Page 56 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“Oh fine!” She sighed then gave a low harrumph, but that expression quickly washed away in favor of a bright look as the sound of footsteps approached from the hallway. “Oh, that must be Lord Southall!”

Indeed, when Everett appeared in the doorway moments later, his usually immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled. His hair was tousled from the wind, his cravat slightly askew, and there was mud on his boots that spoke of hard riding.

Henry noted with amusement how Celia immediately straightened in her chair, her hands smoothing her skirts with unconscious vanity, and a becoming blush spread across her cheeks.

“Lord Southall!” she exclaimed with perhaps more enthusiasm than the occasion warranted as her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

“My dear,” Everett replied with an elegant bow that somehow managed to be both formal and playful. “You grow more lovely each time I see you. That shade of blue becomes you remarkably well.”

Celia’s blush deepened prettily, and Henry rolled his eyes at his friend’s shameless charm. Even knowing about his daughter’s crush on him, the miscreant kept unleashing that rakish appeal on her. The fact that he had no qualms doing so was entirely predictable and mildly concerning.

“Everett,” Henry acknowledged with a nod. “I trust your journey from the country was uneventful?”

“Tediously so,” Everett replied while settling into a chair with characteristic elegance, somehow managing to make even his travel-worn appearance look fashionable. “Though I bring news that may interest you both.”

“Oh?” Celia leaned forward eagerly, but Henry just arched a brow at her. She frowned. “Oh, come, Papa! Surely it isn’t news too scandalous for me to hear!”

Henry narrowed his eyes at his friend. “Very well. Keep your words clean, Southall.”

Everett laughed. “I’m flattered by the faith you show me, my friend. Don’t you worry. I’ve merely come here to tell you that I’ve decided to host a ball,” Everett announced with the air of someone revealing a particularly delicious secret. “Nothing too elaborate, merely an intimate gathering of London’s finest society.”

Henry felt his shoulders tense as a familiar dread settled in his stomach. “And you expect me to attend.”

“Of course you must attend,” Everett responded. “You’re the Duke of Marchwood, and my friend to boot. Your presence would lend the occasion considerable gravitas, as you well know.”

When Henry went to open his mouth, Everett raised a hand immediately. “Ah. I will hear no excuses. You think I do not know that you have been going about attending one event or the other? Surely, you do not think you can get out of attending my event now when I need you. So that’s settled.”

“How exciting!” Celia exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “When will it be held? Will there be dancing?”

“Next week,” Everett replied, clearly delighted by her enthusiasm. “I’ve already begun sending invitations to the most interesting members of society. And yes, my dear, there will be dancing. Until dawn, even, if the mood strikes.”

Henry sank deeper into his chair, feeling trapped. “I suppose this means I’ll be subjected to an evening of vapid conversation.”

“Perhaps,” Everett said with a sly smile that immediately put Henry on guard, “though I believe you’ll find some of the guest list particularly… engaging.”

“What do you mean?” Henry asked suspiciously.

“Well,” the Marquess drawled, clearly enjoying himself, “I’ve naturally invited Lady Oakley, given her position in society. A woman of her standing lends any gathering considerable respectability. Of course, her granddaughter will be accompanying her. I doubt Lady Oakley will leave her granddaughter behind.”

“An—Miss Lytton?” Henry asked, his voice carefully neutral despite the way his heart had begun racing.

“The very same,” Everett confirmed, though his eyes seemed to spark—he’d clearly caught Henry’s mistake. “I thought you might appreciate the effort.”

“Papa,” Celia interjected, her voice carefully innocent in a way that immediately aroused Henry’s suspicions, “you simply must ask Miss Lytton to dance. It would be the polite thing to do, given how much she’s helped with my studies.”

Henry cleared his throat and attempted to regain his composure while his mind raced with images of Annabelle in an eveninggown, of holding her in his arms for a waltz, and of the opportunity he would get to be able to speak to her without the pretense of discussing Celia’s education. Especially after how things had…ended between them this afternoon.

Henry had no intention of leaving things that way. Oh no. He’d started it, and now he fully intended to pursue it to the end.

Topursueher.

“Celia,” Henry said, his tone strict, “if you’d excuse us, please.”

“But Papa, I’ve barely spoken to Lord?—”

“Now, Celia.”

His daughter rose with obvious reluctance, offering both men a curtsy that managed to convey her disappointment at being excluded from what promised to be an interesting conversation.

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