Page 37 of The Earl's Wild Bride
Lionel had never looked more handsome, in a tailcoat the same color as his eyes, standing tall and proud. Though, once again, Amelia found herself wishing that he was wearing his spectacles.
Does he prefer to not see properly? Does he think people will not take him as seriously?She could not fathom it, but she did not feel it was her place to tell him that heshouldwear his spectacles as often as possible.
“We have brought your darling wife to you in one safe piece, dear boy,” Caroline said, nudging Amelia forward. “Now, let us dazzle everyone with her exceptional beauty!”
Panic slithered around Amelia’s chest like a serpent, constricting tighter and tighter until she could barely suck in a breath at all. At the same moment, Lionel reached up his hand to her, his expression blank.
She took the proffered hand and stepped down from the carriage, noting as she did that Lionel’s eyes widened slightly. His lips parted a little too, his gaze swiftly taking her in.
“You look… very presentable,” he said stiffly.
Amelia’s hopes sputtered. After hours of being prodded and poked and beautified, enduring endless brushes through her hair and decorative, jewel-topped pins stabbing at her scalp, not to mention the last-minute adjustments to the gown that had turned her into a pincushion, she had anticipated more of a reaction than ‘very presentable.’
Lionel pulled her arm through his and led her up the steps to the manor, as Rebecca and Caroline bustled along behind, whispering between themselves.
“Barnet!” a bright voice yelled, as the couple stepped into the entrance hall: a busy spot for congregating, countless voices melding together in a jarring din that made Amelia wince.
Lionel raised a hand in greeting. “Good evening to you, Lockie.” He whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Duncan Lock. Duke of Thornhill.”
Amelia took a relieved breath, making a note to thank her husband later. She had spent four years in society, and had an excellent mind for retaining names and information, but she was terrible at putting faces to those names.
“There she is!” Duncan Lock crowed, halting in front of Amelia and Lionel, opening out his palms in a displaying gesture. “The infamous Countess of Westyork. The early bird who snatched up the juiciest worm in England. Andwhata rare bird you are, Lady Westyork.”
Amelia stared at the Duke, not knowing what to say to such an intense introduction. “You are… kind to say so, Your Grace,” she managed to reply. “I hope I shall not ruffle any feathers this evening.”
Duncan grinned and burst out in a laugh. “Witty, too, I daresay.” He offered out his hand and she had no choice but to give her own, considering his station and that he was the host of the evening.
He kissed her gloved hand, peering up at her as he continued, “One has to wonder what made you settle for a gentlemanlike Lionel here—a man so obsessed with his work that it has surprised us all that he managed to find time to gain a wife. You will find no fun with him, dear Lady.”
“And any lady would findtoomuch fun with you, Lockie,” Lionel replied, withdrawing his arm and slipping it around Amelia’s waist, startling her.
There are people watching!she wanted to say, but his tight grip felt… almost pleasant. Safe.
Duncan smiled. “Lady Westyork, I believeIam the one ruffling feathers.” He released her hand. “Accept my apologies. You are most welcome here, and I am certain that you shall be the belle of my humble ball. That gown is exquisite! If you do not have half the ladies here asking where you purchased it, I shall eat my cravat.”
Amelia stifled a laugh, hiding her smile behind her hand. Duncan was certainly charming, with an easy manner and an air about him that suggested he did not take himself too seriously. The opposite of Lionel, in many ways.
Lionel’s grip tightened around Amelia’s waist. “You are embarrassing my wife, Lockie. I had hoped you would mature out of that bad habit, but I see you are still determined to see ladies blush.”
I am not embarrassed,Amelia considered saying, for though she was exceptionally prone to blushing, Duncan’s words had not had that warming effect. She found him… amusing, butnothing more. And she could not deny that she appreciated his compliment about her gown, saying more than just “very presentable.”
“It makes them all the prettier,” Duncan replied with a mischievous wink. “And you, without doubt, have the prettiest lady upon your arm. What a fortunate creature you are. Like a cat—always landing on your feet.”
Lionel pulled Amelia closer to his side, glancing down at her. “We should dance.”
“Barnet, no—do not hurry away! I have not seen you inmonths!” Duncan urged, throwing up his hands. “I was jesting, my good man! You know I relish a jest, and I should like to get to know your wife better. Nor can you deny me some overdue time with your glorious grandmother.”
Amelia frowned. It appeared that Duncan and Lionel knew one another better than she had thought, though she realized that the informal names of ‘Barnet’ and ‘Lockie’ should have been an indication of an acquaintanceship.
“You exaggerate. It has been no more than six weeks,” Lionel replied coolly, his entire demeanor stiff and not exactly approachable. “And what is a gentleman to do during the month of his honeymoon but dance with his wife.”
He steered Amelia away, leading her through the considerable crowds to the ballroom at the far end of a long, opulently decorated hallway. The music that she had heard from thecarriage grew louder, and as Lionel opened the door to the ballroom and ushered her inside, the sound bombarded her ears.
She stood frozen on the threshold, terror clawing its way up to her chest as she looked upon the array of guests. Lionel had promised her it would be an intimate ball, but this was far grander—and far busier—than that. It might have been a summer celebration; there were so many people in attendance.
“The Earl and Countess of Westyork!” the announcer boomed across the packed ballroom, before anything could be done to silence him.
At that, the entire congregation turned and stared, and Amelia wished the parquet floor would crack and swallow her down. Ladies whispered behind fans, mothers openly scowled, while unease clawed its way up Amelia’s throat.
