Page 35 of The Marquess's Imperfect Brid
Gareth tightened his jaw, wanting to remind his mother that his life was his own and that no matter how much she wished it, he would never have feelings for Lady Cecilia. But the room was small, and the crowd was large. It would take very little to create a scene. And while he was just angry enough about the constant pressure to court and marry Lady Cecilia to hardly be concerned with causing a scandal with his refusal, he would not ruin a charity ball. Especially not one which was so dear to Lady Grace.
“Very well,” he said through clenched teeth. And withoutanother word, he moved past his mother, over to the corner where Lady Cecilia stood with her mother. He offered his arm, not bothering with a formal request to dance. He knew he would not need to, as Lady Cecilia was fully expecting such an invitation. But he also felt no desire to contribute to her delusions, or those of either his or her mother’s, any more than his silent compliance already had. He quietly led Lady Cecilia onto the floor, his heart still longing for the companionship of Lady Grace.
Chapter Nineteen
Grace watched with a heavy, yet unsurprised, heart as Lord Hayewood led Lady Cecilia onto the floor. She sighed softly, keeping her head down as she made her way to the single refreshment table along the back wall of the pub. She picked up a flute of champagne and sat at the end of the back row of chairs that had been lined up for seating adjacent to the refreshments. Neil, who had offered to dance with her after she saw the marquess dancing with the beautiful young lady who had been following them all day, was escorting a lovely, olive-skinned woman onto the floor.
Grace smiled to herself as the dance began. Her brother was saying something to the woman, who threw back her head and gave him a warm laugh. He looked happy, and Grace felt both joy and envy for her brother. Neil had never discussed marriage. But Grace knew that as the eldest son of a marquess, he would one day be expected to marry and conceive an heir to the family’s legacy. She wanted Neil to be happy. But the part of her that lamented her own future as a spinster wished she could find her own happiness, too.
“Grace, darling, you look terribly forlorn,” Millicent said, suddenly appearing in the seat beside her.
Grace gasped, putting a hand to her chest and giggling sheepishly at herself for being startled so easily.
“You have given me quite a fright, Millie,” she said shaking her head. “And I am far from forlorn. This is a very lovely ball.”
Millicent followed her gaze to the floor, where the marquess could be seen engaged in a stiff, formal dance with Lady Cecilia. Grace cursed herself for making it so obvious that she felt dejected, even to her dearest friend.
Millicent patted her hand, giving her a wink.
“I am sure that I am not the only one who sees how unhappy Lord Hayewood is with that young lady,” she said, sharpening her tone on the last two words.
Grace sighed and shrugged.
“Perhaps,” she said. “But there are plenty of other beautiful young women who notice him. And even if he has no interest in that one, he is sure to marry one just as pretty as she is.”
Millicent raised her eyebrows to meet her hairline and grinned.
“So, you admit that you have taken an interest in Lord Hayewood at last?” she asked.
Grace blushed and shook her head.
“He has been a kind acquaintance to me,” she said. “And perhaps, he will one day be a friend. But I know there will never be anything more between the two of us. You should remove any such notions from your mind, Millie.” As I have had to do, she added silently.
Millicent shook her head with a sly smirk.
“You cannot yet see the way the marquess looks at you,” she said, glancing pointedly back in the direction of Lady Cecilia and him. “But I suspect that soon, he will give you no choice but to see it.”
Grace shook her head, opening her mouth to press her argument with her friend. But her eyes locked onto those of Lord Hayewood, who was looking at her with an expression that seemed to mirror the sadness she felt. Could it be that Millicent was right?
***
Gareth gazed at Lady Grace with a heavier heart than he knew could exist. He did not understand the loneliness he felt when he was not in her presence. He only knew that it feltas though an essential part of him was comatose when he was pulled away from her. And that notion was cemented when Lady Cecilia spoke again.
“This is a rather… quaint ball,” she said. Her lips were smiling, but her eyes were flickering around the room with judgment and disapproval. “They did the best they could with their limited resources. I suppose they are quite proud of themselves.”
Gareth’s jaw twitched. He knew that the vicar and his wife were wonderful people, as he had attended the parish’s church in his youth. And Lady Grace had spoken nothing but highly of them, and of the work they both put into the orphanage. Thus, he took offense to Lady Cecilia’s cold, snobby judgment. And although he could not admit it to himself, part of him was offended on behalf of Lady Grace herself. He knew how dedicated to, and passionate about, her work as a music teacher at the orphanage she was. To hear someone so flippantly degrade charity events and efforts made Gareth’s blood simmer.
“Altruism cannot always take a form that is pleasing to discerning and scrutinizing eyes,” he said sharply. “However, those who cannot see the true beauty in being selfless and charitable are the truly unfortunate ones.”
Lady Cecilia looked taken aback at his blatant reprimand, but he did not care. Even if she ran to her mother complaining about his remark, it would not matter to him. He was tired of pretending to entertain the interest of such a selfish, shallow young woman. He might not be able to cause a scene and risk the wrath of both his family and hers, but he did not have to suffer her flaws in silence.
“Of—of course, you are right, Gareth,” she said. “What I meant is that this is a tremendous effort for such a small village. Please, forgive my thoughtless wording.” Her back peddling, averted gaze and lowered head might have told someone lessaware than he that she was contrite. But he knew better. She was trying to pretend to be properly corrected to put herself back in his good graces. You cannot return to a place where you have never been, he thought bitterly. Still, for the sake of the remainder of the dance, he gave her a curt nod.
“Let us continue the dance,” he said, his tone still clipped and filled with warning.
Lady Cecilia seemed to take the words as a sign of his forgiveness, or at the very least, an opportunity to pretend that she had not spoken so heartlessly.
“Yes, of course, Gareth,” she said. “A dance which you are performing with flawless grace, I must say.”
