Page 5 of The Christmas Ball (Noble Holidays #9)

The day of the Christmas Ball dawned clear and cold.

It wasn’t snowing, Viola noted with some regret, but at least it wasn’t raining.

The road had dried enough that carriages could pass without fear of getting stuck, and Theo had directed the servants to lay straw and fir boughs over the worst of the mud, just in case.

Their house guests had arrived the day before, and Dovington was feeling more festive by the hour.

Garlands of greenery festooned every room, looping about the balustrades and draped over the mantels.

Holly berries shone bright red from the swags lining the hallways.

The ballroom itself smelled sweetly of fir, and Viola could scarcely wait to unveil the Christmas tree.

Currently, the wide double doors of the ballroom were securely shut.

Once all the guests were assembled, she intended to throw the doors open so they could all experience the spectacle together.

And what a spectacle it was!

She took a moment before the guests arrived to slip into the ballroom and admire her handiwork.

The huge evergreen stretched floor-to-ceiling, sparkling with silver strands of glass beads—a welcome new addition Theo had brought from London.

Mesh bags of sweets decked each bough, along with little wooden toys.

And, of course, the red velvet bags containing Viola’s party favors.

The bracelet bags were closed with silver ribbons, the stickpin bags with green.

The white candles in their tin holders waited to be lit, and a few buckets of water were discreetly tucked in the corner of the room, just in case the tree caught fire.

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, savoring the anticipation.

It would be a festive evening to remember, and one that would ideally end with her brother at last forming an attachment.

Heavens knew, the half-dozen young ladies she’d invited were all lovely, intelligent, and possessed of impeccable pedigrees.

Surely Theo couldn’t remain insensible to all of them.

Especially during the warmth of the Christmas season, which was most certainly conducive to love.

Then one of the maids came looking for her, and Viola was once again swept into the preparations.

Before she knew it, the sun was down and the guests were arriving for dinner.

Dovington’s chef, Monsieur Allard, had prepared a grand feast, complete with roast goose, braised vegetables, and of course, Yorkshire pudding.

Drew, looking most ducal, presided from the head of the table, which the servants had extended to seat eight-and-twenty.

Viola had placed Lord Winslow some distance down the table, on the same side as her own, so that she would not have him distractingly in her line of sight.

The crystal goblets and gold-chased plates sparkled, reflecting the winking chandeliers overhead and the ranks of candelabra marching down the center of the table.

The conversation was lively, the food delicious, and the footmen attentive with the water and wine.

Theo was surrounded by eligible young women, and Viola watched closely, trying to determine which of the ladies seemed to catch his interest.

Unfortunately, he was equally affable toward all of them.

Well, then. She’d continue her observation during the dancing. Surely at least one of the eligible misses would be able to capture her brother’s attention.

The dinner ended with a round of Mena’s parkin cake, served with a creamy hard sauce that balanced the dark sweetness of the gingerbread perfectly.

Once everyone was replete, Drew rose from the head of the table and extended his arm to his duchess.

Together the lord and lady of the house led the way to the ballroom.

The duke paused before the closed doors and nodded to Viola, who stepped up with a smile.

She knew that the moment dessert had been served, the servants had set to work lighting the dozens of candles upon the tree, and trusted that all was in readiness, as planned.

“I’m delighted you’ve come to our festive little ball,”

she said to the assembled guests, carefully not looking at Lord Winslow.

“Before you depart this evening, don’t forget to collect your gifts from the branches of the Christmas tree. Speaking of which…”

She turned and rapped her gloved knuckles upon the door.

A moment later, the latch drew back and then the doors slowly swung open into the ballroom.

The guests pressed forward, craning their necks, and she heard someone—Lady Holly perhaps—remark softly how dim the interior seemed.

That, of course, was by design. There was only one source of light in the large ballroom, and as the doors opened wide, it was revealed in all its glory.

The Christmas tree.

Its candles sparkled like stars, the glass beads reflecting the flames in a myriad of tiny constellations. The ribbons shimmered, the red velvet bags were brushed with light, and at the very top, crowning the majestic evergreen, glowed a gold-foiled star.

“Oh,”

another young lady said, pressing her hand flat against her chest.

“How magical.”

It was. Viola felt a pang of wonder herself, even though she’d arranged for every detail.

As the guests moved into the ballroom, the small group of musicians on the far side of the room began playing softly.

The strains of a Bach Minuet wove gently through the fir-scented air as the servants began re-lighting the wall sconces.

In a few moments, the music would transition to a waltz, and Mena and Drew would open the ball by taking to the floor.

Viola planned to hold back and see which young lady managed to snag Theo for the dance.

She saw her brother glancing her way, no doubt looking to be rescued, and she hurriedly ducked back—only to collide with the solid form of one of the guests.

Even before she turned, she knew who it was by the telltale scent of cloves and leather: Lord Winslow.

“I beg your pardon,”

she said stiffly, staring at his cravat.

It was elegantly tied, the gold buttons on his ivory brocade waistcoat gleaming, his black coat hugging his broad shoulders… In short, he cut a very fine figure. One whom she desperately wanted to escape.

“Not at all,”

he said, then touched her arm as she turned to go.

“Wait a moment. Please.”

She pivoted back to him, and this time met his gaze. For some reason, her heartbeat fluttered in her chest like a flurry of snow swirled by a fierce wind.

“Yes?”

She attempted an arch tone, but to her dismay her voice emerged slightly breathless.

“Lady Viola, would you grant me the favor of this dance?”

She blinked at Lord Winslow. They’d done fairly well avoiding one another, thus far. Why was he asking her to waltz, of all things?

He must have seen the question in her eyes, for his intent look deepened.

“I promised my sister I would ask you. And I never go back on my word.”

***

Grayson stared into Lady Viola’s dark eyes, his heartbeat inexplicably pounding as though he’d just sprinted across a frosty field.

It had seemed a simple thing to agree to his sister’s request when she’d badgered him on the carriage ride over.

A polka or set dance, whirl Lady Viola about the ballroom a few times, and that would be the end of it.

But then they’d stepped into the softly lit room, the Christmas tree presiding like some kind of glowing forest spirit, and Charlotte had prodded him in the back.

“Go ask her, now,”

she’d whispered.

“But—”

“It’s the only thing I want from you for Christmas. Please, Gray?”

It was impossible for him to ignore his sister’s request, so he’d glanced at Lady Viola, who looked singularly beautiful in a red satin gown trimmed with lace, and stepped forward. She’d stumbled back against him, and at that point he’d truly had no choice.

“Ah.”

She swallowed, her gaze fixed on his.

“And why would your sister demand such a thing?”

“She claims that…”

He cleared his throat and continued.

“That we would make a fine couple, and, to that end, seems set on pushing us together.”

Lady Viola laughed, a short puff of unamused air.

“I thought that was more my line. You realize that I intend for my brother to make a match at this ball, do you not?”

“I’d gathered as much.”

He took her gloved hand in his.

“But surely that doesn’t preclude you from dancing?”

“I suppose not.”

She tipped her face up slightly, and he glimpsed uncertainty in her expression; a wounded vulnerability that kindled something fierce within him.

Had someone trampled upon Lady Viola’s heart, in the past? Who hurt you? he wanted to ask, taking her by the shoulders and coaxing the truth from her.

And then he’d kiss those slightly parted lips, watch those dark, star-bedazzled eyes close as he pulled her body against his…

He yanked his thoughts back to the present, even as the musicians began to play a waltz. A dangerous dance, given the current state of his emotions. And yet, perhaps Charlotte was right.

Perhaps there could be something between him and Lady Viola, if he could broach her prickly defenses.

If he could admit to himself that she was, indeed, a woman he could imagine at his side through life’s joys and travails.

It wasn’t just her comely form and figure, though there was no denying his physical attraction to her.

But she was also immensely capable, if stubborn, possessed of the skills to manage a large household and immerse herself in a variety of projects.

Clearly unafraid of embracing new ideas, like the Christmas tree, outspoken, loyal—

“Are we going to dance, or do you intend to simply stand there, gaping at me?”

she asked tartly.

Grayson looked up, belatedly realizing they were the last couple to take to the floor.

“Forgive me,”

he said, guiding her into the flow of the dance.

“My only excuse is that I find you captivating.”

A blush washed over her cheeks.

“You think simple flattery will forgive all your past transgressions, my lord?”

“Not simple flattery, no.”

He swooped them into a turn, her scarlet skirts belling out.

“I find it curious that you are so set on pushing your brother into matrimony when you are not yet wed, yourself. Is there a particular reason for it?”

She frowned at him.

“That’s an impertinent question. My personal life is none of your concern.”

“Mm. Are you absolutely sure of that?”

“Just because you witnessed me—”

She broke off and glanced about, then leaned closer to him and lowered her voice.

“In a state of dishabille does not mean we owe anything to one another.”

He clasped her closely against him, welcoming the need to keep their conversation private.

“Your brothers, were they made aware of the details, would beg to differ.”

She faltered, and he smoothly guided her into another turn. The tree flashed by, a sparkling beacon of promise. Of possibility.

“Do you mean to blackmail me in some fashion, sir?”

Her voice was cold.

“I warn you, I shall not stand for it, and neither will the duchess.”

Blast, this was coming out all wrong.

“Let me begin again,”

he said.

“Lady Viola, will you allow me to court you?”

At that, she came to a dead standstill in the middle of the floor.

“Why would you do such a thing?”

The music faltered into silence. The dancers about them eddied to a halt, and Lord Beckford thrust his way forward, a grim expression upon his usually cheerful face.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

he demanded, looking from Grayson to his sister.

“Viola, has Lord Winslow insulted you? If he has in any way impugned your honor—”

“My apologies, Your Grace.”

Grayson turned to the duke.

“I only asked your sister if she would allow me to come courting. It seems to have stopped her in her tracks.”

The onlookers drew in a collective breath of surprise at his words, and he couldn’t help noting his sister and the duchess exchanging significant looks. Clearly, Lady Viola wasn’t the only self-styled matchmaker on the premises.

“Ah.”

Lord Beckford’s glower smoothed and he turned to his sister.

“Well, Viola. It seems the marquess has put himself in a rather precarious situation, proclaiming his intention so publicly. Have you an answer for him?”