Page 87 of The General's Gift
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The final notes of the minuet floated to a close, and Celeste dropped into a curtsy. Nicki bowed with courtly flair, then stepped aside to let another gentleman claim her hand. But Celeste shook her head gently and turned back toward the crowd.
She scanned the ballroom again, but before her gaze could settle on Hawk, Graves stepped into her path.
He was awkwardly formal in full dress uniform, looking every bit as if he’d been forced here at gunpoint.
“I’d be... obliged if you’d share this next dance.”
Celeste smiled. “It will be my pleasure, as long as you save my feet from your mighty boots.”
He stared at her, eyes wide.
“It was a joke, Captain Graves.”
The dance was a gavotte, and Graves danced better than she had imagined. At least her slippers were undamaged.
“You’ve done well tonight, Captain,” she said softly. “The regiment looks splendid.”
“That’s your doing.” He glanced around, clearly bewildered by the garlands, the violins, the laughter echoing beneath crystal chandeliers. “I wanted to speak with you about your—er—your chaperone.”
“Rue?”
He nodded rigidly. “Mrs. Archer. You must tell her to desist.”
“I know her attentions are sometimes painful, but she loves you dearly—”
“It is impossible. She told me she would never marry a soldier again. She suffered too much. She is the most remarkable of women, and I cherish her feelings.” He lowered his gaze, and his voice became throaty. “But I have a duty to the country.”
Celeste wanted to weep at the tenderness in his voice. He loved Rue as well. They deserved to be together. Had war not taken too much from both of them?
“She loves you,” Celeste said gently. “Fiercely. And not just because you are honorable. She loves your silences, your steadiness, your fire when it counts. Don’t you think it’s your duty to give that kind of love a home?”
Graves was quiet. Then, stiffly, he said, “That kind of duty is harder.”
Celeste’s heart softened. “But maybe it’s the kind that matters most.”
The music drew to a close, and Graves, wordless, bowed. His gaze flicked toward Rue, standing near the potted palms with her fan pressed to her lips.
He went to her.
Oh, sweet bard, if you are somewhere, watch over these star-crossed lovers. Please allow Rue to accept Graves’ courting and convince the stoic captain that his place was at her side—all that without her killing the poor man.
As Rue caught Graves’s proffered arm, a flicker of joy and hope sparkled in Celeste’s chest. Perhaps… perhaps her midsummer night’s dream would work after all. Even Prue was dancing with Thomas in a shadowy corner.
Celeste glimpsed Hawk across the ballroom, framed by the columned archway. Now it was her turn. The waltz would be next. How fast could she race to him without entangling her legs in her tulle skirts?
As she took the first step, a hush fell over the guests. The Duke of Leighton entered the ballroom.
He was walking towards her, his coat of midnight velvet dusted in silver embroidery, his golden curls crowned with a glinting laurel circlet—green leaves wrapped in gold, just like a Midsummer Night’s Lysander. The symbol was unmistakable.
He had dressed for her dream.
His boyishly proud gaze found her across the ballroom and never wavered.
Celeste’s throat tightened.
The violins began her waltz.
