Page 5 of Ruby in the Rough (Heiress #4)

Chapter

Five

L ady Jane bustled over, her cheeks flushed and the feathers in her coiffure this evening slightly askew from dancing. She grasped Cordelia’s hands with a delighted squeeze.

“Was that my brother speaking to you? Oh, Lady Cordelia, how wonderful it would be if he began to court you! My wish for us to end up as sisters may come true after all. Can you imagine? One can grow rather…stilted, I think, when one has only a brother for company.”

Cordelia laughed, looping her arm through her friend’s as they turned to watch the dancers.

The ballroom floor sparkled with candlelight reflected off crystal chandeliers, as if the stars themselves had come down to waltz among them.

Masked ladies in silks and satins twirled past, their gowns a swirl of jewel reds, deep emeralds, and blushing rose-pinks.

Gentlemen in dark coats and gleaming boots bowed low, masks lending them an air of mystery that was equal parts thrilling and disconcerting.

“I have five sisters,” Cordelia said after a moment. “And, much as I love each and every one of them, I must warn you—sisters are not always as delightful as one imagines.”

Lady Jane’s mention of her brother’s courtship, however, stirred something Cordelia would rather not acknowledge—a soft, unwelcome flutter of curiosity and hope she knew she ought not to allow.

But could she tempt a man like Walpole? He was not merely powerful but unflinchingly forthright. Did he ever smile? Did he laugh? She could not say. And yet…there was a softness to him, she had seen that herself when he had comforted her on the terrace.

She adjusted her mask, willing away the thought, just as Lord Glenham approached. His bow was polished, his smile a little too eager.

“May I have the honor of this dance, Lady Cordelia?”

She hesitated for a beat but quickly decided that saying yes was best. She needed a momentary distraction from thinking about certain unapproachable dukes. “I would be delighted, my lord.” Cordelia offered his lordship her gloved hand.

He led her onto the ballroom floor, and the music swelled—a waltz, elegant and lilting, the violins’ notes sliding gracefully through the air.

Cordelia’s steps found the rhythm with his lordship’s with ease.

Dancing had always been one of her small joys.

There was something freeing about gliding across polished wood, skirts whispering against her ankles, her mind able to drift beyond polite conversation.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Rosalind smiling at them from the edge of the ballroom floor.

It was a warm, hopeful expression that made Cordelia’s chest tighten.

Was this what her sister imagined for her future?

A titled, rich gentleman like Lord Glenham?

Someone who would do well enough, rather than someone she actually loved.

Before she could dwell on her fears, his lordship spoke. “I wasn’t certain it was you under that mask, Lady Cordelia. I even went so far as to inquire to Ravensmere to be sure. I would not have forgiven myself if I missed the chance to dance with you this evening.”

She smiled faintly. “That is very kind of you, my lord.”

And then she made the grave mistake of truly looking at him.

It was not his height or his attire, which was respectable enough, nor the slightly crooked way he held himself.

No, it was his teeth. Or rather, the unsettling lack of them.

Several were missing entirely, leaving dark, jagged gaps.

And those that remained… Oh, merciful heavens.

Three were discoloured, the sickly shade of something that ought never be inside a person’s mouth.

Cordelia’s first thought was irrational: Is it possible his lordship had been gnawing on coal?

Then came the smell.

A slow, creeping horror unfurled as he smiled wider. The breath he exhaled was so noxious, she believed, with grim humor, that should she continue breathing near him, she could be snuffed out.

She fought to keep her expression serene, though her stomach churned. No one prepared a lady for this—every finishing lesson in the world might teach her how to curtsy or play the pianoforte, but nothing taught a young woman how to waltz while pretending her partner’s breath was not a weapon.

Cordelia turned her face slightly, as though admiring the candelabras, the guests surrounding them. Anything to avoid another direct gust of Lord Glenham’s unfortunate breath.

“You dance beautifully,” he said, leaning close enough that the stench nearly felled her. “I have been wanting to dance with you for some time, but I only just gathered enough gumption tonight. I hope we might dance again?”

Cordelia nodded, not trusting herself to open her mouth, but she knew she could not remain mute. Even if she so desperately wanted to. “That would be…very nice, my lord,” she said faintly, inhaling through her mouth and praying for the music to end.

He was, no doubt, a decent man. It wasn’t his fault his teeth resembled tombstones in a derelict churchyard. But still—how could she ever imagine kissing him? No, she could not. Not even if he were the last eligible bachelor in London.

The remainder of the dance was filled with his commentary about the dreadful roads to York, how the journey took days, how the carriage wheels sank into the ruts, how the horses tired—on and on his whining went, while Cordelia’s mind begged for escape.

By the time the final notes of the waltz drifted through the air, she felt as though she had survived a battle.

“Thank you for the dance, my lord,” she said, curtseying before he could linger further. “Have a pleasant evening.” Cordelia returned to Rosalind’s side, noting with envy that her sister Isabella was dancing with a striking gentleman whose teeth gleamed like ivory.

“Rosalind,” she hissed as soon as she could pull her sister aside. “Why did you look so pleased when I danced with Lord Glenham? You cannot possibly believe I’d be interested in him.”

“I was pleased because you were dancing, dearest,” Rosalind replied, her eyes sparkling. “You needn’t set your cap at him, though I hear he is very kind?—”

“Rosalind! Have you seen his teeth?” Cordelia exclaimed. “Half of them are missing and the others are not worth mentioning! And the breath—oh dear heavens, I nearly swooned, and not in the romantic way. Imagine kissing a man like that. I’d rather die a spinster.”

Rosalind stared at her for a moment, then covered her mouth with her fan, her shoulders trembling with suppressed laughter.

“It is not funny,” Cordelia snapped, though she was aware she sounded ridiculous. “I was this close”—she held her thumb and finger together—“to being sick on the ballroom floor.”

Rosalind’s laughter finally spilled out. “Oh, Cordelia, you are wicked.”

Cordelia’s irritation softened into reluctant amusement. “Well, wicked or not, I cannot pretend to be interested in him. I’d rather marry the church and spend my remaining days in prayer than spend another dance inhaling Lord Glenham’s breath.”

Rosalind chuckled and shook her head. “You do not have to marry anyone. You are a duke’s daughter with a dowry. You can take your time and choose someone you love. Certainly not one who smells as though he’s eaten spoiled fish.”

Cordelia smirked, though the memory of that smell still haunted her. “I shall be more discerning. Very discerning.”

“Well, while you are busy discerning, there are other gentlemen watching you right at this moment. Smile, or they’ll think you’re disapproving.”

“I don’t want to smile,” Cordelia muttered. “All I want to do is go home, brush my teeth, and never think about Lord Glenham’s mouth ever again.”

“Dearest,” Rosalind said, lowering her fan, “perhaps you’ve had enough of this room.

There’s an outdoor terrace. Go, get some fresh air, the doors are open and people are moving in and out all the time, you will be perfectly safe.

It will do you good. And who knows? You might meet someone with a full set of teeth. ”

Cordelia sighed, but she knew her sister was right. The ballroom was growing hot and stuffy, the press of bodies and masks making her feel slightly lightheaded.

“Very well,” she said. “But if Lord Glenham comes looking for me, please—have Ravensmere tell him politely that his suit is not welcome. Do not mention the teeth as the reason why.”

Rosalind grinned. “Of course, my dear. We shall handle his lordship.”

With that, Cordelia straightened her skirts, adjusted her mask, and started toward the doors leading to the outdoor terrace.

The cool night air would be a mercy. Perhaps out there, beneath the moonlight and away from the heavy perfumes and suffocating politeness, she might find someone worth noticing—or at least a moment of peace to collect herself.