Page 7 of The Scarlet Lady's Duke of Desire
“Then I must milk every moment I am able to,” James insisted, cringing at the thought of all the invitations and uncomfortable situations his aunt had forced him into over the years. No doubt his own mother would have done the same if she had seen him into adulthood. He dreaded to think how much pressure would be upon his shoulders if he had them both to contend with.
Sensing the speed of the carriage lessening, James knew that they were drawing closer to their destination, and he knew that if he did not end their conversation soon, he would not hear the end of it, he told his cousin, “I will try to give your mother's plans a little more thought.”
And yet, even as their carriage drew to a halt, he couldn't help but think of that evening. Moreso, he thought of Miss Thornton and how perfectly she had fit into his arms. She had gazed into his eyes intently as they danced and had refrained from making meaningless small-talk or trying to sell herself to him during the short duration of their dance. In fact, she had been relatively quiet, a trait that James welcomed after so many chatty ladies.
Miss Thornton was quite unlike any other lady of thetonhe had had the pleasure of dancing with. In fact, their dance had been a true pleasure, one that he would indeed readily welcome again.
When he blinked his eyes closed, he could still see her storm grey ones staring back at him. He saw the way her lips had twitched upwards in a half-smile when she realised he had come to ask her to dance, and it was a welcome relief from the ladies who automatically assumed he wished to dance with them simply by engaging in conversation.
Edward was indeed right when he said people read far too much into a dance. Several young women over the years had seemed to mistake his offers to dance for much more and yet he did not get that sense of determination from Miss Thornton.
She was a breath of fresh air. The kind of woman he could well see himself married to if he were so inclined.
But the simple thought of that was just as quickly pushed away as the carriage door was pulled open, causing him to jump right out of the depths of his thoughts and realise he was being foolish. He had never had any intentions towards marriage. And he wasn't about to begin now. He could only imagine what his aunt might do if she got so much as a sniff of his thoughts toward marriage changing.
Chapter 3
Melody found it much safer to enjoy socialisation and romance within the pages of her books, and so that was exactly what she chose to do much of her time.
She liked to sit beneath the willow tree at the centre of the main garden, reclined against the trunk with her feet bare so that she could run her toes through the grass while she flipped the pages.
There was a time when she might have found a way to climb the tree and hide herself from view, avoiding her parents and the servants whenever she could. Her tutors had often come looking for her there and she'd had to mix up her hiding places over the years. She’d always hated the idea of being perfectly educated just to try and make up for what she lacked in birth.
Though her parents had often tried to hide their thoughts on the matter, acting as though the judgement of the rest of thetondid not matter a fig, Melody had learned all too well as she had grown older that the judgement of thetonwas really the only thing that mattered when it came to society. And most of the time, society was cruel.
Melody much preferred to be alone with her books. There, she could be anyone she wished to be. She could be a princess or a pauper, she could be a woman of means, well-respected and worthy of the company she kept. She could be many things, overcoming numerous obstacles, and sometimes it elated her. Other times it made her feel far less than adequate when she finally flipped the book closed and was once more faced with her own life.
And the latter was exactly how she felt when Petunia came to find her, hurrying down the shingle garden path with something waving in her hand.
Half-closing the book she was reading—a romance novel of great magnitude if ever she had found one—she turned her gaze up to her friend and forced a smile.
“Petunia, what are you doing here so early?” Melody exclaimed, quite surprised. “I had thought you would still be abed after last night.”
While Melody had retired home early from the ball, she was certain that her friend had likely stayed until the early hours, dancing and making merry and likely sharing in some light flirting with whichever eligible bachelors had taken a shining to her.
Did she dance with the duke?Melody asked herself, an odd sensation of jealousy burning in her stomach the moment that she thought about her friend in the nobleman's arms. The duke had had the opportunity to dance with Petunia and instead he had danced with her.
There was nothing to stop him dancing with her after my departure.Melody knew that, and she reminded herself that he had likely only asked to dance with her as a way of getting closer to her friend anyway. Whether he had been forward about it or not, that was what it always came down to in the end. She was better off not fooling herself.
In all likelihood, what her friend held now was likely some letter or invitation from the duke himself.
“I came as soon as I received this,” Petunia explained, offering a short scowl as though she was not pleased at the suggestion that she would still be in bed as that would make her nothing but lazy. And a lazy woman was most definitely not desired by any respectable man, something that was greatly anticipated by Petunia who was bound to make a decent match one day.
She and the duke would likely be very happy together,Melody thought, a lump forming in her throat. She couldn't for the life of her understand why his being interested in her friend might rub her up the wrong way so much.
Readjusting her powder blue skirts, Petunia dropped down onto the grassy verge beside Melody and wafted the piece of card she held in her hand.
“What is it?” Melody asked as if she could not guess. Whether it was an invitation to a luncheon, a ball or even a dinner, it did not really matter. Whatever it was, Melody had not received similar.
“Don't play dumb with me,” Petunia protested, her scowl deepening. She shook her head and handed the piece of cream care embossed with golden texturing to Melody. “It's an invitation to the next ball.”
Melody struggled to hold in the sigh that bubbled up from her stomach. She couldn't blame her friend for her excitement, nor her failure to hide it from her. After all, Petunia was perhaps the only person who treated her just as she treated everyone else, with friendliness and dignity. The only problem was she so readily did so that she often forgot that others did not pay the same respect to Melody.
“I have already heard that every single member of thetonshall be there!” Petunia explained excitedly as Melody looked over the invitation. The moment she saw where the ball was being held and by whom, her stomach clenched, and her throat constricted.
“Not everyone,” Melody said under her breath, only just loudly enough for her friend to hear.
Petunia half-cocked her head to one side and looked at Melody with confusion. The realisation seemed to hit her all at once and her face paled slightly. “Do not tell me you did not receive an invitation.”
