Page 26 of The Duke’s Reluctant Muse (The Untamed Nobles #3)

Viola tugged her glove up higher on her arm, her nerves threatening to get the best of her now that people were about to start arriving. Even then, when her heart was fluttering anxiously in her chest, she knew that her own anxiety was nothing compared to what Scarlett was feeling upstairs. A girl can only have her debut once, and if it didn’t go well the whole ton would notice. Just like the ton had noticed, at her own coming out ball, that Viola Berrington left something to be desired. The scandal sheets had determined that she was rich enough but dreadfully shy. Well, that had been news to Viola. She’d never considered herself shy before. The suddenness with which she had been swept to the side as a wallflower had shocked even her own modest pride. Before she knew it, her moment had passed. She prayed that Scarlett would have a better experience.

She took up her position in the receiving line, standing next to her father and Aunt Sylvia as their guests began to trickle in. The London townhouse was resplendent at night, with no end of candles flickering merrily and illuminating the ballroom in a warm, golden glow. It was hard to be discouraged on nights like these. There was something about a ball that made it seem like anything was possible. Viola smoothed her hands over her new gown which had been altered to fit her body expertly. She felt beautiful in it, and in the secret corners of her heart she allowed herself a flicker of hope. Maybe her chances weren’t ruined. Maybe she would meet her future husband that very night.

She blushed and made herself think of something else. Getting caught up in romantic notions wasn’t likely to improve her situation. She turned her full attention to curtseying politely as each new guest was announced, her excitement growing as the ballroom, normally so large and empty, began to fill up with people, life, and music.

“You look lovely tonight,” Her father said during a lull in arriving guests. “You mustn’t worry about anything.”

Viola’s face heated. “Thank you, Father.”

He gently patted her cheek, compassion in his eyes. So much was left unsaid when it came to Lord Bentcliffe. Since her mother had died, he tended to say very little. It wasn’t coldness that kept him so quiet, but just the opposite. What he couldn’t say was communicated through the warmth and care that he had for each one of his children.

“His Grace Ewan Thorne, Duke of Thawswood”

Edward and Viola turned at the announcement of this new guest. Lord Bentcliffe raised a brow, as if surprised that he’d actually come.

“Lord Bentcliffe,” the man said, bowing sharply to her father.

“How nice that you decided to come, Your Grace” Aunt Sylvia said warmly as the man took her gloved hand and raised it to his lips.

“I suppose one can’t stay home forever,” he answered, a slight quirk to his lips.

“All the same, we are happy you could attend. And your sister?” Sylvia looked about, as though expecting a woman to materialize next to him from thin air.

“Ill, I’m afraid.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” Sylvia stammered.

A moment passed. Something hung unspoken in the air, but Viola didn’t know what it was. The duke turned his gaze to her, and Viola felt her breath catch in her throat. His eyes, a pale greenish gray framed in long, black eyelashes, held hers for just a moment too long.

“This is my niece, Lady Viola,” Aunt Sylvia said.

As if on cue, Viola ducked into a curtsy, lowering her gaze. Her heart raced. When she looked back up, his eyes were still locked on her face, and he held her gaze as he bowed.

“Lady Viola,” he greeted. “A pleasure.”

“The pleasure is ours, Your Grace,” she murmured. Why did this man make her feel so flustered? The way he looked at her made her feel as though she’d done something wrong. Something scandalous, somehow. She was relieved when he moved on, and she told herself not to watch as he crossed the room and was lost in the crowd of people.

Viola threw herself into her duties as hostess, amiably greeting each guest as they arrived. After so many curtsies, she was beginning to feel fatigued without having danced a single dance. When she was released from the door and allowed to mill about the ballroom until it was time for Scarlett’s debut, Viola stuck to the sides of the room, even though she knew it only played into her reputation as a wallflower. If only her future marital happiness didn’t depend on dancing and being seen, she would have actually enjoyed staying in the background. She liked to find a quiet spot, a place to see without being seen, so that she could gaze openly at the blur of stunning gowns and flamboyant gentlemen. There was something absurd about a ball, human beings acting like birds of paradise, flashing their finery at each other. It was hypnotic. Often emotionally fraught, occasionally hilarious, there was always something bound to happen at a London ball during the season. She wished she could merely hang back and watch it unfold, but she knew that she had to enter the fray.

Would it happen this time? Would a gentleman see her, choose her? Would she feel the heat of his hand through their gloves as they danced? Would he call on her tomorrow, eager for a chance to speak away from the noise and cacophony of a ball? Would the scandal sheets have gossip about the redeemed wallflower, Viola Berringon?

Her thoughts were getting away from her again. How she wished she could return to childhood, to how she was before this anxiety about marriage had come and turned her into a foolish, lovesick girl. She’d never thought she would find herself thinking and behaving this way. She never imagined she would feel desperate. There was something humiliating about it. On one hand it felt beneath her to be so consumed with thoughts of love and marriage, and yet, how could she think of anything else?

She wished Christopher were there. Her older brother would have some sort of joke, some witty words of encouragement to ground her and give her a sense of safety and normalcy as she faced the marriage mart. Why did he have to be away on his Grand Tour now, when she needed him most?

As she gazed out at the glimmering ballroom, she became suddenly aware of being looked at. She could swear that she felt his gaze before she saw it, the way their eyes connected as soon as she turned her head. He was across the room, a drink in his hand. Across the sea of people, he saw her.

Ewan Thorne. Duke of Thawswood. These few scant facts that she knew about him did not warrant the way his gaze arrested her, mind and body. She wanted to tear her gaze away, to be angry at the forwardness of his gaze. He was practically staring at her. It was rude. It was untoward.

It was exhilarating.

The time had come for Scarlett’s official debut into the ton. All eyes turned toward the large staircase as everyone waited to catch the first glimpse of the newest Berrington on the scene. Viola’s hand went instinctively to her chest as she willed for her heartbeat to calm. She couldn’t help but remember the bundle of nerves she had been when it had been her turn to face the ton for the first time. She could only imagine how nervous Scarlett was, and she wished she could have been upstairs with her to lend her some courage.

When Scarlett appeared at the top of the stairs, though, Viola’s worries vanished. Scarlett didn’t need any extra courage from her. Scarlett was beaming, her young, fresh face rosy with health and vibrancy. Her gown was resplendent, her dark curls coaxed and smoothed into a stylish chignon, and she carried off the opulence of her array with an aplomb that Viola could only envy. A wide smile spread across Viola’s lips at the sight of her confident, lovely little sister. Scarlett had nothing to fear. A huge weight was lifted off of Viola’s shoulders and she hurried through the crowd to meet her sister at the base of the stairs.

“You look like an angel!” Viola exclaimed as Scarlett excitedly caught her up in a hug. “A perfect entrance, I must say. No one can take their eyes off you.”

Scarlett blushed at the praise, but the pink of her cheeks only made her look all the more becoming. She glanced around, and they both knew it was true. More than one man was keeping his eyes on her, clearly waiting and looking for the best time to make their move. Scarlett’s dance card would be filled in no time.

The slightest twinge of envy tugged at Viola’s heart as Scarlett was just then approached by a young gentleman who immediately asked for her first dance. She made sure not to let the jealousy show on her face, not wanting to spoil Scarlett’s moment by making herself pitiful. She grinned, truly happy for her sister as she was led away on the arm of the man.

The music for the first dance rang out. No one had asked Viola. She stood with her back to the wall and let her eyes linger over the twirling forms before her. There were so many lovely ladies, women who knew how to flirt and capture the eyes and hearts of men. It was no real insult to lose out to such competition. What talents did Viola have to compare? She was an eldest daughter: responsible, sensible, competent. She enjoyed reading and evenings spent at home with her loved ones. Good traits in a mother, but perhaps not the most exciting prospect for young, eligible men.

She consciously arranged her face into a warm, gentle smile as she watched Scarlett dance. Scarlett’s happiness was enough for Viola. It had to be.

The man from before, the duke who had been staring at her, was no longer. He was dancing as well, his partner being a young woman the Berringtons knew only as acquaintances. She watched him from a safe distance, secure that no one would notice her watching him. He looked so stiff, she thought. Positively unwell at times. His lips were pressed into a tight line somewhere between a frown and an unfriendly smirk. He kept his eyes on his partner, but didn’t seem to say a word to her. He was acting cold, and so at odds with the warmth and gaiety of his surroundings.

The excitement that had begun to bloom when he’d made eye contact with her before seemed to be wilting already. He wasn’t interested in her, and even if he was, she wasn’t sure that she was interested in him. He was a fish out of water here. And while she could sympathize with that particular plight, it didn’t endear her to him much when she saw how tense and unpleasant he seemed when dancing.

She chided herself for being judgemental, and told herself not to watch him anymore.

After the first dance, Scarlett danced a second with a different gentleman. Viola was asked on the third dance, and she danced a quadrille with an older gentleman, a widow, who was merely being kind. She was grateful to him for saving her from the embarrassment of sitting out a third round, and enjoyed the dance. The older gentleman was light on his feet still, and flirted with the freedom and gaiety that only a non-threatening older man could have. She just couldn’t help but have a good time.

“Lady Sylvia,” the gentleman said after the dance when he led Viola back to her aunt. “Your niece is a gem. And lady Viola,” he turned to her and bowed kindly “It was an honour. But I suppose I can’t hope to keep you.” He gave her a sly wink and left.

Viola laughed, her spirits lifting.

“That old scoundrel,” Sylvia said, though she was smiling as well. She handed Viola a glass of the pink, sparkling wine. Viola took it and sipped. She drank alcohol so seldom that the bitter tang and sweetness of it brought on a heavy nostalgia of evenings past. After a few sips she could feel the heaviness of it pooling in her shoulders, relaxing her and helping her to simply enjoy the festive atmosphere, even if she never would be the belle of the ball.

Not long later, Scarlett joined the two women, her face flush with happiness and exertion. She was slightly out of breath after a waltz, and took a glass of lemonade to refresh herself as Aunt Sylvia surreptitiously fussed with a strand of hair that had worked its way loose from Scarlett’s hairpins.

“You have an admirer,” Scarlett said suddenly.

“Who does?” Viola asked, genuinely thinking that Scarlett must be talking about someone else. She turned around to look.

“You, silly.” Scarlett continued, nodding over Viola’s shoulder. “But do not look now, he’ll see.

Viola froze. It had to be him. Was he looking at her again?

Sylvia, her brow furrowed, also seemed to notice someone behind Viola as well. “He does seem to be keeping an eye on you, doesn’t he?” she said. Her tone was hushed. Defensive.

“Who?” Viola asked, though she knew the answer.

“His Grace Ewan Thorne,” Scarlett said simply. “The Beast of Thawswood.”

Aunt Sylvia scoffed. “Where on earth did you hear that terrible byname?”

“Everyone knows about him. They say he never goes to parties anymore. He’s a mean, nasty sort of man. A few years ago his sister was in a terrible carriage accident, and she hasn’t been seen since. Not in public, not even when people have tried to visit them at Thawswood manor. They say he’s ashamed of her disfigurement and so keeps her locked away in an attic.” She was enjoying this story far too much, her excitement brimming up through her voice.

“Scarlett, that's a terrible thing to say,” Aunt Sylvia said sharply. “You ought not to repeat such nonsense.”

“I’m only saying what I’ve heard,” Scarlett replied nonchalantly.

“What you’ve imagined, more like,” Viola said. “Maybe you do read too many romance novels, Scarlett.”

“Well, he seems to come to balls now, at any rate,” Sylvia said pensively. “Why did he come?”

“He must be looking for a bride.” Scarlett said, her tone lowering to something conspiratorial.

Sylvia shook her head. “Not from among my nieces. Don’t encourage him, Viola,” she said, turning to Viola and placing a warm hand on her elbow. “If he asks to dance, accept him, but don’t encourage any more than that.”

Scarlett laughed. “Why shouldn’t Viola encourage him if he likes her? You said yourself the rumours about him are all nonsense. And he’s a duke. Handsome too.”

Aunt Sylvia did not seem to think that impertinent statement was worth responding to beyond a tut of her tongue against her teeth. Viola laughed, finding the whole situation rather silly. If he was actually interested in her, he would have asked her to dance. It wasn’t as though he couldn’t reach her for competition. He’d had every opportunity to ask, and had chosen not to. So this entire conversation was moot anyway.

“Speaking of admirers…” Viola said, catching sight of a handsome young man approaching Scarlett, clearly intending to ask her for the next dance. In an instant, his request was made and accepted and Scarlett was being whisked away back to the center of the room for the next dance, leaving Viola on the side of the ballroom again.