Page 36 of When her Duke Returns
Alexander watched Mary bob in and out of the crowds, flirting with a set of young lords as she went. She looked stunning in her gown which was a frock of shocking sapphire blue. Her dark hair had been pinned back in a bun, and her face was flushed light pink with drink and dance. She smiled and laughed and nodded as was expected of a lady of her status, but with every move she made, the mask slipped a little further down her face.
Beneath the jewels, she looked absolutely tortured. They had not spoken since their night of his injury, and it had struck Alexander as most odd. He had been as he had always been, courteous and playful from a distance, but every attempt at conversation had been met with silent fury.
Watching her as she mingled in her prime, the man suffered a bout of jealousy like no other. Before the war, he might have looked upon the men she attended with certain disdain—they were not nearly as handsome nor as graceful as he had been. But now, he knew, their looks outshone his tenfold. And when not tortured by the simple sight of an ordinary man, he had to contend with gawking ladies beyond counting. Had he been forced to entertain the lunacy of the dance, he knew his offers would have been met with begrudging respect—a far cry from the willful desire he once incited. It was all he could to not sink into the darkest corner of the room and wish for the morn, much like the gargoyle he thought to resemble.
“Should you not find it beneath yourself,” he heard from behind him once a sea of dancers parted, “you might try to enjoy your youth.”His mother was upon him then in a gown as blindingly green as one could fashion.
Alexander kept his eyes on Mary. “What’s the use? I have no reason to mingle. Granny has seen to that as I’m sure you’re aware by now.”
“You are no different than you were as a boy,” the Duchess sighed.
“What is that to mean?”
“It means that you are stubborn and boring beyond your years. That you have always been this way. Far too grave,” she added with a smile. “Alexander, it will not do for you to be seen as standoffish at your own soiree. Our friends will—”
Alexander snapped his head back. “What more must I do for you to realize that I do not care one bit about our friends and their opinions!”
“Alexander,” his mother gasped. In the onset of awkward silence, she followed his gaze and continued. “Is the game still not up?”
“Doubtless, it will ever be.”
His mother shook her head and brought a hand to rest upon his shoulder which was still bandaged beneath his red overcoat. “You must know the time is upon us to move forward, my darling boy. I am as grieved as you are to watch the Lady Mary settle with another, but there is nothing more to be done.”
“That is why we watch,” Alexander muttered. “Where is Granny?”
“She has quite the headache. She has settled in the drawing room for now though I’m sure she is not without company.”
“A meeting with her daemons, no doubt,” he hissed.
Quite surprisingly, his mother laughed. “Really, Alexander, you must draw your gaze elsewhere and stop torturing yourself. Are you not atallcurious as to your match?”
Alexander looked back at his mother in ire. He knew she was not to blame for his grandmother’s toying, but he had nowhere else to direct his outrage. “No,” was all he said. “I am sure she will be beautiful and young and clever and in no way taken by me. What more is there to know?” He queried sarcastically.
“For one,” his mother replied, “She is here.”
* * *
The ball was met with objective delight though Mary was in no mind to be delighted about anything.
The Duke was set to marry—that much was sure. That cursed note had been enough to spoil her entire evening and every evening that had succeeded it. She had not been able to bring herself to speak with the Duke since and thought perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.
Hehadto know of his match. He had most likely known the entire time—all throughout their heated dinner, her injury and convalescence, theirkiss. She felt sick at the thought of it all.
Despite her disregard for their host, she could not deny the beauty of the place—its magnificence eclipsed even Summerhead. The large white walls of the ballroom were alight with the ambered glow of candles, and the red marble floor seemed to mirror the heavens themselves.
And soon, it would all belong to another,whomevershe was—barren and in poor health, Mary hoped—who would not begin to understand the magnitude of the gift that had been bestowed upon her. The concept was too much to bear.
With a swish of blue skirts, Mary made a sharp turn toward the nearest exit. Chaperoned or no, she needed some air lest she vomit her nuptial excitement all over the dance floor. The night air was cool and heavy, and Mary could sense a summer storm coming. She looked up to the heavens, to the great dark beyond, and prayed for a miracle.
Anything, she thought,to guide me on my way.
When her prayers were met with silence, she huffed and turned to leave. Perhaps she would find solace in her chambers or the gardens. It was not like she would be missed. There was no more courting to be had, no flirting to be received, no drinks that could soothe the weariness of her heart.
She turned toward the side entrance of the estate and was almost whisked off her feet immediately as a man came rushing through. He didn’t even look at her as he stormed past set for whatever lay on the horizon of the grounds and the stables, a blur of red against the grey of night.
“Excuseyou,” she said as prompted by her drinks, and the man froze in place.
If it hadn’t been for the gravity of that movement, his sudden pause, she would have simply made to leave. But she did not, and the man turned around. Mary was not sure whether the world was playing a cruel trick on her because the sight of him almost knocked her off her feet.
