Page 38 of A Duke for Adela
She took a deep breath and emerged from the carriage with a smile. She refused to be known as the cowardly duchess…or rather, cowardly duchess-to-be. She took Ambrose’s offered arm so he could escort her and Eloise to the receiving line.
To her dismay, Lady Felicity Rose and her father were just ahead of them. Oh, how dearly she wished to avoid that girl. Lord Brynmore stood beside her, as ever the pandering toady.
Were The Fates contriving against her to put her in the path of the two people she hoped most to avoid?
She glanced at Ambrose, but his expression was stoic and completely unreadable.
If only she could appear so restrained.
Her blood was already boiling.
Ambrose sensed her mounting ire and shot her a warning glance. “Adela,” he whispered in her ear, “you are my betrothed. You’ve won. Just smile and enjoy the evening.”
Yes, he was right in theory.
In reality, it was hard to shed her hurt.
She was no diamond and would never be.
She still felt like a wallflower.
However, the pair surprised her. Neither Felicity Rose nor Brynmore turned around to acknowledge them. Well, that was satisfying. They behaved like scared mice, obviously afraid Ambrose and Eloise would give them the cut direct after having misplayed their hand. Indeed, what a delicious mistake on their part. Instead of humiliating her, they had put her straight in the arms of England’s most coveted bachelor.
To see them crushed was most satisfying, not only for herself but for every shy debutante who had ever been teased and ridiculed by that loathsome pair. Oh, how she hated these mean-spiritedtongames.
She was glad she had a duke and a dowager countess on her side.
As the last of the guests arrived, Lord and Lady Knightly moved off the receiving line to open their ball with a dance.
But before they did so, they motioned for their footmen to bring out glasses of champagne. Once everyone was served, Lord Knightly held up his glass. “It is with great honor, and humble appreciation of my long friendship with the Duke of Huntsford, that I announce his betrothal to the lovely Miss Adela Swift.”
Cheers rang out among the crowd, and Adela was certain it was her Farthingale supporters at their rowdy best, for it certainly was not Felicity Rose and her toady friends. She and Lord Brynmore looked mad enough to kill. This ought to have made Adela smile, for revenge was sweet, but it only made her worry about what they would plot next.
She shook out of the thought and stood beside Ambrose, a beaming smile on her face as they both accepted everyone’s good wishes. The second dance was to be a waltz, and this time she did not hesitate when Ambrose swept her into his arms. They twirled in time to the music, following the other dancers as they moved in an easy flow around the dance floor.
She felt the heat of his gaze on her as he asked, “How are you doing, Adela?”
“Perfect.” She smiled up at him. “I feel as though I am dancing upon a soft cloud.”
“Have you been practicing? You seem relaxed, unlike last time when you were ready to cast up your accounts.”
“I haven’t practiced at all.”
He eyed her curiously. “But you really have improved.”
She shook her head. “The only thing that has changed is my trust in your lead. You are a very good dancer and I am no longer terrified of falling on my face. I trust you and am not afraid of anything when I am with you. Is this not a wonderful revelation? This is how I hope we’ll move through our lives together.”
Was it too soon for her to admit she was in love with him?
She dared not say anything yet.
Her declaration might scare him off.
It still scared her.
In any event, how could she be certain of her feelings in this short a time?
“Thank you, Adela. I hope for the same.” His gaze drifted up and down her body. “You look very pretty tonight.”
