Page 71 of A Lady of Means
6 WeeksLater
Devyn,
Come home.Tell me all the ways I’m wrong.Tell me a joke.Tell me to stop being strong.Tell me to just give in.Tell me to stop fighting and that I’ve held onto all the wrong things.Tell me the truth, tell me lies.Just come home and kiss me.I’ll do nothing but let you hold me until we wake up one day and we are ancient with a whole bunch of grandchildren.Just come home.
M
(message received with no reply)
* * *
The wrong manwas holding her, the wrong hands were at the small of her back.
The wrong man was courting her openly in front of the entireton.
Moria had been batting the thought away for the last 6 weeks since Devyn’s last letter.A different, less jaded woman might have pined, sitting at home, making plans for a beloved soldier’s return.Moria didn’t know how to be such a woman.
The Duke had called on her, they’d been riding in the park whenever the weather allowed, he’d accompanied her to social events.As it had always been between the two of them, his presence was amiable and gentlemanly.He never pushed her to define what they were or made any kind of affectionate overtures.But every time she was seen out with him, more suitors showed up for Olivia, more invitations arrived, more names filled her dance card.Unjust, given Olivia’s many admirable qualities any suitor should be so lucky to find in a match, but such was the way of the ton.They all sought favor, a connection to a Duke.She couldn’t fault them, she was doing the same.
None of her siblings mentioned the connection, in Moria’s hearing at least.She could feel the worried stares and silence from her siblings, but Moria didn’t know how to voice the paralyzing fear of being a woman alone with few options a second time.She couldn’t win the battle with the voice in her head that told her being seen on the arm of a Duke held all her critics and their knife-like words and stares at bay, for a time at least.
But the thought returned tonight.
George Worthington, seventh Duke of Andover, twirled her in a glittering ballroom hosted by her younger sister, Viscountess Ludlowe.
The room was exceptionally decorated to celebrate the year that Noelle and Pomfrey had been married, filled with candles and flowers and fabric and formalwear designed to impress, to daze.
And Moria was impressed.She was dazed.
But not by the man before her.
He was beautiful in his own way, all long lines and perfect hair and a smile that weakened most of her defenses.He was a good and honest man, who never pushed her to be more or do more than she wanted.But she wanted to be pushed, she wanted to be brought outside of herself, to be expected to be more than the part that she played.Devyn had done that for her.
She felt the Duke’s long, lean trousered leg graze her hip for one minute moment in their dance.
His hands found her waist again.
Her arms met his shoulders.They were solid beneath her touch.He was perfectly made.It would be no inconvenience to let this man have her, taking her body with his own in some massive ancestral bed.
“Have I made you blush, my lady?”
Her eyes shot up to his.She cleared her throat.“Your … shoulders…made me blush, your grace.”
She saw the questions on his face that he was too well-bred to say aloud.Another turn of the dance, and he was dancing with Kate again, who gave Moria a saccharine smile that had Moria speculating over her intentions.Moria partnered with Tristan Valentine, then was returned to the Duke.
“Would you like to retire to the balcony for some air?”
A rush of relief surged from her lungs.Air.What a very pleasant invitation indeed.
She looked over her shoulder for Olivia, her usual accomplice in all matters clandestine.But Olivia was conferring with her other siblings, including Fitz, and Miss Kelley, in hushed tones in a dark corner.Moria noted Peregrine speaking and the slump of his shoulders.
What the devil could unite the passel of them all to such a conciliatory huddle in the middle of a ball her sister was supposed to be hosting?She found Lady Althea ahead, playing hostess in her stead.
Lawrence looked in her direction, his eyes did not meet hers, his jaw tensed before looking back to the others.God, they were discussingher.They had to be.They’d never dream of quietly excluding her in public unless she were the topic of discussion.
Kathleen handed her husband a folded piece of paper which he stuffed back into a pocket in his jacket.Fitz pulled Noelle closer to his side.Olivia took Jasper’s handkerchief.Peregrine looked at his feet, having no one to console him.Moria almost mis-stepped dancing, the Duke’s gentle hands led her and her body followed on mostly muscle memory alone.
Lawrence started walking toward her with purposeful strides.Jasper reached for him, but he kept moving in Moria’s direction.It had been Lawrence who broke the news to her three years ago, of Marcus’ death.She’d tried to save him, the three of them had.She’d fallen asleep clutching Marcus’ hand, when she’d woken?—
