Page 7 of When her Duke Returns
“I shall trust your judgment on this, Cece.”
“Are you nervous?” the younger girl asked without an ounce of tact as was her nature.
Mary thought deeply. “Perhaps I am,” was all she allowed. What Mary did not tell her friend was that anxiety swelled in her stomach so strongly, she had spent much of the afternoon in bed.
“Well, I for one am terribly envious of you,” Cecelia said softly. “I dread to imagine what match shall be made forme.”
Mary lowered her gaze. The Stantons were landed folk of the highest rank, and Cecelia’s father was a Baronet though they were not like to attract the attention of lords. Most likely her friend would be wedded off to a man looking to benefit from the vast lands under her father’s domain, and love would hardly feature in the match. Cecelia approached the ordeal with far less resistance than Mary, and it almost made her feel guilty for looking upon her own suitor, anearlno less, with such disdain.
“With any luck, you shall chance upon a fine man tonight. I hear many of them are most spirited with the approach of the end of the Season.”
Cecelia hummed, and a set of strawberry blonde curls danced at her shoulders. “Most spiritedlike your Antony, you mean? Harry said he snuck into your room yet again upon his last visit to Hatton House.”
Mary laughed at the brazenness with which she spoke and then sighed. “It is true; I shan’t deny it. Though once again, I refused him.”
“He sounds like a pest to me,” Cecelia noted with a frown. “Does his audacity not worry you?”
“Of course, Cecelia, but this is the nature of things,” Mary replied with no great amount of confidence. She hardly wanted to consider intimacy with the man, oranyman, and Cecelia would most definitely press the issue, so Mary sought to change the subject.
Before she had the chance, the door to her chambers swung softly open, and her mother appeared through the crack.
“It’s time, my darling,” the Countess said, “and everyone is most excited to see you.”
* * *
By the time the girls reached the landing of the second floor, Mary’s engagement ball was in full swing.
The castle was a building of great natural beauty made all the more lavish by the detailed décor set out by the staff. Candles hung high overhead, and black and blue drapery had been hung along the walls as a nod to the joining of the two families: a rich navy for the Carlisles and soft charcoal for the Simons.
Music and chatter roared from the great hall. Each shock of laughter from below sent waves of anticipation through Mary, and she held on to Cecelia with all her might as they walked toward their mother and Antony at the top of the grand stairway.
“I was beginning to think you’d jumped from your window,” Lord Burkley said at her approach.
Antony was clad most finely in an overcoat of rich black fabric and an elaborately tied silk cravat. His hair had been coiffed with pomade in a way that highlighted the sharp angles of his face, and Mary thought he loomed above her like a dark fox hunting his prey.
She stood in stunned silence. It was Cecelia who spoke first. “She couldn’t get it open,” she said coyly. “The window, I mean.”
Antony ignored her, drawing his whole attention to Mary. “Shall we make for the hall, My Sweet Lady?”
She nodded and placed her hand on his extended arm.
Mary stood overlooking the hall as they waited for the Master of Ceremonies to announce her arrival. At that moment, the gravity of the ton seemed to weigh more deeply upon her than ever before, and she felt herself sink into her dress. A sharp glance at Antony revealed he suffered much the opposite effect, looking very much like the cat that got the cream.
“The Earl of Burkley and Lady Mary Carlisle,” they were announced with resounding pomp. The names tolled like bells within her, swinging back and forth with each step down the stairs. She forced a smile, both to satisfy the crowd and to conceal her trepidation.
“They adore you,” Antony murmured with an affectionate glance toward his bride-to-be and another, more sweeping glance over the attendees below.
“They are merely curious,” she replied. “They do not understand me.”
In a sudden rush of skirts, an audience was upon her, headed by her mother and brothers. “That was a most wonderful walk,” her mother cooed. “A truetableauof young love.”
“Yes, you do make a most handsome pair,” Francis added though he appeared more concerned with happenings at the other end of the hall and was notably missing his wife.
It was Harry who said nothing which was most against his nature. The younger Carlisle brother had been absent for the better part of the day, returning only an hour before the ball and looking most haggard. Harry was ordinarily a man of impeccable taste and posture, and he never turned down the opportunity towoothose of high society. Rumors had circulated that he was courting a young lady from a village an hour out of Summerhead, and Mary could not help but wonder whether his change of behavior was rooted in some disagreement between the two.
He stared at his sister and then offered his hand, nodding lightly at her as if to communicate a thing of much gravity that Mary could not understand.
“Whisking her away so soon, Harry?” Antony interjected before Mary could pry. “Surely, you can afford me a moment to flaunt my most lovely prize?”
