Page 64 of Taken By the Icy Duke

Tonight’s ball promised grandeur, yet the usual sparkle of anticipation would not come. She felt ill, but attributed the feeling to a poor night’s sleep.

“Your Grace,” Ruth said, taking a small step back. “That is the last pin. The curls frame your face beautifully.”

She descended the staircase to find Gilbert awaiting her in the foyer, clad in formal evening attire. He looked immaculate; broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and every inch the confident duke. He seemed not to notice her hesitation.

He inclined his head in greeting, offering his arm.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice politely subdued.

“Yes,” she answered, letting him guide her out to the carriage. The footman closed the door behind them, and the vehicle lurched forward onto the lamplit street.

Neither spoke during the short ride, though Diana felt Gilbert’s cautious glances. Perhaps he had noticed her paleness or the shadows beneath her eyes. She had brushed him off with the same ready excuse: a mild headache, nothing more.

At the ball’s grand entrance, bright lanterns illuminated the polished marble steps. A cluster of footmen in matching livery bowed as they passed, and the pair glided into a foyer bustling with elegantly dressed guests. The distant strains of music and the low hum of conversation washed over Diana; she steeled herself, lifting her chin so no flicker of her inner dread would betray her.

They exchanged civilities with Lord and Lady Whittaker, their hosts, who welcomed them with the effusiveness typical of hosts greeting a prominent duke. Diana offered polite smiles, carefully controlling each word, conscious that half a dozen bystanders hung on every syllable.

Once inside the ballroom proper, the swirl of color and movement dazzled her. Gowns in brilliant hues caught the candlelight beneath elaborate chandeliers, while gentlemen in fine coats gathered near the walls or on the dance floor.

Diana’s heart pounded. She recalled how easy these gatherings had once seemed; nothing more than a chance to see and be seen, to dance, and enjoy conversation. Now, every swirl of perfume and every press of bodies made her stomach tighten in protest.

Gilbert led her through the throng, occasionally halting to greet acquaintances or exchange polite remarks. Murmurs of curiosity and lingering rumors followed them. She sensed that, for some, the novelty of a once-scandalous bride had not fully worn off. Yet no one addressed it openly.

The newness of her attire and her carefully curated image kept them at bay, just as she had planned. But she remembered the sting of hearing that plan laid out by Victor, and how it had reduced her to nothing more than a pawn in Gilbert’s strategy.

Eventually, Gilbert steered her toward a quieter corner near a refreshment table. As soon as they reached it he turned to her, concern radiating from behind his composed facade. “Have you eaten enough today?” he asked under his breath, picking up a glass of lemonade and offering it to her. “You look pale.”

She forced a smile. “I am perfectly fine,” she said, sipping the lemonade. Its sweetness momentarily steadied her nerves. She did not want to lean on him, not when she feared he would recoil if he knew her secret. “It must be the heat of the room.”

He studied her face more closely, but before he could press the matter, a group of acquaintances approached, drawing his attention. As he turned to greet them, she stepped back, claspingher cup, breathing slowly to quell a new wave of queasiness. She willed the swirl of faces not to overwhelm her.

The next hour passed in a blur of courtesies and forced small talk. Diana found herself caught in conversation with two older matrons who praised her gown. She offered polite thanks, her mind drifting every so often to scan the crowd for glimpses of Leopold. He had arrived separately, and she spotted him at the far side of the ballroom talking to a petite blonde woman.

Occasionally, his gaze darted toward Diana in silent worry. She had confided in him that she might not feel strong enough for a long evening, begging him not to reveal her pregnancy. He had promised to keep her confidence, offering to assist her if she felt faint.

Gilbert, meanwhile, circulated among lords discussing politics or estate matters. Every so often, Diana sensed his concerned gaze resting on her, yet they did not linger together. She had steeled herself against leaning on him, and it seemed he did not quite know how to break past her reserve.

At last, the orchestra struck up a spirited waltz and couples flocked to the dance floor. Diana edged around them, searching for a spot to rest and catch her breath. But the flow of the crowd pushed her deeper into the press of bodies. The heat, the swirling colors, and the swift movements turned her stomach as the room began to spin. She forced a calm expression, telling herself not to panic.

Then, out of nowhere, Josephine Halfacre appeared, a regal figure in amethyst satin. She offered Diana a tight smile, blocking her path with an air of false civility. “Duchess,” Josephine drawled softly, “you look quite… refined tonight. Marvelous how new gowns can transform a person.”

Diana’s stomach churned with barely contained nausea. She tried not to let Josephine’s barbed comment bother her. “Lady Halfacre,” she replied, her voice clipped. “If you will excuse me, I need air.”

Josephine’s eyes glinted with smug satisfaction. “Running off so soon? My, you do look a trifle peaky.”

A fresh wave of nausea rose. Desperate to leave, Diana stepped around her without further reply and nearly bumped into another guest. Her sense of claustrophobia mounted. Finally, she managed to slip free, stumbling along the perimeter until she reached the open French doors that led to a small side terrace.

She stepped out into the cooler night air, gripping the balustrade, each breath ragged.

Calm, just breathe.

The faintness receded slightly, but not enough to banish the dark spots that flitted at the edges of her vision. If she could just remain outside, and not move for a few minutes, perhaps she could pull herself together.

Leopold, who must have been watching her from inside, followed her onto the terrace. “Diana,” he said with alarm as he stopped beside her. “You are as white as a sheet.”

She closed her eyes, fighting the sickening swirl in her stomach. “I only need a moment’s rest,” she whispered.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Let me fetch you some water. At least that might help.”

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