrying a woman who would fulfil his needs, and such extramarital affairs were not required.

"I will do my utmost to guide you toward a good match, one who will not bring you such regrets."

She smiled up at him and his breath hitched. When she smiled, her whole face transformed, her eyes lighting up with trust and sparkling prettily under the candlelight.

"That is very kind of you, Your Grace. I do hope the gentlemen do not find me too old."

"Too old?" he scoffed. "You are three-and-twenty, the perfect age to make a thoughtful decision. At eighteen, one is far too young to understand the weight of marriage. I was reckless and arrogant at that age. No one should have wished me for a husband."

"I suppose you are right. And I thank you for your honesty."

She hesitated, then added, "A dear friend of mine married young, but her husband now spends most of his time in London, while she remains in the country with their children. I do not wish for such a fate."

Nathaniel nodded. "We shall ensure you make a wise choice, Lady Rosalind."

They continued their waltz, and he found himself momentarily forgetting the impropriety of their dance even without the music to guide them. She fit well in his arms, her movements instinctive and elegant. She would do exceedingly well in London.

"And what of you, Your Grace?" she asked. "Are you seeking a wife?"

"I am not actively looking, but if I meet a lady who meets my requirements, I shall consider it."

She smiled wryly. "Then may we both find happiness and contentment."

"Indeed."

He spun her to a graceful stop and bowed. "I shall see you in the morning for our ride to the tenant farms."

"Yes, Your Grace. Thank you." She gave him a small smile, and for several long seconds, he found himself unable to look away.

Shaking himself from his reverie, he strode from the ballroom and returned to his library, ensuring he shut the door firmly behind him.

He slumped against it, frowning. What the bloody hell was he doing?

He had gone to observe her musical talent, not to dance with her. And yet, he had done so willingly. Worse, he had enjoyed it.

That could not happen again.

He was her guardian. His duty was to see her wed, not to entertain inappropriate thoughts. He would ensure Lady Rosalind’s and her siblings’ Seasons were a success, and he would not stand in their way—or, worse, place himself in their path.