Page 8 of When her Duke Returns
The Countess let out a soft laugh though Mary was resolute in her silence. “How taken you are with her!” she cried. “Perhaps it is time to call the dancing, my dears, lest you leave your audience yearning!”
Mary sucked in her cheeks. “Certainly,” she acquiesced, seeing no way around it.
Harry stopped her in her path as they edged toward the dancefloor, his reddish-brown hair falling in front of his eyes. “I would be most glad to dance with you, sister, after you’ve had a few rounds with Lord Burkley,” he said with a sly smile. Mary nodded and waved him away.
Antony led her to the center of the room where a greatly detailed pattern had been etched in chalk. The floor was cold for want of feet, and a collection of eager dancers had settled around its heart, their cards heavy with names.
They looked upon them now as Mary raised a hand to the Earl’s and made to dance. The musicians had been propped upon a dais to the back of the hall. In a swirl of teal velvet, Mary spun herself into place. A small group of enlivened revelers gathered around her in rows and took off into a country dance.
While Antony did not lack for grace, his tall and slender frame was not much suited for dancing—the two simply did not go together. Mary could hardly keep her eyes on him as they danced around one another in their genteel to-and-fro. She focused as best she could on her steps and lines and soon enough found herself smiling, both at the sense of youth elicited by the dance and the strangeness of her suitor’s movements.
Soon, her smiles rose into a crescendo of giggles as she compared her betrothed to all sorts of ungainly creatures in her mind: a hesitant stork, a legged eel, a large and bumbling grasshopper.
Their first dance was followed by another, and then, an allemande had been planned as a collection of young men and women bobbed in and out of the rows of dancers, the musicians preparing for their next piece. Harry was upon her then with a gentle kiss on her cheek. Her brother gestured for Antony to leave, and the Earl was most displeased. He left the floor in search of wine as the two Carlisles began their dance.
“Good riddance,” Harry said upon drawing Mary in close to begin their set. “The floor will be better for it— andwehave much to discuss.”
“Secrecy does not suit you, Harry,” she replied, certain none could hear their conversation over the music. “Whatever is so pressing it could not wait until after the ball is concluded?”
Harry sighed. “I have received the most distressing news,” he began, appearing disquieted. “There is talk of a queerest sighting from London.”
Mary felt herself sink into contemplation and almost missed a step. “Go on,” she pressed when Harry refused to give up more information.
“I believe the Duke of Redgrave has returned to us.”
Mary felt the world fall from beneath her, and it took great pains to keep up their dance. “That is quite impossible,” she whispered breathlessly. “What would spur you to say such a thing, now of all times?”
“A letter from the friend of an acquaintance who thought he saw the specter of Redgrave stepping out from a carriage onto Markham Road… The details are hardly of import, Mary. We both know what this will entail.”
“Do we?” she asked mainly to herself. “You might, but I certainly do not. This could be simple happenstance or rumor or some vicious trick or—”
“Oryou could take this as the blessing you’ve awaited ever since Antony asked for your hand and call an end to this charade before it’s too late.”
The two weaved in and out of a row and danced in silence for a moment. Mary could hardly bring herself to contemplate the matter much more, but grief and curiosity bore away at her.
It had been six long months since she had been informed of the Duke’s passing, and four since she had allowed herself to think of him. She prayed the sighting had been a mistake, but she knew, deep in her heart, that her brother would not torment her unless he was certain.
“So, will you?” Harry asked once they found each other once more. He was remarkably apt at balancing his dance with his conversation.
“Will I what?”
“Will you run off to London, should it transpire the man still lives? Do you still long for the Duke?”
Mary gasped at the suggestion and almost bumped into another dancer. “I cannot say with any great confidence that Ieverlonged for the man.”
“Come now, Mary,” Harry said between laughs. “Redgrave was twice the man Burkley is, and even the most prudish among of ladies hailed him as an Adonis.”
“You are within your right to think so. I knowyouheld the Duke in great esteem, but I could not say,” Mary concluded. “Besides, if anything does come of this nonsense, who knows what war will have made of him. Redgrave, dead or alive, shall elicit no more pining from me.”
“You would not be so callous as to dismiss the man should he come in search of you; I know that. Neither you nor I are as unfeeling as Francis and Mother.”
Her skirt billowed softly as they came to a halt after two rounds—dances which felt as though they had stopped time itself. She was unsure whether it was the dance or the conversation that had unsteadied her so, but she felt her heartbeat quickly beneath the fabrics of her gown.
Mary bowed to her brother and made to leave the floor. “I fear you think too highly of me, brother.”
Before Harry could say another word, the high-pitched din of cutlery against a glass rang out over the hall. Mary drew her eyes to the sound and saw Francis and Antony walking toward them. Francis raised his glass high overhead.
The entire hall shifted its gaze to Mary, and she felt the room spin; between the dancing and the sudden chime of the glass, she could hardly stand upright. Harry was quick to notice and placed a hand on her back. He leaned in close as Francis prepared to speak.
