Page 10

ten

T he cold, judgemental stare of Grandmama never failed to make Anthony feel guilty even when he had no reason to.

The preparations for tonight’s ball had gone smoothly. The guests had been invited ahead of time, and the ballroom was decorated in an elegant but not too excessive fashion as Grandmama wanted. Still, she always found something to complain about.

The chandeliers were too low. The music was too loud. The champagne was too warm.

He suspected the fact Helen and Isabella were present had something to do with Grandmama’s ill humour. He was nervous, too. He was supposed to make a choice tonight and decide whom he wanted to court. Grandmama had invited other possible candidates although Helen was her absolute favourite.

Pity she wasn’t Anthony’s.

Grandmama surveyed the ballroom, slowly fanning herself.

“What is it, Grandmama?” he asked, watching the dancing couples.

“Fashion.” She tilted her chin up, half-hiding her face behind the fan. “This new type of skirt hem is a complete disaster. I wonder who thought reducing the length of the skirt was a good idea.”

“I don’t understand why it’s a disaster.”

“The skirt goes up when the ladies jump or twirl too quickly. Goodness, all those ankles! It’s outrageous.”

He lowered his gaze. Yes, the ladies’ ankles were exposed during the gallop but only for a second or two.

Grandmama huffed. “I can’t look.”

“I can.”

“Now, now, Anthony.” She pointed her fan towards the orchestra. “I’m going to send Rogers to the maestro and ask not to play gallops, polkas, and mazurkas. And no waltz either.”

“That leaves only the minuet.”

She narrowed her eyes, looking exactly like his late father. “I want everyone to believe this is a respectable house and that you’re a respectable duke.”

“I don’t think anyone has doubts.”

“Speaking of doubts.” She cast a scorching glare at a gentleman who was laughing too loudly. Once the fellow realised she was watching him, he almost choked on air in his hurry to stop laughing. She returned her attention to Anthony. “I was saying, this story has been going on for too long.”

“What story?”

She touched his arm with her fan. “I want you to make a decision about Helen and talk to her father tonight.”

Oh, he’d made a decision. Those two weeks without Isabella’s laughter had been awful. If she agreed to marry him, he would do everything to make her happy.

“Perhaps I would give the announcement of your engagement after supper,” she said. “Helen looks lovely tonight, doesn’t she?”

She did, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Isabella in her delicate pink gown and extraordinary smile. Isabella was the one he wanted to marry. End of story. Her laughter was intoxicating. She’d carved her way to his heart, and he didn’t mind.

She took a stroll around the room with Patrick, and he reminded himself that Patrick had told him he wasn’t interested in pursuing Isabella.

“Well,” Grandmama said. “I need to talk to Rogers. The maestro better do as I say.” She headed to the butler on the other side of the room.

Anthony’s heart gave a kick when Isabella walked over to him alone. She made him feel like a normal man and not only a duke, but above all, happy as his spiking pulse reminded him.

“Isabella, you look lovely tonight.”

She bowed her head. “Your Grace. This ballroom is huge. How many guests did you invite?”

“It’ll be quicker to tell you whom I didn’t. Grandmama wanted a memorable event.”

“She succeeded.” Her cheeks were flushed from the dance, exalting her large black eyes. He’d never seen eyes that dark, shiny and glossy.

“What’s your favourite dance?” Anthony asked.

“The waltz.” She fanned herself. “I’m looking forward to dancing. The orchestra hasn’t played it yet. I guess the maestro is reserving it as the supper dance.”

Damn. “Of course. I would consider myself honoured if you would agree to dance the waltz with me.”

Her smile became a little strained. “I believe Helen would like to dance the waltz with you. She’s over there, talking with a friend. I’ll fetch her for you.”

“I wish to dance with you.”

Something flickered in her gaze. “In that case, I accept. A lady never refuses a duke.”

“You can, if you want. I don’t want you to feel forced, but I don’t want to dance the waltz with Helen. I trust you to tell me what you think every time.”

Her expression softened, and the warmth in her eyes reached his heart. “I would love to dance with you, Anthony.”

He loved the intimacy of his name on her lips. “Excellent. If you’ll excuse me a moment, I need a word with the maestro.”

He weaved through the throng of guests, almost bumping into his grandmother going the opposite way.

“What are you doing?” Grandmama looked alarmed. “What’s the hurry?”

“The maestro must play the supper waltz.”

She wiggled a finger to say no. “Out of the question. He’s already received the order to play only slow contredanses.”

“Sorry, Grandmama, but I’m going to dance the waltz with Isabella,” he said in a tone that hopefully would discourage further arguments.

Her countenance cracked for a split second. “You must be joking. You haven’t danced with Lady Coulter-Smith yet. She’s the highest-ranking lady guest present.”

“I promised the waltz to Isabella. I won’t change my mind.”

She craned her neck in the direction of Isabella who was talking with Patrick. “Oh no. Don’t tell me…” She beckoned him to follow her with her fan.

He guessed he ought to inform her of his decision. He smiled and bowed at his guests, catching a glimpse of Lady Montrose and Helen. He wouldn’t enjoy disappointing Helen, but surely, she would agree with him that they weren’t compatible in the least. Likely, she’d been trapped by her mother and Grandmama into an arranged marriage with a duke and didn’t know how to get out of it. He would give her a way out.

Grandmama slipped into a parlour and locked them in. “What’s happening?”

“I don’t want to marry Helen. I want Isabella.”

The moment of shocked silence lowered the room temperature.

“Why not Helen? She’s perfect.”

“She doesn’t have an opinion of her own. I spent days with her without learning anything about her. She agrees to everything I say.”

Grandmama opened her arms. “And what is the problem with that?”

“You didn’t agree with everything Grandpapa said, did you?”

She pressed her lips in a hard line, her eyes narrowing to slits. “We aren’t talking about me. If you don’t like Helen, you can find someone else. Someone who will be a better wife than Isabella. She’s too…” She waved a hand. “Did you see her gown? That pink is too strong, and she’s far too happy to be a duchess. She doesn’t speak French and isn’t accomplished in anything.”

“Isabella is very clever and always expresses her opinions without being intimidated by me. That’s why I like her.” And because she was the essence of life itself, wrapped in pink silk. “And I’m going to dance the supper waltz with her.” Which meant he would escort her to supper and sit next to her at the dinner table.

“She has too many opinions,” Grandmama said.

“Thank goodness for that.”

She huffed. “Don’t be such a child. The next Duchess of Gloucester can’t be a suffragette who thinks we need to open our castle to tourists. Helen is the perfect wife for you.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I love you, Grandmama, and I always respect your opinion. But I want Isabella. Or no one.”

She pressed two fingers to her temples. “You present me with a fait accompli .”

“We usually agree on every strategy. Not this time. I mean to court Isabella, and if she agrees, I’ll marry her.”

They stared at each other. The moment reminded him of a boxing session against an adversary, and Grandmama was an extraordinary adversary.

He was tempted to argue further, but it would be a mistake. With Grandmama, short, decisive speeches were more effective.

“I hope you won’t regret your choice,” she said, conceding the victory to him.

“You won’t regret it, either.”