Page 14 of Dukes All Night Long
Meanwhile, in the ballroom…
S usan watched him go, flustered. The duke cut a swath through the crowd. Feminine heads lifted, then drooped as he passed. He dispensed curt nods, nothing more. The line of his shoulders was proud, unyielding, and his head lion-esque. His retreat stunned her. She could say the same of his kiss.
She cradled her hand to her breast.
Once he disappeared, she did what any self-respecting, frustrated woman would do. She marched a straight line to the refreshment table and found the largest slice of cake.
The first bite was heavenly. “Lemon cake,” she said after swallowing. “The most perfect dessert.”
Creamy and sweet, it melted in her mouth.
Using Lady Aldsley’s excellent silverware, she speared one bite after another, ignoring those around her.
She paced some, nursing the delicate plate.
She kept eating until the dessert’s fluffiness turned into a rock in her stomach.
Wincing, she put a hand to her midsection. Perhaps she ate too fast?
The fork down, she acknowledged another possible source of turmoil. Her father. He was bearing down on her, his mouth terribly grim.
“Susan…” He was breathing hard through his nostrils when he approached.
She set the plate on the table and searched for a private area. A pair of chairs were half-hidden by plinths swathed in red, white, and blue.
“Shall we have a seat over there?” she asked.
She led the way, her father’s heel strikes sharp behind her. She sank into the chair, but her father remained standing.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“You’ll have to be more specific.” She managed a limp smile. “If it’s the cake—”
“Susan…” He seethed.
Mentioning the cake was unwise. Attempts at humor would be ill-advised.
She folded her fan in her lap and waited.
Her malfeasance must be dreadful. Twice now, her father said her name without completing his thought.
Adroit speeches were his bread and butter, but he was nearly apoplectic.
Perspiration shined in his hairline. His face was an awful ruddy hue, and he worried his forehead, bunching his silk coat, his best, a bottle-green creation from Bond Street.
“You knew how important this evening was,” he said at last.
“Yes. Very important.”
Her father checked over his shoulder before speaking under his breath to her. “Lord Aldsley had hoped his daughter would catch the Duke of Hawkland’s eye. It’s why he hosted this ball.”
She’d met Lord Aldsley’s daughter. Lady Georgette. Fresh from the schoolroom, she was a swan. Graceful, blue-eyed with butter-blond hair. A perfect match for a duke. Should Hawkland marry her, they’d have beautiful children.
The thought churned her already sour stomach.
“Forgive me,” she said. “I wasn’t aware.”
“Clearly not!”
“Have they been introduced?” A banal detail, yet it seemed important to her.
“Briefly,” he snapped. “I’m sure conversation would have ensued if given the chance.”
She doubted that. The girl was sweet, but terribly young and artful conversation was a skill she’d yet to master.
“Did the Duke of Hawkland show any interest in her?” Asking was like pouring salt on a wound.
“I have no idea,” he said, fingertips to his forehead, which had gone a shade close to claret. “Don’t avoid the issue. You let the duke kiss your hand in the middle of a ballroom. What were you thinking?” He gusted a sigh. “You’re usually very adept at—at everything.”
She clamped her mouth and gripped her fan. What could she say to that?
“I cannot fathom what came over you.” He shook his head and glared at her as if she’d morphed into a strange creature. “Don’t you understand? I need you to be prepared for all circumstances.”
He’d landed on the word “need” with particular emphasis. Need her ? Her fan cracked, the balsa wood snapping in two.
Susan, mend my waistcoat.
Susan, deliver these papers to Whitehall.
Susan, no onions in my food.
Susan, Susan, Susan.
She loved her father, but he had so many requirements. What about her? Her life wasn’t hers. Hadn’t been for a long time. She merely ricocheted from one task to another, all for his benefit.
Resentment began sprouting like a fast-growing weed. She hadn’t invited the duke’s attention. It simply happened. Wonderfully, gloriously so. One might think her father would be glad she caught the eye of a duke.
Her father paced the floor. “I cannot express how disappointed I am.”
Shaking, she scrabbled with the fan’s tie on her wrist. When it didn’t give, she yanked it off. The thing was broken anyway.
“Were you disappointed when I helped the Russian envoy’s son?” Her voice had gone cold.
“No.”
“What about the man of science who was knighted last year?” Her gaze slid knife-sharp to her father. “Were you disappointed when you received a letter of commendation, despite the fact I was the one who helped him?”
He stopped pacing. “That’s beside the point.”
She trembled violently, yet managed to rise from the chair.
“Have you been disappointed in all my nearly twelve years of looking after you?” She asked, her voice low for appearance’s sake. “Have I not done as you’ve asked? However unusual the task?”
“Of course you have.” His brow thundered, for it was well known that her father would brook no mutiny in his household.
The dance floor filled with well-dressed gentlemen and debutantes garbed in white, their eyes bright as they sailed round and round. She tried to remember when she was their age. It wasn’t that long ago, was it?
“I rarely bother you for what I want.” She brushed a curl off her sticky cheek. “Don’t you see? I’ve tried to make everything smooth and perfect after Mother’s passing.”
He hesitated. “You have. You and your rules provide a sense of order.”
He knew of her commandments and had lauded them once to other clerks at Whitehall, even reading them aloud to everyone’s amusement. The exposure stung a bit, but she recovered. He’d called her, My Susan, a kind miss gifted with the ability to smooth any path.
“Then you cannot fault me for a dance with a duke.” Standing proudly, she hid her hand behind her back—the one the Duke of Hawkland kissed. “I didn’t ask him to kiss my hand. But I’m glad he did.”
“My dear girl,” he groaned. “You are pretty, but you have no dowry, and…he’s a duke.” Sadness flooded his eyes, a fatherly ache. “You’re reaching for the impossible.”
A sting pricked her eyes. She dipped her head and stared at the floor. Had she been reaching for the duke?
“If it’s a husband you want, I’m sure we can find someone suitable,” he said.
She winced. His harried tone implied a new chore was added to his already laborious list. How could she respond to that?
An approaching footman saved her.
“I beg pardon, Mr. Pryce, but your presence is required in the game room. It’s the Duke of Hawkland, sir. He roughed up Lord Wentworth. Roughed him up good.”
She gasped. Oh, Gregory…
Her father pasted a stiff smile on his face. “Thank you.”
The dismissed footman sped off. Hands clasped at the small of his back, her father was again Whitehall’s most efficient man.
But before he went, he’d lob another dagger at her heart.
“Go home, Susan. Get some sleep. In three days, we leave for my new post in Cornwall,” he said with ease. “Considering Hawkland’s absurd attentions tonight, it’s for the best.”
She grabbed the plinth to steady herself. Months ago, he’d mentioned a position as liaison for the Crown in Cornwall. It didn’t seem like a serious plan.
“I wanted tonight to be a celebration, but Hawkland’s a brash, brash man with no formal education,” he said, rueful. “I can’t work miracles.”
A hiccup of a laugh wanted out. If she weren’t so drained, it would’ve come. Her father made it sound as though the Duke of Hawkland had been raised by wolves.
“Congratulations,” she said quietly.
He faced the direction of the game room. “Don’t wait up for me. There’s no telling how long it’ll take to soothe all the ruffled feathers.”
He strode off unaware her soul was bleeding. She watched him go. Took a good long look. His hair was thinner and his shoulders less than she remembered. But, when had he become so careless? So…unfeeling? She never wanted a duke. She wanted a good man.
She wanted love.