Page 45 of His Darling Duchess
"May I have this dance, my lady?" Rhys' voice sounded close to her ear as he appeared at her side, his blue eyes shimmering with warmth and anticipation. He looked every inch the dashing duke he was, dressed impeccably in a black tailcoat with a fine ivory waistcoat beneath it. Aurelia felt her breath catch at the sight of him, so striking and sure amongst the throng.
"Of course, Your Grace." Her voice was soft yet steady, betraying none of the trepidation that coursed through her veins. Taking his proffered hand, she allowed herself to be led back onto the dance floor, marvelling at how easily their fingers seemed to entwine.
As they moved gracefully through the steps of the dance, the weight of their past misunderstandings and the looming spectre of Grantleigh seemed to fade away, replaced by the simple joy of being in each other's arms. The touch of his hand on her waist sent shivers down her spine, while the intensity of his gaze never wavered from her own, as though they were the only two people in existence.
"Are you enjoying yourself, my dear?" Rhys asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice.
"Immensely," she replied, her eyes never leaving his. "I cannot remember a more delightful evening."
As the melody of a tender waltz filled the air, Rhys whirled Aurelia slowly about the dance floor. Their hands intertwined and their gazes locked, creating an intimate world that revolved solely around them. The murmurings of the crowd, the rustle of silk and lace, the clinking of crystal glasses – all faded away until only the depths of each other's eyes remained.
Around them, the ballroom guests began to take notice of the Duke and Duchess of Stowe, so completely absorbed in one another that they seemed oblivious to the rest of the world. Whispers began to spread amongst the crowd, carried on the wings of gossip and intrigue, but with a decidedly different tone than before.
"Have you ever seen a couple more besotted with each other?" Lady Carrington remarked to her companion, Sir Henry Dorrance, as she fanned herself in feigned disapproval. "It is quite unfashionable for a married couple to display such affection in public."
"Indeed," Sir Henry agreed, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "One would think they were newlyweds rather than a pair who have weathered the storms of scandal and adversity."
"Perhaps there is hope for love in this cynical world after all," Lady Carrington mused, watching the duke and duchess with a wistful sigh.
The tide of rumour, once dark with whispers of deceit and betrayal, now turned in favour of the enamoured couple. Guests exchanged knowing glances and indulgent smiles as Rhys and Aurelia danced past, wrapped in the cocoon of their newfound adoration for one another.
In the soft glow of the candlelight, Lady Lymsey moved with regal grace through the sea of silk and jewels that was the ballroom. She drifted from one group to another, her smug smile never leaving her lips. She could hardly contain her satisfaction at the sight of her daughter Aurelia and son-in-law Rhys, their love for one another shining like a beacon in the dimly lit room.
"Ah, it does warm my heart to see true love triumph," she murmured to a cluster of ladies, who nodded their agreement and watched the couple with a mixture of envy and delight. "Their union has surely been blessed by Providence."
"Indeed, Lady Lymsey," replied the Countess of Jersey, her eyes following the duke and duchess as they moved gracefully across the dance floor. "It is rare to find such devotion in these modern times – a testament to the strength of their love."
"May we all be so fortunate," sighed Lady Montague, casting a rueful glance at her own husband, who was engaged in a lively conversation with several gentlemen nearby.
The clock struck midnight, its chimes echoing through the gilded halls like the tolling of a distant bell. It was a signal, it seemed, for the tide of gossip to ebb away, leaving behind only whispers and gentle sighs.
The ball wore on into the small hours of the morning, but for Aurelia and Rhys, time seemed to stand still. They danced and laughed and spoke of nothing and everything, content in each other's company.
When the final strains of music faded, Rhys lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Shall we retire, my love?" His eyes were dark with meaning, and Aurelia's heart skipped a beat.
She smiled up at him, warmth blooming in her cheeks. "Yes, I believe the night is at an end."
Of course, it was not; they still had to bid farewell to the last few lingering guests, and it was approaching dawn by the time they finally ascended the stairs. Aurelia was exhausted, but did not want to say so, not considering the way Rhys had looked at her earlier, was indeed still looking at her now.
They paused outside her bedroom door, and he looked deep into her eyes for a moment, his hand coming up to gently brush his fingertips down her cheek.
“You have never looked more beautiful than you do right at this moment,” Rhys said, his voice a little hoarse. “But I am conscious you have been up for many hours, and you must be done in.”
“I am fine,” she protested weakly, but now that the evening was truly over, the heart-pounding combination of nerves, excitement and dread was draining away, leaving her feeling weak and even a little shaky.
“Hush.” He placed a fingertip tenderly against her lips. “Your maids are no doubt waiting to help you out of all this heavynonsense. Get some sleep, Aurelia, and when you wake, come and find me. We need to… talk.”
She stared at him, bemused. “Talk?” she echoed.
He laughed, swooped down and kissed her. “And more than talk. Later.”
She blushed, still unsure of what exactly he meant, but quite desperate to find out. He was right that she was exhausted, though, and eager to have the heavy jewels and constricting gown removed, so as he walked away she sighed and let herself into her bedroom.
Nervous, Rhys paced his bedroom floor. He had slept little, mind too busy wondering if Aurelia really would come to him, if she was ready to increase the intimacy of their marriage at last.
"No, thank you," he snapped when his valet offered to bring him food, and then rethought. "Actually, yes. Coffee. And some pastries."
"As Your Grace requires." Harris gave him a sardonic glance and withdrew. Rhys resumed his pacing.
