Page 51 of The Scarred Duke's Bride
Freya tugged Eric’s arm, directing him towards the Dowager Marchioness who was holding court in the middle of the room. She stopped speaking as she saw them approach her eyes on Eric’s face. Freya’s heart sped up in anxiety when she noticed where the Dowager Marchioness was looking.
She and Eric came to a stop in front of the group, and Eric made an elegant leg. “A pleasure to meet you, my lady. We were honored by your invitation.”
The Dowager said nothing and simply stared at him— rather rudely in Freya’s opinion. She could see his face going red. Quickly, she looked around, recognizing Lord Hilton, who was a friend of her father's. She smiled at him and nodded, “Lord Hilton what a pleasure.”
He jerked, as if seeing her for the first time, and then smiled, blushing slightly with embarrassment. “Lady Freya, I did not see you there.”
That’s because you are too busy staring at my husband’s scars,she thought resentfully.
That greeting seemed to galvanize the group, and they quickly extended their greetings as well, gazes still lingering on Eric’s face, clearly curious about what happened to him. Freya clung tighter to Eric, knowing that he was extremely uncomfortable with this scrutiny. She did her best to direct the conversation in other directions, wanting to give him time to recover.
She felt embarrassed but not for Eric, rather for the other members of the party who had behaved in such an uncouth manner. She was more than embarrassed; inside, she was seething with rage even as she pasted a smile on her face and made civil whiskers with them.
Just then, the orchestra began to play from somewhere down the hall, and the Dowager Marchioness clapped her hands together. “Ladies and gentlemen, the ball is about to begin. Those who wish may feel free to adjourn to the ballroom and enjoy the music.”
There was a cheer around the room and the general exodus.
Lord Hilton turned to her. “Would you care to dance, Lady Freya?”
Freya hesitated for a moment. She flicked a glance at Eric, who was still stone-faced and silent. They had not even changed into their ball gowns yet. But Lord Hilton was her father’s friend, and she did not want to snub him in public. Eric turned to her his eyes blank. “Go ahead,” he said in a low gravelly voice.
With his endorsement, she found it even more difficult to protest, and so she smiled at Lord Hilton and offered him her hand. He led her out of the room and down the hall to the ballroom. The orchestra was playing a gay ditty to start the night off, and Lord Hilton turned out to be a proficient dancer. To Freya’s surprise, she found that she was enjoying herself.
Once the dance was done, she looked around for Eric, wanting to go up to their room so that she could change her clothes. She could see him nowhere around and wondered if he was still in the drawing room.
“Excuse me,” she murmured absently to the group that she had somehow become part of before walking out of the ballroom and back to the drawing room. Two men sat on armchairs smoking cheroots and chatting, but neither of them was Eric.
She frowned wondering if he might have gone upstairs without her. Stopping a footman, she asked if she had seen a tall man with a muscular physique, dark tousled hair, and piercing blue eyes. “He also has a scar running down his face.”
The footman frowned before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, my lady, I have not.”
With a sigh, she decided to make her way upstairs to their designated room. She walked back to the door where the butler was welcoming guests. “Excuse me, but which chamber is ours, and have you seen my husband?”
The butler frowned. “I have not. However,” he snapped his fingers and a footman appeared, “Henry will take you to your chambers.”
Freya followed the footman, all the while hoping that she would find Eric in their rooms. She was worried about him and what he might do. His words from the carriage kept playing over and over in her head.
I knew he felt slighted by everyone’s manner. I should have asked him if he wanted to leave right then.
But she knew that asking such a question would have embarrassed him even more. Whatever she did it seemed to have been the wrong thing. Henry opened the door of her chambers and then stood back with a bow. “Your rooms, my lady.”
She nodded to him in thanks and stepped in, looking around and not seeing Eric anywhere or any sign of him. Their bags were placed neatly beside the bed, and they seemed to have been untouched.
Freya blew out a deep breath, her hands on her hips as she wondered what to do now. “Where are you, Eric?”
* * *
Eric wandered outside, the music from the orchestra drifting towards him through the open windows as well as the laughter and conversation. Never before had he felt so out of place. His upbringing had been fairly insular — he had his family around him, and he needed little else. Then he had gone off to the Navy, and that was a new kind of family but just as strong and self-contained.
If he was honest, he had been feeling adrift for quite a while. Trying to navigate the Duke’s rules while maintaining his honor had proved to be quite the challenge. It felt like the last straw to be stared at like an animal at a zoo by people who were meant to be his colleagues or his peers, now that he was to join the ranks of the nobility.
It did not bode well for his future, and all he wanted to do at the moment was run away.
Coward. Alexander would have straightened his spine and faced them head held high.
“Yes well, I am not Alexander,” he murmured to himself.
He felt a sense of tiredness and defeat. Everything he tried to do seemed to go wrong. Spotting the stables up ahead, he veered in that direction. Horses had always struck him as the most placid of creatures unless disturbed. They accepted you as you were without questions or bias. As long as you meant no harm, they were happy to have you around.
