Page 7 of A Duke Reformed
Andrew tapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to London, Your Grace. Let me get you something to drink. Hopefully, it can ease some of the tension you are carrying on these shoulders."
He gave Solomon a reassuring smile before turning and weaving his way through the crowd toward the refreshment table. Solomon sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly at the prospect of a drink. Figuring that Andrew was right, Solomon decided to give socializing a try. He took a step forward, scanning the garden for a familiar face. Luckily, he found one. He recalled her name to be Lady Sartfeld. She was standing near a rose trellis alone. Solomon recalled that she had been one of the few people to treat him with genuine niceness since his arrival in London.
Deciding to make an effort, Solomon approached her with a polite smile. "Lady Sartfeld," he said, bowing slightly. "It's nice to see you again."
Somewhat surprised, she curtsied, glancing at the matron who stood by her side. "Likewise, Your Grace."
Solomon smiled softly, glad that he had successfully struck up a conversation. "Are you enjoying the party?"
"I am," she answered. "I was just about to take a turn about the garden. It looks quite beautiful, wouldn't you say?"
Solomon nodded. "It does," he answered and lifted his arm. "Might I offer you my arm for a promenade of the garden? The roses here are particularly splendid."
Lady Sartfeld's eyes widened in surprise, and her companion, ... a stern-looking matron gasped audibly. Solomon frowned, confused by their reaction.
Had I said something wrong?
Before Lady Sartfeld could respond, Andrew reappeared at his side, a glass of champagne in hand. Solom turned to him and saw a mixture of amusement and mild panic in his eyes.
"Your Grace," he said to Solomon "Might I have a word?"
Solomon hesitated, glancing back at Lady Sartfeld, who was now fanning herself frantically, slowly turning away from him. "Of course," he said, even though his confusion only deepened.
Andrew steered him away from the group gently, leading Solomon back to where they previously stood. It was obvious that Solomon that done something wrong, but he couldn't place what it was, and it frustrated him even more.
Once they were out of earshot, Andrew turned to him, his expression mildly serious, but somewhat teasing. "Solomon,"he said, using the duke's given name in a rare moment of informality. "What did you do that for?"
Solomon blinked. "I was merely offering Lady Sartfeld my arm. Is that not the done thing? I see gentlemen and ladies walking arm in arm all the time at these events. What's the difference?"
Andrew sighed. "The difference, my friend, is thatyouare a duke, and not just any duke, a charming, highly sought-after one. Lady Sartfeld is a married woman, and her husband, Lord Sartfeld is an earl. Do you see the problem?"
Solomon frowned, his frustration mounting. "No, I don't. Explain it to me, because clearly, I am missing something."
Andrew leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. "Here in London, promenading isn't just a stroll, it can be seen as a public display of a relationship's nature. While it's acceptable for a married woman to walk with a male acquaintance, it raises eyebrows if a single man, especially one as high-ranking as you pays too much attention to her. Offering your arm might not be seen as just a polite gesture. It's a statement, and in your case, it could be misinterpreted as flirtation."
Solomon's eyes widened. "Flirtation? I barely know the woman. I was just trying to be courteous."
"I know that," Andrew continued. "But thetondoesn't operate on intentions, it operates on appearances. Appearance is everything. When a single duke offers his arm to a marriedwoman, it suggests interest or...protection. It could be seen as you challenging the earl for his lady. No man wants that."
Solomon groaned and clicked his tongue. "This is absurd. How does anyone keep track of all these rules? It's like navigating a battlefield blindfolded."
Andrew kept speaking, but Solomon's mind had drifted far away from the conversation. He was getting entirely frustrated. Raised in North England by his mother as a commoner, he barely knew the rules of theton... the spoken or unspoken ones. Every misstep, every raised eyebrow, every whispered comment reminded him just how out of place he felt. He had come to London to establish himself, to build connections and secure business ventures that would solidify his position as the Duke of Montclaire.
But how could he possibly succeed if he kept unintentionally offending people?
"Your Grace," Howard was the first to speak, stepping forward with an enthusiasm that made Emma cringe. "I must say I am quite surprised to see you here, in our humble abode. To what do we owe this honor?"
Emma curtsied and stood in front of Cecilia as she watched the Duke of Montclaire stride into their home like he owned the place. His presence was still as overwhelming as she had recalled, and she watched as his eyes swept the room, lingeringbriefly on Cecilia, who was flushed with shame and clutching onto Emma like a lifeline, before settling on Emma herself.
Emma met his gaze with a measured look, her expression neutral but her mind racing. She didn't know him well, but what she had seen so far left her wary. He was a man who commanded every space he walked into, his every movement deliberate... his every word calculated. There was something secretive about him, something that suggested he enjoyed keeping people on edge.
The memory of the other night... how he had carried her back to the front steps of the ball after her supposed ankle injury flashed through her mind and she swallowed. He had bowed and left without another word, leaving her flustered and confused. She hadn't known what to make of him then, and she still didn't know now.
The duke inclined his head, his expression still unreadable. "Lord Lockhart, thank you for having me. I only came to ensure the ladies are all right," he said in a deep voice. His gaze flicked to Cecilia, who immediately looked down. "After last night's... incident, I felt it prudent to check on their well-being."
"Incident?" Howard asked, turning to Emma and Cecilia, his brow furrowed with concern. "What incident?"
Emma inhaled sharply. "It was nothing serious, Papa," she said quickly. "Cecilia stumbled in the garden last night, and His Grace was kind enough to assist her. That's all. I was there as well."
