Page 7 of Matters of a Duke's Heart
She sighed again and looked toward the sea of dancers. Suitors lined the edge of the ballroom, their eyes sharp and eager, assessing the ladies.
Felicity felt so isolated from it all, so far removed from fitting into the usual, normal way of things. A spoke of out of place on the wheel, stopping it from moving effortlessly.
“Just one dance, Felicity,” her mother eventually urged when she realized Felicity wasn’t going to answer her. “Just one suitor, one dance set. That is all I ask, if only to grant yourself some peace from both your father and me.”
After a few moments, Felicity nodded. “Mama, you have taught me to be the perfect ton lady, and I will see this through.”
The words were practiced, known, and it was the thing she told herself to get through every devastating social event, another Season resulting in disappointment. But her mother saw through those practiced words, and her smile turned sadder.
“Yes, but do not lose that lovely heart of yours. I want what is best for you, even if, at the moment, that means pushing for your security above all else. Put aside your ideals for now. Focus on what you must.” As much as there was kindness in her mother’s eyes, there was also fear, and Felicity knew she could not disappoint her family.
To her right, at the end of the short terrace corridor, were the stairs leading back down into the main ballroom. Her gaze returned to the dancefloor again, and it was only when her stomach hitched with nerves that she realized she kept looking at every dark-haired man.
That she was looking for the handsome stranger from the Vauxhall Gardens, and then she quickly stopped doing so.
He had not wanted to even dutifully help a lady in distress. No doubt he was some arrogant younger brother, able to forgo duty and forced attendance at balls. Another arrogant man thinking himself too good and above everybody else to be present. Her thoughts had still wandered to him, though, finding that arrogance intriguing. Felicity had met her fair share of suitors over the last two Seasons but she hadn’t recognized him.
Now, amid the golden opulence of the Cardales’ ballroom, she reminded herself that even if his handsome face would have fit him in among the ton and the charming suitors, he would not even look in her direction.
That cold stare had looked right through her. Among the faces of other jewels, Felicity did not stand out.
Her mother guided her back down to the ballroom, already scouring for suitors to push Felicity onto.
“Oh, look.” Her mother’s excited voice rose. “It is Lord Radcliffe! Felicity, do draw him into conversation. I find I am parched, actually. Will you get me a drink?”
Felicity looked toward the refreshments table where more champagne filled wide, dainty glasses. Notably, Lord Radcliffe was also making his way over. Felicity’s stomach dropped like a stone.
“Of course,” she answered tightly to her mother, knowing she had already put up too much of a fight as of late. “I will be back shortly.”
As Felicity left, her mother was swanned around with other mothers, all looking to marry their daughters off to eligible men, and Felicity only caught the tail end of their excited chatter. … after so long! Can you believe—
She walked away, leaving her mother to her gossip. Her patience grew thin, and she needed all her energy to endure Lord Radcliffe. When she approached the refreshment table, she smiled politely at him, hoping the grimace was not as strong as it felt.
“Lord Radcliffe,” she greeted. “How lovely to see you again.”
“Lady Felicity.” He bowed, his eyes already catching hers. She tried not to let their gazes lock, instead pretending to be interested in the selection of cakes. “Forgive me, but I could not help noticing how you had not yet danced at all tonight. We are an hour into the ball.”
“I… I am resting my ankle,” Felicity lied. “I must have twinged it during the crush at Vauxhall Gardens last week, so I am simply happy to be on the side of the dancefloor for tonight.”
Just one dance, Felicity. Just one suitor, one dance set.
“Have you had it checked out?” Lord Radcliffe’s pale brows pulled together. His straight, wheat-colored hair was pulled into a ribbon at the base of his neck, making his pinched features look somewhat like he was sneering as he looked down at her ankle. She ensured her dress covered her completely. “You ought to. I have a brilliant physician. Perhaps I can even chaperone you to—”
“I have,” she lied further. “All is well. It is nothing that rest cannot heal.”
“I am certain one dance cannot do much harm,” Lord Radcliffe said, looking back up to grin at her. “In fact, you must save me a dance, even if I am your only one of the night. I shall dance you slow enough around the floor that your ankle barely aches.”
Reluctantly, Felicity nodded. “Of course. I shall save my dance for you.” She quickly picked up two glasses. “Although for now I must bring this drink to my mother, lest she swoon from the heat.”
“Later, then,” he agreed. “I will come to find you.”
Her throat tightened. It sounded much more like a threat than a lovely promise, or a desired-for thing, and Felicity only nodded and hurried away. When she returned to her mother she found herself being pinned with her mother’s cunning attention.
Felicity knew that look—it was the one her mother gave her when she had a male visitor the morning after a ball. It was the look of her mother already piecing together Felicity’s future while she herself remained none the wiser.
Suspicious, Felicity listened to the whispers around her, the bent heads lowered together, the giggles behind fans and eyes that watched sharply. “What is going on?”
“The most wondrous news has arisen!” Her mother told her, catching Felicity’s hand. She took the glass from her, smirking as she inspected the bubbling drink inside. “The Duke of Langdon is looking to marry this Season.”
