Page 48 of Daisy and the Duke
“My God, why would I? This is perfect. Now I can spend the whole evening with you, and leave them all wondering about my mysterious guest. They’re going to speculate endlessly.”
He offered her an arm and Daisy took it. To be escorted into the heart of a ball by Lord Lyon was more than enough miracle for her. And the evening was just beginning.
There was dancing. There was food. There were drinks and desserts and more dancing. Daisy had no concept of time, but she was sure it must be whirling past. Everyone was polite and attentive to her, doubtless because she was so often by Tristan’s side. She didn’t quite mean to be, but it always seemed to happen that he was there at the end of a set, sending Daisy’s dance partners off to find their next companion. He seemed to materialize just when she decided she was thirsty, and asked her if she wanted a little wine. Even when he was on the other side of the massive room, she would look up from her conversation and find him in her line of sight. It was the dress. It had to be magic. Daisy never could have negotiated the social complexities of a ball without a dress like this to guide her steps.
And everyone was introduced to Lady Wildwood, and no one besides Tristan seemed to guess that she was merely Daisy. Several ladies asked her about her gown in breathless tones. They wanted to know who her London modiste was, and where the fabric had been made. Daisy merely answered that her dress was a gift. Then she would comment on the other woman’s attire, praising the clever stitching, or how the fabric flattered her skin, which deflected the conversation admirably.
Only once or twice did she glimpse her stepmother, glaring in her direction. But there was no recognition in her face. She was merely annoyed that someone besides her Bella was occupying the duke’s attention. For her part, Bella seemed content enough to dance with the many other gentlemen there who were dazzled by her snow princess costume and her pretty manners. When she wasn’t dancing, she sat near Mr. Kemble, who was very cleverly costumed as an old-fashioned wizard in a tall hat and a long, loose robe covered with stars. He even had magic tricks to perform, which allowed him to sit at a table while still looking very proper.
Some children had been permitted to attend the festivities on the strict proviso that they didn’t disturb the adult guests. Kemble seemed to have taken charge of the group, along with a few local matrons. His heretofore unknown skill at card tricks made him incredibly popular with the children.
“Where did Mr. Kemble learn that?” Daisy asked Tristan during one set in which he partnered her.
“Oh, he’s dabbled in stage magic for years,” Tristan replied. “He likes the mystery of it. Lightened the mood on many occasions. Although one had to be careful when he appeared at the card table—your winning hand might disappear.”
She laughed. “He didn’t!”
“He did. His way of teaching the dangers of gambling.” Tristan’s expression clouded, but before Daisy could ask what was wrong, he introduced her to someone else and the opportunity passed.
They danced again. Tristan was openly flouting the convention of dancing with a particular lady only once (or twice in rare cases). He danced with Daisy every chance he got, clearly relishing how he could break the rules. Who tells a duke no? For one moment, he held her by the waist. Daisy barely wanted to breathe. She hoped that if she didn’t, the moment would go on forever.
But the dance went on, and soon Daisy was swept away into the pattern of the steps, curtsying to some other gentleman for a moment, and then passing on again.
As it ended, she found her hand claimed by Tristan. “You could use refreshment,” he said.
She nodded, though it hadn’t been a question.
He led her away from the dancing, saying, “The waltz hasn’t made it all the way out here, has it?”
“It is still a thing to be discussed rather than danced,” she said, laughing. “The local matrons have not approved it yet.”
“As a dance, it has advantages,” he noted.
“Such as?”
Tristan smiled at her. “I will show you a few steps sometime, and you’ll see.” His eyes dropped a little, as if he might be thinking about a kiss. She was thinking about a kiss too. She knew that the waltz entailed a rathercloseembrace on the dance floor, and for that reason was highly suspect by morally minded mothers. A close embrace during a dance might well lead to something else…
But she had no more time to muse on that, because Tristan was offering her punch, which she drank down gratefully. It was warm in the room.
“I was just thinking,” she said, “how terrifying this night would have been if I didn’t already know you.”
“Terrifying? A party?”
“A party where one is expected to smile and chatter and dance.”
She noticed that they were standing a little apart from everyone else, as if Lyon created a wall around himself. But then why was she able to stand right next to him?
“Go on,” he said.
“What was I saying?” she asked.
“You were saying youknewme, which I found charming.” His gaze drifted over her face and then down to the floor and back. He did seem strangely…entranced.
“Your grace,” she whispered, conscious of where they were. “You’re staring.”
“I am,” he said, tilting his head. “But did you know that if you look at the fabric one way, it’s this fiery orange, and if you look at it the other way, it’s a burgundy or purple, and yet it’s neither of those colors… I’m sorry. I don’t have words for this sort of thing. How is it done? The colors?”
“I don’t know. Magic, perhaps.”
