Page 13 of A Marriage for the Marquess

Ashfield’s brow wrinkled with a hint of confusion in his voice. “Then the rumor is wrong?”

Glenraven’s smile faltered, replaced by one of puzzlement. “Rumor?”

Ashfield glanced from Barrington back to Glenraven. “I…I don’t know how to say this. It was suspected that you had returned because of your father’s imminent demise.” Ashfield appeared somewhat embarrassed.

Glenraven responded calmly, with a gentle smile softening the difficult situation. “Not at all. We spent time together this afternoon. He was…more quiet than usual. He let me do all the talking.”

Barrington let out a chuckle. “Indeed. I’ve never seen His Grace so quiet. Frankly, I think Glenraven bored him to sleep.”

The three chuckled at the very idea of Duke Aurington being silent. Relief washed over Ashfield’s face. “That is good news. Very good.” Ashfield clapped him on the back with a hearty thump. “Are you back for good?”

Glenraven surveyed the room with a steady gaze. “Yes, I am.” His tone was firm.

A spark of delight brightened Ashfield’s eyes. “Then I will let my wife know. You are to be added to our guest list.” After a moment’s pause, he grinned slyly. “Perhaps later this evening, you will join me in the card room.”

“Not until you dance with me.” The three turned at the sound of Lady Ashfield’s voice. Approaching with the grace of the seasoned socialite she was, she presented herself with an air of genteel confidence. Her smile was both inviting and serene. Lady Ashfield was a quiet beauty that complemented the gala’s splendor.

“Darling,” Ashfield put a protective arm around his wife’s waist, “you know Lord Barrington and Lord Glenraven.”

“Yes,” she tilted her head toward Glenraven, “we spoke of you this afternoon when we called on Lady Gladstone. There was a great deal of speculation about whether you would be here this evening. I was so sorry to hear about your father’s… accident.”

So, thetonhas his father dead and buried, and him the new Duke Aurington.

The music started. Lady Ashfield turned to her husband. She didn’t say anything. She simply stared at him.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he smiled at his wife, “she always saves the first dance for me. Glenraven, see you later this evening in the card room?”

“Thank you. I would enjoy that. Until later.” Glenraven turned to Lady Ashfield. “It was a pleasure to meet you, my lady.” With that, he and Barrington continued around the ballroom.

Chapter Eight

Juliet and herAunt Geraldine stepped into the ballroom with a quiet grace. Juliet paused in the doorway. The soft rustle of her midnight blue gown whispered against the floor. The fabric, a sumptuous silk, accentuated her form. The gown was cut in the latest fashion, with a high waist and short puffed sleeves. The bodice was beautifully made. It wasn’t overly ornate or extravagant. The design reflected refinement and sophistication, focusing on details and quality rather than excessive decoration. Around her neck, she wore a simple string of pearls, one of the few pieces left in her mother’s collection.

Her hair, a cascade of chestnut curls, was pulled back from her face and secured with a comb that matched the deep blue of her gown. The ensemble spoke of elegance, but the keen observer might detect the tension in her posture and how her striking hazel eyes scanned the room not for a dance partner but a savior. She remained in place as she summoned her courage.

Her aunt leaned in close to her. “We can’t stand here all night. Come, put a smile on.”

She glanced at her aunt and gave her a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’d rather be any place but here.”

“Nonsense.” Her aunt stepped closer to her. “We’re not going to pull an unsuspecting gentleman off the dance floor and drag him to a chapel.”

Juliet looked at her aunt, her mouth moving but nothing coming out.

“It would be a waste,” her aunt continued with a reassuring smile. “to hide your radiance in a chapel when you could be dazzling the entire room with your charm.”

A small giggle escaped Juliet’s mouth.

“You must remember that the gentlemen here,” her aunt continued, “are more afraid of you than you are of them.” She nodded in the direction of the refreshment table. “Look at Sir Haroldson over there. He’s been staring at the punch bowl since we walked in. He looks like he is working up his courage to ask for a glass.”

Sir Haroldson did indeed seem to be engaged in a silent battle with the beverage table.

“And as for the rest,” her aunt continued, leaning in conspiratorially, “they’re simply trying to recall whether they’ve left the hearth burning or their horse tethered. You have nothing to fear. Now brighten up. You look as if you’re about to face a firing squad rather than a room full of potential suitors.”

The humor in her aunt’s voice and the absurdity of her advice eased the tightness in Juliet’s chest, and she found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since she began to dress.

Juliet and her aunt ventured out into the room. They wove through the throng of guests. Juliet’s smile was practiced and serene, but her heart raced urgently. Her father’s desperate attempts to salvage their fortunes had come to naught. Soon, the whispers of scandal would begin and cling to her like shadows dancing along the ballroom walls.

She and her aunt stopped to speak to several people. The gay laughter and music swirled around her, a facade that contradicted what she and her family faced. She knew the role she must play, the sacrifice demanded of her to restore her family’s honor. It was a bitter draught to swallow, yet she held her chin high, her eyes blazing with purpose.

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