Page 10 of The Duke's Sister's Absolutely Excellent Engagement (The Notorious Briarwoods Book 11)

A laugh slipped past her lips as they strode into the grand ballroom, and the conversation paused for a long moment, then burst into a flurry of words.

“They hate me,” she said with cheer, as if she could use that cheer as a shield. “Indeed, they do. I have never experienced anything like it. Before, they just ignored me for the most part.”

Nestor wanted to seize the entire ton and shake it until it saw sense. How could anyone give his darling Margery such a difficult time? Worse, the very thing that he thought was going to make her happy was now causing her difficulty! Namely, marriage to him.

Frankly, he wanted to go and wipe the looks off of all the faces of the mamas at the ball. This ball had been arranged specifically by his family to welcome Margery and to declare to the world that she was to be his viscountess—and one day, his duchess.

Oh, it was true that the announcement had already gone out, and they had been to the opera together. But this ball? This ball at Heron House was meant to show the world that she was approved of by the family and incredibly important.

The house was decked out as only his grandmother and his aunts could manage. There was finery everywhere, the servants moved with perfect steps, champagne flowed, and the finest musicians had been brought in from Austria. They were one of his grandmother’s favorite orchestras. The ballroom was full to the brim with all of the most important people, in clothes that were rich and beautiful to the eye.

Every invitation had been accepted.

Everyone wanted to come to Heron House whenever there was a ball because it was considered to be so exclusive. But today he feared that everyone had accepted their invitations, not just because a ball at Heron House was exclusive, but because they wished to stare menacingly at his soon-to-be wife.

It was mystifying to him because he had never experienced such vitriol, and he was shocked that people could not hide it.

“I know what we will do,” he said.

“What?” she asked, her smile brittle.

“Let us show them just how wonderful you are, what a great duchess you’re going to be, and how I will be there at your side every moment. Let’s show them just how much I adore you.”

“All right. Let’s,” she exclaimed. Though her voice shook a bit, she was facing all of it with great bravery.

He held out his hand, and she placed hers atop his. Then they charged onto the ballroom floor. The musicians struck up a sprightly allemande.

“Are you ready to dance?” he asked.

“For you? I am yours to dance with whenever you desire,” she said.

His blood sang at that, for how he wished to dance with her and feel her limbs move so beautifully against his own.

He took her hands in his and they began the twirling, quick movements of the dance. Soon dozens of other couples took to the floor, but they were certainly still the center of attention.

For Margery was such a magnificent dancer, as was he with her. He adored the fact that they would be unstoppable together. That was what he was certain of, in any case, though she might not see it yet.

As soon as the music came to a pause, he applauded the orchestra and she gave him a deep curtsy. The room erupted in what he could only assume was more gossip because then he took her hand, lifted her from her curtsy, gazed down into her eyes, tilted her chin up, and contemplated kissing her before everyone.

But he knew that would be a scandal too far. But oh, he wished to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her every moment of every day. And if he could have, he would have. So, instead, he tucked her arm into his, waggled his brows, and said, “Let us go find a nook where I can show you my appreciation further.”

She laughed. “Such a thing is not possible, my lord. Not at all. This ball is far too important for me to abscond with you.”

And so he relented. “Shall I hand you off to my darling Mama then?”

“Yes, please,” she said. “I think that will do nicely.”

With that, he took her slowly over to his beautiful mother, the American who had stolen his father’s heart and who ran a publishing company that was the most popular in England.

“Mama, the lady needs your protection.”

“I do not,” Margery tsked, her brows shooting up. “I will be fine amongst all these crows.”

His mother smiled. Her dark hair was arranged in a beautiful coiffure with jewels tucked into the waves. She shooed at him. “Go on then, my dear. Never fear. I shall take very good care of her, even though she says she does not need to be taken care of.”

He inclined his head and headed off, leaving them to chat, eager to tell every lord in the room how perfect his match was. Perhaps that was one way to ensure that Margery was met with more kindness.

“My goodness, you are causing quite a stir,” Nestor’s mother said.

“It seems that way,” Margery agreed.

“Well, you’ve done what they can’t,” his mother said simply.

“And what is that?”

“You’ve captured a future duke.”

She fought a groan. It seemed that Duchess Mercy was in agreement with the dowager duchess and Estella. “Capturing a future duke is probably overrated unless he’s a Briarwood.”

The duchess leaned in towards her and whispered conspiratorially, “I couldn’t agree with you more. Most dukes are stuffy, boring, and have no charm to them. They don’t have to have charm, after all, since they have so much power, land, and money. Thank goodness for all the good blood that the ladies have brought in.”

Margery shook her head. “My blood is not particularly good in that way. My blood is ancient.”

“Ah, but there’s something unique about you,” Mercy pointed out, contemplating her. “And your brother too. There’s no questioning it. Despite your ancient lineage, the both of you seemed bent on rebellion.”

The duchess winked and added, “Like me. Now you must call me Mama, if you like, or Mercy if you prefer.”

Margery’s breath caught in her throat at the sudden emotion that raced through her. In all her life, she had only had her own mother, someone who was unkind, someone who had made her feel terrible. Someone who had…

“Are you actually happy that I’m marrying your son?” she blurted suddenly.

The duchess blinked, her long dark lashes batting. “What a question. Of course I am. Why would I not be?”

Margery pressed her lips together, hating to have to articulate arguments against her own happiness, but no matter how she tried to push it away, the fear that she was unworthy of love kept slipping into her heart. “Because—”

Mercy stopped her right there. “I have no wish to hear about any recriminations against yourself or doubts about Nestor’s wishes. My son is a strong young man of good mind. And if he wishes to marry you, that’s the end of it. And you are lovely, Margery. There’s no question about it. So put any concerns you have aside.”

Margery glanced at the crowd. “I’m trying,” she said. “But they are all determined to make me feel it.”

The duchess paused, unable to deny this. “It’s true. They weren’t overly fond of me either, you know. An American coming in and taking one of their prizes. So you and I do have that in common, though I think they’re particularly awful to you. Still, I know what will fix that.”

“And what is that?” Margery asked, slightly wary.

“Your grand wedding, of course,” the duchess said simply with a shrug of her elegant shoulders. “Yours shall be the biggest, the most extravagant wedding of this century. Even bigger than your brother and Portia’s. We will invite every single person who would dare to hope to come, and we shall parade the streets with poems celebrating the two of you! I shall have a pamphlet written and…”

“No, no,” Margery cut in suddenly, and then she swallowed as a realization hit her. She knew exactly what she wanted, and it wasn’t what the duchess was describing. “Forgive me. I must go and speak to Nestor.”

The duchess gave her a quick nod. “Of course, my dear.” But then a strange look crossed her face. “I haven’t upset you?”

Margery dared to take the duchess’s hand and squeeze it. Oh, how the Briarwoods made her feel bold. Even when that feeling couldn’t hold, she loved how it sparked in her with inspiration now, encouraging her to act. “No. As a matter of fact, you have freed me from expectations.”

Without another word, she bustled through the crowd.

Mama. Yes, that was what she would call the duchess, and a warm emotion filled her heart. Her own luck was simply impossible. Yes, people were being cruel and envious. But that was because she had won a coveted spot in the Briarwood family.

Now, Margery knew exactly what she wanted. And that did not include rubbing other people’s faces in her triumph. She did not wish to give them the time or such power.

Just as she was about to turn out into the hall where she’d seen her Nestor disappear, a voice, not far off, whispered to another. “I can’t believe he’s marrying her. She has no charm, no conversation, and she’s plain as…”

“What?” Margery demanded fiercely, turning swiftly, knowing that they had intended for her to overhear, though they had assumed she was going to walk past because she always did.

She always had. For she had not believed in herself enough to stand up to such unkind envy. And she realized then that all the ladies had always been envious. Margery was everything they wished they could be. Wealthy, powerful in her family’s title, and certain of a great marriage. She did not have to play games as they did. No, she could be plain and simple and she was still guaranteed the best.

“I know I look like a wilting violet,” she said to the lady in question, who had dark brown hair and brown eyes. “But I am not,” she declared. “So, say what you said again, but this time say it to my face.”

The lady stared back, her face turning a terrible shade of white. “I… I do not know what to say, Lady Margery,” she said.

“That didn’t seem the case just a moment ago,” Margery replied, and then a hand took hers and slipped it into the crook of a strong elbow.

“Oh, I see you have made the acquaintance of Lady Annabelle. And this, of course, is Lady Wilhelmina.”

Lady Wilhelmina had red hair and freckles, and her cheeks burned bright red. They were shocked that they had been caught by the future duke and called out by his future duchess.

“Hello, my darling,” she said quite dramatically, as if they had been in love for years. “I wanted to talk with you about our wedding.”

“Of course, my dear,” he assured in his rich deep tones before sweeping her away as if those two ladies were nothing but buzzing flies.

A wave of sheer joy rushed through her. She was no longer standing along silk-covered walls, afraid, quaking, fearing company. No, with Nestor and his family, she was now coming into the power she’d always possessed but had not known how to wield.

“What is it?” he asked, guiding her into a curtained nook.

“I want to run away with you,” she rushed, turning towards him. “Immediately. Can you obtain a special license?”

He gazed down at her face, the crush and music now a distant murmur beyond the velvet curtain as he took both of her hands in his.

“A special license,” he echoed before his brow furrowed with confusion. “But we’re going to get married at St. Paul’s. It will be a grand wedding, and it will show everyone—”

“I don’t want to show everyone,” she said quickly, holding onto him firmly, as if she could will him to understand through her grip. “I only want to show you and your family and my brother that we are meant to be together. I don’t wish to take jealousy into our wedding. I don’t want hundreds of people staring at me, wishing me malice and wishing they could be me. I don’t want to think of anyone but you,” she insisted, suddenly feeling alive. Truly and completely alive.

She leaned into him then, tilting her head back. “That’s all I want. I don’t need any of them. I need you,” she said.

His eyes warmed. “Say it again.”

“I wish to run away with…”

“No,” he murmured. “The other part.”

“Oh,” she whispered, smiling. “You. I need you.”

“That’s it,” he breathed before he lowered his head and took her lips in a wild, possessive kiss.