Page 20 of The Duke and his Hellion
Abigail laughed, the sound bright and joyous as it echoed through the room. With a final, fortifying breath, she took her brother's arm and allowed him to lead her down to the waiting carriage.
The ride to the ball was a blur of anticipation and nerves, Abigail's stomach fluttering with a thousand butterflies as they drew ever closer to their destination. And then, suddenly, they were there, the grand edifice of the ballroom rising up before them like a glittering palace straight out of a fairy tale.
As they entered the ballroom, Abigail felt a rush of awe and wonder sweep over her. The room was a dazzling spectacle of light and color, the air thick with the heady scent of a hundred exotic blooms. The orchestra played a lively tune, the strains of the music mingling with the hum of conversation and the swish of silk skirts against the polished floor.
For a moment, Abigail simply stood there, drinking it all in. But then, with a small shake of her head, she squared her shoulders and stepped forward, determined to make the most of this magical night. She glanced at Hugh, who stood protectively next to her.
“I will not embarrass you, Hugh,” she whispered, careful to keep her tone measured. “I promise.”
Hugh looked down at his sister with a smile. “I have no doubt, Abigail.”
Abigail turned back to face the dance floor, her heart fluttering when a handsome young man with an open face appeared in front of the pair.
“Your Grace,” the man nodded at Hugh before turning to Abigail. “I am Lord Fairchild. Would… could I have this dance?”
Abigail nodded simply before placing her gloved hand in Lord Fairchild's and following him onto the dance floor, her steps light and graceful as she glided across the floor. All the while, her eyes darted about the room, searching for a glimpse of a familiar figure, a shock of dark hair and piercing blue eyes.
But Charles was nowhere to be seen, and Abigail felt a pang of disappointment lance through her. She had so hoped to see him tonight, to show him how much she had learned under his tutelage — how far she had come from the naive, impulsive girl she had been when first they met.
As the music began, Lord Fairchild led her through the steps of the quadrille, his movements precise and proper. Abigail matched him step for step, her posture perfect and her smile polite, just as Charles had taught her.
“You dance very well, Lady Abigail,” the baron remarked, his voice as bland as his expression.
“Thank you, my lord,” Abigail replied, her tone gracious but lacking warmth. “You are too kind.”
They continued in silence and Abigail had to suppress a sigh as they moved along the dance floor. While the young baron was perfectly polite, she'd never dreamed that a dance could be so utterly unexciting.
The next gentleman, Lord Ashbury, stood ready the second Lord Fairchild let go of her hand. He bowed low, his manner overly formal. “May I have the honor of this dance, Lady Abigail?”
“Certainly, Lord Ashbury,” Abigail replied, taking his proffered hand.
The young lord smiled as they moved across the dance floor, though his shoulders remained tense.
“You are an adept dancer, my lady,” he complimented and she smiled at him.
“Thank you, my lord. As are you.”
He was, she mused silently to herself — though he was a bit stiff. The dance continued, their conversation as stilted and uninspired as their movements were correct and proper. Abigail found her mind wandering, wondering where Charles was — and if she would see him.
As the music ended, Abigail curtsied once more, thanking Lord Ashbury for the dance. She made her way to one of the waiters, fanning herself lightly to cool the flush that had risen to her cheeks, but it was more from the exertion of the dance than any true excitement.
“You are quite the dancer,” a woman spoke suddenly and Abigail turned to face her. She looked quite familiar, though Abigail could not place her, and she flashed her an uncertain smile.
“Thank you, Lady…”
“Lady Beatrice,” the woman spoke, then used a hand to delicately place a red curl behind one of her ears. “I see that the gentlemen hardly leave you alone — and who could blame them? From my view, you are very adept and graceful.”
Abigail looked at her hesitantly, but to her surprise, there was no malice in the voice. “Thank you, Lady Beatrice,” she said at last. “I am not certain how good I am, but I do enjoy dancing. Though I must admit, I am rather tired now.”
“I can imagine,” Beatrice said with a laugh. “Come, let us have a drink.”
She handed Abigail a glass of wine without waiting for an answer, then turned to face the crowd, their shoulders touching.
“I must say, you are wearing a beautiful gown,” Beatrice said approvingly. “So many women choose an array of ruffles and feathers, that I find quite unnecessary — but your dress is beautiful in its simple elegance.”
“Thank you,” Abigail grinned. She tugged at the forest green material and lifted her chin. “I do not like ruffles either. But I must say, I do not think I could ever pull off a dress like yours.”
She gestured to Beatrice's dress, the color of champagne — looking beautiful against her crimson curls. Beatrice merely laughed in appreciation.
