Page 29

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a house look quite so radiant,” Charlotte whispered as she stepped beside Eleanor, her eyes sweeping over the glittering assembly.

Eleanor smiled, her gloved hands resting lightly on the rim of her champagne glass. “Nor have I,” she said softly. “It’s as though the chandeliers were lit with starlight.”

And indeed, the ballroom sparkled as if the heavens themselves had descended upon Loxley House.

Every surface gleamed, as candlelight danced from gilded mirrors, crystal sconces shimmered, and the scent of roses, fresh-cut and arranged in towering vases, perfumed the air.

Outside, lanterns flickered along garden paths, and the gentle strains of a quartet played beneath the open windows, offering up their music like a secret.

Eleanor stood at the heart of it all in a gown of emerald silk, which was the exact shade of the Loxley crest. Its square neckline was edged in delicate gold embroidery and her hair was arranged in elegant coils beneath a tiara of modest diamonds that had once belonged to Nathaniel’s grandmother.

The jewels weighed lightly on her brow, but the responsibility of them was heavier.

She had smiled, curtsied, conversed, and danced, all as instructed. She had answered questions about her background with practised ease, accepted compliments graciously, and endured subtle scrutiny with the calm of a marchioness. She was everything she had been expected to be this evening.

And yet …

She sipped the champagne slowly, glancing through the crowd with polite interest. The faces all seemed to blur together: lords and ladies, neighbours and allies, strangers and sycophants. They were all weaving in and out of conversation like a tapestry of glittering silk threads.

But where was he?

Where was Nathaniel?

They had exchanged only a few words since the evening began, just before she was introduced at the top of the grand staircase, his arm steady at her side.

“You look the part perfectly.” That was all he’d said.

And then he had vanished into the tide of gentlemen, who were all political allies of the duke, military men, or landowners from neighbouring counties.

Eleanor knew better than to expect attention. Still, her gaze wandered to the edge of the ballroom, searching and hoping.

“You’re performing beautifully,” Charlotte said beside her, drawing her from her thoughts.

Eleanor turned to her with a grateful smile. “I hope so.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “But you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“I—” Eleanor hesitated, then gave a small laugh. “I don’t know if I’m meant to enjoy myself. I’m meant to be admired, assessed, and remembered.”

Charlotte gave her a sympathetic look. “Well, you’re certainly being all three.”

Eleanor’s smile faltered slightly, but she nodded. “Thank you.”

Just then, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Ah, Lady Loxley,” came Arthur’s warm greeting, bowing over her hand. “You’ve outshone every light in the room.”

Eleanor curtsied. “Arthur, you are too kind.”

“I’m only truthful,” he replied with an easy grin, stepping back to join the two ladies. “Though if I say so too often, your husband may decide I’m overdue for exile.”

Charlotte laughed softly, but Eleanor’s gaze flicked again towards the far end of the ballroom, where a group of men stood in intense discussion. She glimpsed Nathaniel’s profile. He was, as always, stern, focused, nodding at something the duke was saying.

“Don’t worry,” Arthur added lightly, following her gaze. “He looks far too engaged in matters of estate and empire to notice I’m complimenting his wife.”

Eleanor blinked. “I wasn’t … I wasn’t worried.”

But she was. Not about Arthur. About Nathaniel.

About the distance that felt more pronounced tonight than ever, despite the closeness their late-night conversation had promised.

She turned back to her guests, providing what was required of her, which was composure and endless smiles.

But beneath her silk and diamonds, beneath the music and candlelight, a question lingered: was this all she would ever be at Loxley? A figurehead. A name. A role performed with precision and nothing more.

That was when the duchess approached them with her usual elegance and a knowing smile.

“My dear Mr Pembroke,” she said, her voice sweetened for the occasion, “you are a most delightful guest. I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

Arthur bowed gallantly. “Immensely, Your Grace. I daresay this is the most splendid ball I’ve attended in years.”

The duchess beamed, and her eyes twinkled with pure satisfaction. “How charming of you to say so. We must keep Loxley’s standards above reproach, mustn’t we?”

Eleanor remained still beside Charlotte, praying that the conversation would drift elsewhere. But the duchess turned to her next.

“Lady Loxley, I trust you’ve greeted Lord and Lady Weatherby? They arrived just before the second hour.”

“Yes, Your Grace. I greeted them not long after the last dance,” Eleanor replied.

“Excellent.” The duchess nodded once. “In that case, you’re permitted a moment of respite.”

Relief bloomed in Eleanor’s chest. A few moments alone on the terrace, or perhaps, she dared hope, with Nathaniel, if she could find him again. But the duchess had something else in mind.

“Respite,” she continued crisply, “in the form of a dance.”

Eleanor’s breath caught slightly. She glanced around the room, expecting to see Nathaniel returning through the crowd, seeking her out for the waltz they had not yet shared. But there was no sign of him.

She turned back to the duchess. “I would be glad to if only I could find my partner.”

The duchess scanned the room briefly, then gave a nonchalant shrug. “Oh, you know how men are, with their dull conversations and politics. It may be some time yet.”

Then, with a flick of her fan, she added with deliberate lightness. “But you have a different sort of man right here. Why, you should dance with him.”

Arthur smiled, looking at Eleanor with one brow gently raised.

She blinked. “But … isn’t the first dance traditionally meant for one’s husband?”

“Nonsense,” the duchess said, her tone sharper now, hidden behind the veil of civility. “Men scarcely notice such details. And you’ll only sit idle otherwise.”

There was no choice left in her expression, only expectation.

Eleanor felt her spine stiffen, her fingers curl around the silk of her gown. Arthur extended his hand. With a quiet breath and a small, uncertain smile, she placed her gloved hand in his.

She smiled awkwardly as he led her to the dance area. The music flowed all around them, and she felt every eye turn in their direction.

She felt the weight of it, heavy and cloying, almost like a talon gripping her throat, making it increasingly more difficult to breathe.

They moved into the first steps of the dance, with Arthur being light on his feet and ever attentive. But Eleanor’s heart was beating not with excitement, nor embarrassment, only a distant ache.

Because it was not Nathaniel’s hand she held. It was not Nathaniel’s eyes she met. And though she performed the steps with grace, her mind searched the edges of the ballroom, again and again, hoping for him to see her and to come for her.

Arthur leaned in just slightly, voice low enough to stay between them. “Am I such a dreadful dancer that I cannot even hold your attention for the length of one waltz?”

Eleanor blinked, caught in her thoughts, and turned her gaze back to him. A reluctant smile curved her lips. “Of course not. Your dancing is perfectly fine.”

“Perfectly fine,” he echoed, mock-offended. “That’s barely above tolerable.”

She laughed softly, as the tension slipped from her shoulders. “I only meant … ” She hesitated, then admitted, “I was wondering where Nathaniel had gone.”

Arthur tilted his head as they turned gracefully across the floor. “Last I saw him, he was with the gentlemen in the parlour. Glass of brandy in hand, deep in discussion about land rates or tax reform, something dreadfully serious.”

Eleanor nodded, half-listening. She looked across the ballroom once more, as though she might catch a glimpse of her husband’s tall figure among the crowd.

“And you?” she asked. “Why weren’t you among them?”

Arthur gave an easy shrug, his hand at her waist light and respectful. “I prefer the hum of the ballroom. All that quiet plotting in the parlour is terribly dull. And besides,” he added, with a flicker of a grin, “I rather enjoy dancing.”

Arthur twirled her lightly, and as they settled back into step, he enquired with a grin, “Do you remember the apple tree at the far end of Ashby Green? The one you insisted we could climb to reach the honeybees?”

Eleanor laughed, truly laughed this time, the sound catching in her throat. “And you insisted I go first because you had longer arms and could catch me if I fell.”

“I did catch you,” he said, feigning a slight injury to his pride. “Just not before you managed to land directly in a bed of thistles.”

She smiled, as the memory bloomed warmly in her chest. “My mother was furious. She said I looked like a hedgehog.”

“She was wrong,” Arthur said with mock solemnity. “You looked like a very dignified hedgehog.”

Eleanor shook her head, trying not to laugh again. “We were insufferable.”

“Still are, I suspect.” He glanced at her sideways. “At least I am. You, Lady Loxley, have grown far too graceful and elegant for thistle beds and stolen honey.”

She felt herself flush, touched despite everything. “I’m still learning how to be all those things. Graceful. Elegant. Whatever I’m supposed to be now.”

Arthur’s tone gentled. “You don’t have to try so hard, you know. You’ve always been yourself. That’s what made you the most impossible and most delightful creature in the room.”

Her gaze dropped, her smile faltering just slightly. She was grateful for the ease he offered, for the memories, the jokes, the familiar tone that pulled her back to a simpler time, but even so, her mind drifted to Nathaniel.

She didn’t want to belong only in old stories. She wanted to build new ones, with him.

Arthur must have sensed the shift in her mood because he added lightly, “No one’s looking at you like you don’t belong, Eleanor. You carry yourself like a queen.”

“They’re looking,” she said quietly, scanning the room again. “But it doesn’t matter. I just want to find Nathaniel.”

Arthur gave a small nod, stepping neatly into the final turns of the dance. “Then when this ends, we’ll find him together.”

It was kindly said, and she appreciated it. But when the music drew to its close, and she curtsied, Eleanor’s thoughts were already somewhere else, searching the crowd, straining to spot a familiar face, a familiar pair of eyes.

She had danced. She had smiled. She had done what was asked of her. Now, she only hoped she could find her husband and remind him that she was his.