Page 30 of Grace in Glasgow (Seduced in Scotland #3)

T he ballroom at Mr. Milton’s estate house, aptly named Milton House, that had been built on the very edge of Glasgow proper, was one of the most extravagant rooms that Grace had ever laid eyes on.

In all her years in London, even during her presentation to the queen during her coming out, never had Grace beheld such magnificence.

The gold filigree walls were taller than any she had ever seen and the glass window panes that allowed the evening sky to shine down on them was a wonder in and of itself, save for the four massive crystal chandeliers, each identical to the last and positioned in between the large skylights.

It was not only a modern marvel, but a glowing display of status and fortune.

Nearly every guest there, and there were hundreds of people, all kept their heads bent backwards to gaze up at the pitched roof and the stars above, amazed at the craftsmanship, if not the expense.

“Goodness,” Belle said as she, Arabella, and Grace reached the refreshment table after having been introduced by the footman. “This is as grand as any palace I’ve been to, and I’ve been to my fair share.”

“Mr. Milton must be the wealthiest man in Scotland, if not one of the richest in the entire world,” Arabella said, her gaze heavenward.

“It is very nice,” Grace said, taking a glass of lemonade from a servant to take a sip. To her embarrassment, the citrusy taste reminded her of James.

Grace had lain in bed for hours after he left that night, staring up at the canopy above her bed, stunned that she should feel so desperate for him.

She hadn’t wanted to be so affected and she forced herself to stay in bed instead of running to the window to watch him.

She needed to remain impartial, even though every inch of her wanted to demand that he stay with her.

It had sent her into a spiraling sort of depression, containing her feelings the way she had. But what could she do? She didn’t want her feelings to get in the way and yet, her heart ached every time she saw him.

It was miserable.

“Nice is an understatement,” Arabella muttered.

It was an understatement, yes, but Grace couldn’t help it.

Mrs. Stevens had tied her corset too tight and it was pinching her skin, directly in the center of her back.

While the result had been stunning, as the pale green gown that had been embroidered with dainty white lilies that Grace wore had caused several people to stare openly, it wasn’t enough to sate her.

She’d rather be comfortable than breathtaking.

She glanced at her companions, who were staring at her blankly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nice?” Belle repeated. “My dear, daisies are nice. This is extravagance. Vulgar even in its décor. Certainly, a telltale sign of new money.”

“I think it’s elegance incarnate.”

“It’s very… posh,” Grace tried again, but failed to do so.

While Milton House was certainly an impressive bit of architecture, and she had never seen such grandness before, it mattered little as her entire being was preoccupied with thoughts of James.

No. Dr. Hall. She would cease being so familiar with him if he was to behave so boorish, which is exactly how he had been behaving the entire past week.

Every day, he barely spoke to her unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then his attitude was singular and his speech monotone, except for when she made the foolish attempt to speak with him about possibly meeting in secret.

He had practically barked at her, telling her that her experiment was deranged and that he hoped she had a fine time at Mr. Milton’s ball and not to expect seeing him as he would not be going.

It was a vast difference from all the praise he had bestowed on her when they were—

She took another bracing gulp of her lemonade, forcing the memory out of her mind.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t think about that here.

Not in front of so many people, particularly her aunt and friend, who were watching her with such blatant curiosity that she was becoming annoyed. Her aunt and Arabella exchanged looks.

“What is it?” she asked, placing her glass down on the table.

“Well, dear, it’s just that you’ve been rather quiet lately, and well, we had hoped that coming to Mr. Milton’s ball might cheer you up a bit.”

“Yes, you’ve possessed a—melancholy, I suppose—as of late and we had thought that maybe your spirits might be lifted coming here.”

Grace made her face blank, hoping not to convey any sort of emotion.

“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s not that dear, it’s just—”

“Ah, Lady Smyth, Miss Scott,” Mr. Milton said with a bow, before giving Grace his full attention. “Miss Sharpe. I’m so glad to have you here.”

“The pleasure is ours,” Grace said with a curtsy.

“Mr. Milton, I must say, you have an impressive home,” Belle said with a strike of her cane.

“Oh, there’s no need to flatter me, Lady Smyth. I built this house with a motive.”

Grace tilted her head, curious.

“What sort of motive?”

“Aye, well, when I was a lad growing up in Glasgow, I may have once or twice tried to get into a party or two of one of the well to do families. Of course, I was immediately removed, but not without first seeing the style in which those great houses were decorated. If you remember, Miss Sharpe, I’ve a fondness for architecture. ”

“I do remember,” Grace said, ignoring the curious expression of Arabella and the suspicious glare of Belle.

“Well, it was my memory of that first house that inspired me to build this. It’s grand, excessive, even gauche, if you ask the right people.” He winked, causing Grace to smile. “But it was built in reverence and in response to my dreams as a youth.”

His sparkling eyes seemed to be trying to draw her in and while there were a number of qualities that Mr. Milton possessed, none seemed to speak to Grace’s soul and for that, she was grateful.

“Then I take back my comment about it being nice and now see it as a wonderful testament.”

“Nice?” he repeated, obviously tickled by the word. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called it nice. Over the top, uncouth, tasteless, beyond self-awareness, but never nice. That is a first.”

Grace laughed at his self-deprecating honesty.

“Well, you’ll have to forgive me. And I no longer think it is nice. I think it is wonderful, as I just said.”

“Aye, you did,” he said, his tone warm as the waltz came to an end. “Miss Sharpe, I know I’m to see to my other guests, but might I steal you away for a dance instead?”

A troublesome pain pinched the center of her heart at his question, but she refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she held out her hand.

“Of course, Mr. Milton.”

He reached for her fingers and lightly drew her toward him.

However, with a backward glance at Arabella and Belle, Grace saw a taut expression of concern.

Why, she did not know, as they had both been particularly excited to come to Mr. Milton’s ball and had talked of little else all week.

Confused, Grace moved into position for a quadrille as the musicians plucked their instruments.

“Is there something amiss?” Mr. Milton asked, evidently noting her expression.

She instantly made the muscles in her face relax as she smiled at him.

“Not at all.”

With her left foot, Grace stepped forward and brought her right foot forward in a circular motion before falling on both feet as she straightened her knees.

As someone who struggled with dancing before her coming out, Grace had spent many months reading and practicing her footwork, but she had to focus, otherwise she would miss a count.

Coming together with another gentleman, before twirling around to the back of the line, she was met with Mr. Milton, who appeared charmed.

“You’re quite a natural, Miss Sharpe.”

“Ha,” she said as she twisted to face the opposite way, as their hands joined together. “I assure you, nothing is natural about dancing.”

Mr. Milton chuckled at the bemused quip and Grace felt pleased.

This was just the sort of companionship that she should be seeking.

There was nothing about Mr. Milton that made her insides turn and twist. It was rather pleasant, knowing that her body wouldn’t react so when their hands touched, or that her pulse would remain completely unfettered when he glanced in her direction.

As they continued their dance, Grace noted a number of reasonable, perfectly agreeable attributes about him.

He was obviously a progressive sort of man who had a passion for architecture and travel.

He was agreeable, and kind, not to mention the fact that he was extremely well off.

If he became the patron of a hospital, his wealth could truly make a difference and while Grace refused to marry, they could form a rather powerful partnership.

Passion-wise, well, she had yet to discover if there was anything between them.

Of course, with the lack of heart racing, temperature rising, entire body shivering reaction, Grace doubted there was much, but even that was more welcoming than how she felt around James.

At least with Mr. Milton, she would be able to focus on her experiment with an unaffected mind and she wouldn’t have to experience this constant ache in her heart.

With a final step, the music ended and each of the dancers bowed or curtsied and when Grace gazed up, Mr. Milton was there, offering his arm to her to escort her back to her aunt.

“You really are quite the dancer, Miss Sharpe.”

“Mr. Milton, if you insist on teasing me, I should refrain from continuing to seek out your company.”

The man put his free hand to his heart as they reached Aunt Belle and Arabella at the refreshments table.

“With that threat, I promise I will never tease you again.”

Grace couldn’t help but be mildly pleased at his sincerity.

“You may tease me, Mr. Milton. I am not so rigid.”

“Then perhaps you might join me for a picnic sometime next week?”