Page 26 of An Arranged Betrothal with a Contrite Duke
What in the world is wrong with me? he thought, shaking his head vigorously. What could have ever made me so foolish?
He started pacing again as he realized just how truly foolish he had been. Executing his scheme for the marriage was likely the worst decision he had ever made. He wouldn’t be able to just dismiss and ignore his bride as he had originally planned. She was too clever. She had nearly caught him in a big lie about that vase, and she had only just met him. Imagine how she would be after being married to him for any length of time.
And then, there was the matter of her loveliness, and the way he was feeling about her. As much as he was still unsure if he even wanted the marriage, he wondered how he would feel once they were married. He knew that she would never settle for him studying and not paying her any attention. Even with her own projects, she would likely expect his company and conversation. And he didn’t know if he would always want to stay away from her.
“Your bath is ready, milord,” Lark said, startling him again.
Michael nodded, pretending to be selecting a suit he had just chosen. In truth, he was just choosing one at random, so that Lark wouldn’t know any better. Without looking, he chose a black coat, a velvet, emerald-green waistcoat striped with gold thread, a black cotton shirt to be worn under the waistcoat, and a green velvet stock. He also chose velvet breeches that matched his waistcoat, highly polished shoes that matched the shirt and a green velvet top hat.
He turned to Lark, not particularly attached to his selection, but trying to look confident in it. The valet studied the clothes, and Michael felt relief when the man smiled.
“Very good, milord,” he said, sounding very approving. “I shall have everything ready for you after your bath.”
Michael smiled and nodded.
“Thank you, Lark,” he said.
***
“Oh, my word,” the dowager gasped as she met Michael at the base of the stairs a few hours later. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you look so handsome.”
Michael gave his mother a tense smile. His thoughts had switched, if only a little, from Lady Lydia to the evening ahead. The dinner with only both their families had made him nervous enough. But that night, the earl’s ballroom would be filled with people Michael barely knew or didn’t know at all. And they would all be looking at him and his bride-to-be. He was sure he could never be ready for any such thing. But he recalled what Marcus had said to him. This would be just the first of many such events before his wedding. At least, at the end of the evening, it would be one less such event.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said, kissing her cheek, barely taking note of her light purple dress. “You look very lovely.”
His mother blushed and smiled.
“I hope you have some kind words like that for your soon-to-be-fiancée,” she said with a giggle.
Michael offered his arm, merely nodding as he led his mother out to their carriage. And maybe a kiss by the end of the evening, if I’m not careful, apparently, he thought.
Michael’s heart leapt into his throat when they reached Tockenham Castle. There were carriages lined up as far as he could see; some of them dropping off passengers, but others being parked and tended by footmen. Bile rose in his throat, and he had to close his eyes to resist the urge to let it come all the way up. He hadn’t thought he could be any more nervous than he was when he left his own home. But now, he was sure that when he exited the carriage, he would flee for the vast wooded area behind the Townsend’s home.
When the coach rolled to a slow stop, Michael took several deep breaths. His mother touched his arm, but he refused to look at her. He opened the door, helping her out of the carriage, staring firmly at the ground. It might be his engagement party but he had no intention of engaging with anyone until he absolutely had to. Otherwise, that bile wouldn’t stop rising until he had humiliated himself. What was he thinking?
As the butler led Michael and the dowager to the ballroom, Michael put a grimace of a smile on his face. He met no one’s gaze, and he let his mother do any of the greeting that was necessary. She tugged on his coat a couple of times, but he was too afraid to turn his head. Every step he took just reminded him of how much he hated social situations, and it made him want to reconsider his previous thought of running away from the estate. But he kept pressing forward, reminding himself that eventually, the evening would end.
All the guests were hovering around the main staircase that led to the upper floors of Tockenham Castle. Michael and his mother joined them, and it took him a second to understand what was happening. But he realized that everyone was waiting for Lady Lydia to enter. His heartbeat sped up again at the thought of her face. He knew she was beautiful. He had hardly been able to stop thinking about it. Fortunately, the guests seemed content to whisper amongst themselves and largely ignore him. At least, for the moment.
When Lady Lydia did finally descend the stairs, Michael’s heart stopped. A vision of beauty, she made her way to the center of the room, her laughter chiming like silver bells. The sight of her stirred within him a feeling so powerful, it threatened to overwhelm his senses. He had been dazzled by her presence before, but tonight, the attraction he felt seemed almost insurmountable. The knowledge that he would soon have her on his arm as his wife, and possess the coveted vase, filled him with equal parts anticipation and satisfaction.
He greeted her, his nerves trembling within him like a volcano ready for eruption. And yet, she was as sweet as always, smiling at him warmly and reassuring him that the evening would be just fine, and that she would be right there for him. More guilt rose within him at how blind she was to the reasons for their betrothal. But he did his best to swallow the guilt, justifying it by the way he felt with her on his arm, smiling graciously and speaking warmly to all the guests.
When the orchestra struck the first chords of the evening, Michael understood that they were to open the dance floor. He still felt nervous. But he was also comfortable with Lydia. Especially after they had agreed to begin call each other by their Christian names. It had been his idea, and he had surprised himself with the request. And yet, to him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. And as they headed to the dance floor for the first dance of the evening, he looked at the woman who was to be his bride, in her cream dress and flowing ringlets. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel completely out of place in a social situation.
As they took their positions on the dance floor, Michael couldn't help but feel a wave of heat wash over him. It had been years since he had last danced with a lady – not since his childhood, in fact. The first few steps of the dance were decidedly lumpy, his movements stiff and uncertain. Lydia giggled, smiling up at him shyly.
“Do you need some help?” she whispered.
Michael blushed, but a smile crept onto his face.
“Am I embarrassing you?” he asked.
Lydia laughed again and shook her head.
“Not at all,” she said. “In fact, this is great fun.”
Michael nodded, though he felt marginally guilty. He was afraid that he would end up tripping himself, or Lydia, in front of all their guests. However, as the familiar rhythm of the music seeped into his soul, the steps came back to him, and he began to glide across the floor with newfound grace.
