Page 10 of Enslaved to the Seduction of a Lady
Chapter Five
Alison fiddled with her fingernails, oddly nervous about the party to come. She wanted so badly for it to go well. She, along with her sister and her parents, waited near the entrance to the garden. The first guests would be arriving soon, and Alison had that same twitch of anxiety she had whenever they hosted a soiree.
She wore a bright-red taffeta gown that had a high waistline and a gentle train behind her. Her hair was wound into tight curls and her bonnet woven with little red flowers. Her white-satin gloves stretched up to her elbows, in which she held a fan, emblazoned with the wordsProgramme du Bal—a nice change to the usual and less-fanciful dance cards they had used before.
She thought of Luke, on the hill and watching her. It was him she had thought of as she had dressed, too, in the hopes that he would catch sight of her and think her beautiful. She had chosen the red in the hopes that she would stand out among the other guests, that he would be able to find her easily.
She chuckled at her silliness. He had seen her many times and in many states—both happy and sad, both well-dressed and not—he would have already decided if he thought her beautiful or not. Still, she could not stop herself from hoping. She flicked open her dance card and began to fan herself, the little pencil on the end of the string jumping around as she did so.
“I do hope this evening is a success,” she said to no one in particular.
The garden behind them was ready, everything in its place. The string quartet began to play a quiet, welcoming tune. And the servants had stopped, looking ahead with hands clasped behind their backs, awaiting their next orders. All looked calm and effortless—so different from the flurry of activity that afternoon.
“Why would it not be a success?” the Duchess of Salsbury asked. “You have prepared it beautifully.”
“I want it only to be a success for Teresa. She deserves it.”
“It will be,” Teresa said, her eyes urging Alison to be more confident. “It will be a wonderful evening, I am sure of it. And besides, in the last year, I have been luckier than most people have in their entire lifetimes. I have a wonderful husband, soon to arrive, and in the house, my beautiful baby boy is asleep with the nursemaid. I really couldn’t ask for any more.”
Alison nodded and then smiled, forcing herself to agree.
“I suppose you are right,” Alison said. “I cannot deny I am a little anxious, though.”
“You are anxious because this sort of event will show your suitability for wifely duties, my dear,” the Duke said, grinning down at her. “Isn’t that the case?”
“I—” Alison’s cheeks reddened and she looked away, hoping they thought she was only embarrassed by her father’s forthrightness. “Yes, Papa,” she said finally. “I suppose you must be right.”
“The Earl and Countess of Cadstock,” the butler announced, and they all turned to see Lord and Lady Cadstock walking down the path.
“Delighted to see you both,” the Duke said. The Earl bowed his reply, while the Countess and the Salsbury ladies all curtsied politely. The Earl and his wife moved past them into the main part of the garden.
Erica clasped her jeweled hands in front of her, the rings clattering together as she did so. She wore a simple and demure gown of blue with a cross-over neckline and a full skirt with a net overlay embroidered in chenille. It was one of her staple favorites for the way it complemented her age-grown figure.
“I hope we have enough wine,” she mumbled. “We have rather a number of guests coming. It would be terribly humiliating to not have enough wine.”
“Stop fretting,” the Duke replied, his voice a slow drawl. “We have a whole cellar full of it. It would be near impossible to run out completely. Honestly, you and Alison are as bad as one another. Let’s try to enjoy this evening instead of worrying.”
At fifty years of age, Charles Heymouth, the Duke of Salsbury was a cheerful man. His body, although not fat, had a certain rotundness that caused the buttons of his waistcoat to pull open when he moved, and his cheeks seemed permanently rosy. He was often away for business, fully occupied with the running of the Duchy. His hair was graying, although it still had a smattering of black throughout, and his blue eyes were bright with a youth he no longer had.
“Papa,” Alison said, “do you have a speech prepared for the evening?”
“Of course,” he said, his thumbs in his pockets as he rocked on his pumps. “I could not let an anniversary such as this one pass by without comment. Where is your husband?” he asked, facing Teresa. “He should be here, too.”
“He will be here very shortly. He was held up at the house but—”
She was interrupted by the butler’s announcement.
“The Duke of Lentingdale, Your Grace.”
“I apologize for my lateness,” David said as he strode into the garden and past the butler, a smile on his face.
David Wearwood, Duke of Lentingdale, had not long turned seven-and-twenty and he was a tall man with strong arms and broad shoulders. He was clean shaven but for his thick and luscious sideburns, and his chestnut-brown hair flopped over his forehead.
“Ah, glad you are here,” Charles said. “I was beginning to turn purple with all the ladies’ talk. Really, they could worry the ear off a horse.”
“Well, perhaps you could join me for a moment?” David asked, throwing his wife an amused glance. “I have a mind to borrow your ear over a certain matter in the Duchy anyhow, and now seems the perfect moment.”
“Thank goodness,” Charles said, allowing himself to be pulled away by his son-in-law. “A sensible idea at last.”
