Page 6 of The Burdened Duke (Willenshires #4)

“Lavvy, I am quite exhausted!” Gillian gasped, flopping down into the seat her sister had procured for her. “I can scarcely stand.”

“I can see that,” Lavinia said, chuckling. “You’ve danced every single dance so far. Pray, do take your ease, or we shall be compelled to lift you from the floor shortly.”

In fact, Gillian looked exhausted. At the beginning of the ball, she had been in excellent looks, but now her skin was pale and waxy. There was a sheen of sweat around her forehead and temples, which she delicately dabbed away with a lace-edged handkerchief. Lavinia eyed her sister worriedly. Gillian needed a drink, perhaps some lemonade or simple ice water, but the second Lavinia turned her back, their mother would likely find another gentleman to ask Gillian to dance.

The fact was that the girls were not used to such intensive dancing. In London, crowded as it was with belles and husband-hungry young ladies, every gentleman had about four ladies wanting to dance with him for every set. Gillian was pretty, and danced a good deal in London, but her dance card was never so full as it was tonight. Besides, it was well past midnight, and the dancing looked set to go on for hours.

“I think Gillian is tired, Mama,” Lavinia said, in a low voice.

Lady Brennon tutted. “She can’t be tired. The night is still young.”

“It is no longer tonight, Mama. It is tomorrow. Let her sit out a few dances to regain her strength.”

“When I was your age, I could dance all night without stopping. I used to wear out dancing slippers in no time.”

Lavinia sighed. “Yes, Mama, but Gillian isn’t used to that. You know she isn’t strong. Let her rest.”

“Oh, very well, very well! Her next set is empty, anyway.”

Lavinia allowed herself to relax a little, flashing a smile at her sister. Gillian smiled gratefully back.

She was breathless, Lavinia noticed. As a child, Gillian had always had a weak chest, and the unforgiving dancing and the stifling heat of the ballroom was certainly not helping.

Suddenly, Lady Brennon perked up. “Ah, here comes the Dowager and the Duke! Sit up straight, Gillian. Hadn’t you better stand up?”

“Mama, she’s resting!”

“Oh, alright, alright! I was just saying . Here they come.”

The Dowager appeared, face flushed with the heat and the triumph of a successful party. Her son followed, looking distinctly less enthusiastic.

The Duke was suffering more from the heat, his olive skin dappled with sweat in places. His hair, immaculately styled and pomaded, was beginning to slip free. He pushed back a lock of chestnut hair from his forehead, cool eyes raking over them all, and Lavinia hastily looked away.

“Sitting down already, Miss Gillian?” the Dowager laughed. “Good heavens, do not tell me you are fatigued!”

“My sister is tired, your Grace,” Lavinia spoke up, before anyone else could say anything. “She is indulging in a well-deserved respite. I cannot speak for you, your Grace, but I have not partaken in every dance this evening, and thus I can scarcely fathom the extent of her fatigue by this hour. Those thin dance slippers don’t provide much support, I think.”

The Dowager barely seemed to be looking at Lavinia, and no doubt did not listen to a word she had said. She was looking at Gillian with a speculative look, and then at her son.

Lavinia’s heart sank. Of course, the Dowager was thinking that Gillian would make a pretty bride for her son, and become a nice, malleable Duchess.

She certainly would, but Lavinia was sure that her sister was not particularly drawn to the duke at all, besides admiring his admittedly good looks.

“If you are not dancing with anyone this set,” the Dowager said, shooting a pointed look at her son, “perhaps William and you ought to stand up together.”

This, Lavinia thought clearly, is not fair.

She could see her mother brightening, and no doubt images of Gillian, Duchess of Dunleigh, were flashing before her eyes. The Duke himself glanced at Gillian, sitting breathless and pale on the chair, and his brow flickered. Perhaps he thought she was too tired to dance, but a proper gentleman would not do anything to imply that he did not want to dance with a lady.

Already, Lavinia could see Gillian trying to catch her breath, to straighten up in her chair, ready for a dance that she was too tired for. The duke would ask at any moment, and then it would be too late.

Lavinia was speaking before she knew it.

“I quite envy my sister,” she said, earning herself a surprised glance from the Dowager – who had doubtless forgotten that she even existed – and a warning stare from her mother. “She has danced every set so far, while I am left to sit alone with the matrons and chaperones.”

It was the most pointed thing she could imagine saying, without flatly asking the duke if he would dance with her instead of Gillian.

The duke smiled politely. “Then perhaps you would like to stand up with me for this set, Miss Brookford.”

Ignoring her mother’s furious glare, Lavinia smiled weakly.

“I should love to, your Grace.”

There was no time for anything else, as the music was already starting up. The duke offered her his hand, and she took it, twisting to look back over her shoulder at Gillian. Her sister was sinking back into her seat, blinking tiredly.

The duke walked quickly, obliging her to scurry along at his side, and he kept his gaze fixed on the couples milling around the floor ahead of them. It was, to Lavinia’s chagrin, a waltz.

That meant that not only would she have to stand uncomfortably close to the duke, but she would also have to talk to him.

“I hope you don’t mind what I said,” she blurted out, as they turned to face each other. “My sister is not strong. Mama would have her dance herself to death, I think.”

She immediately regretted saying that. It wasn’t a kind thing to say about one’s mother – even if it was true – and the duke blinked, as if surprised.

The music began, and Lavinia hurriedly grabbed at the duke’s shoulder, taking his hand in hers. His free hand landed tentatively on her waist, as the dance required, and she could feel the warmth of his palm seeping through her gown.

Best not to think about it.

“You seem concerned for your sister’s health,” the duke said, after a moment of dancing. It was not a vigorous dance, and they both had plenty of breath and opportunity to talk. Lavinia concentrated on staring at his shimmering cravat pin, instead of craning her head back to look at his face. “Perhaps she should dance a little less.”

“Perhaps you should suggest that to our mother, then. She doesn’t listen to me .”

Another improper and deeply unladylike speech. Lavinia flushed, glancing up at the duke’s face to see if he were shocked.

He was only smiling wryly, however.

“You speak your mind, Miss Brookford. I admire that. It’s not a quality I possess myself, but I admire it in others.”

“I don’t admire it in myself. If I were to receive a penny for every instance my tongue has led me into indiscretion, I should be in possession of a considerable fortune at this very moment.”

He chuckled at that, and Lavinia shot an amazed glance upwards, to double check that he was, indeed, laughing .

“Goodness, your Grace, did I just hear you laugh? And here I thought you were carved from stone.”

He laughed again, shaking his head.

“Miss Brookford, you remind me of my youngest brother.”

“Lord Alexander Willenshire? I shall take that as a compliment.”

“It is a compliment.”

They whirled round the dance floor, picking up speed. This dance, Lavinia guessed, was going to be short. Dinner had come and gone, but there was to be a small supper spread in the supper room soon enough. It seemed that the Willenshires intended to keep London hours, with an additional meal conducted after midnight and followed by more dancing. After all, when one could sleep until midday and beyond the following day, why not stay up late?

She was aware of glances thrown her way. Most of the looks were not pleased. It occurred to Lavinia, just a little too late, that she was dancing with the most eligible man in London or in Bath at this moment, and she herself was a penniless spinster.

What was more, she had made him laugh .

He’s not going to talk about our unfortunate meeting earlier in the Season, Lavinia realised in a rush. The relief was immense. He is being a gentleman and pretending it did not happen.

Or perhaps he’s simply forgotten, and I am not as memorable as I would have liked.

That last thought was not particularly pleasant, and she dismissed it at once.

The music ended with a flourish, and the two of them pulled apart.

She found that she missed the warmth of the duke’s hand on her waist. Now that was a disorienting thought.

The duke’s gaze flitted around the room, dwelling on one corner in particular. Lavinia had a feeling that if she looked over, she would see the Bainbridges there.

“May I escort you to the dining room should you wish for a repast? I fear you may be fatigued after such a long and eventful evening,” the duke said, in a rush.

The simple answer was no. Lavinia did not like being escorted anywhere. She was a grown woman with perfectly good legs, and certainly did not require support to reach the dining room, of all places.

But, of course, the duke would have to escort somebody in, and he suddenly seemed keen to escort her. As opposed to any number of the eager, grasping young ladies who would make something of the invitation.

“Why, yes,” she said, as if there was any other reply. “Thank you, your Grace.”

Dozens of gazes fixed on Lavinia’s face. The Dowager led the way, of course, on the arm of her youngest and favourite child, Lord Alexander. The duke came next, with his siblings trailing behind him with their respective spouses, and then the rest of the party.

Lavinia was well aware that at least half of the ladies there – and even more of their mammas, she guessed – had coveted her place. With the duke escorting her into the dining room, she would be able to sit beside him and have the opportunity to converse. She wondered whether her mother would ever forgive her for snatching the opportunity from Gillian.

Oh, well.

Lavinia tried to keep her head up and concentrated on not embarrassing herself in some way. Plenty of jealous ladies would be glaring at her, finding fault with her hair, her face, her figure, her way of walking, her age , and of course, her lack of money.

She found herself thinking about Miss Bainbridge.

The woman in question was not a Society beauty, but that did not seem to matter in the slightest around a woman like her . She was forthright, oozing confidence, with a way about her that made people quiet down and listen. And, of course, she was fabulously wealthy. She would never shift uncomfortably on the arm of a duke, longing to duck her head and avoid the stares levelled her way. She would keep her head up, eyes straight ahead, and enjoy the attention as her due.

Some of Lavinia’s awkwardness faded away as they filed in the dining room, with people finding their chairs.

“I never asked, Miss Brookford,” the duke said, pulling out a chair for her, “do you possess a variety of hobbies and interests? As it appears we shall be seated together and it would be delightful to discover some common ground between us.”

She sat, feeling a little more herself again. The duke’s sister was seated opposite and flashed her an encouraging smile and a wink.

“I’m afraid my pursuits aren’t particularly ladylike,” Lavinia said, wincing. “I like to be out of doors as much as possible.”

“It’s a healthy occupation. I am myself often closeted in my study, and it feels like such a waste of a fine day.”

“Oh, I agree. Rainy days are fine to spend inside – I enjoy reading, although nothing properly improving , you know – but on fine days, nothing suits me better than taking my horses out for a gallop. Are you fond of horse riding, your Grace?”

It was a simple enough question. It had never occurred to Lavinia that there could be any answer beyond yes.

To her surprise, though, the duke stiffened, the smile dropping from his face like a stone.

“No,” he said shortly. “No, I do not. More wine?”