Page 14 of A Sinful Viscount's Mistletoe Affair
Isabella sighed. “You are right.”
Daphne frowned. “You do not seem to be at all excited to dance with him, Isabella.”
Isabella shook her head. “There is something about his eyes, the way he looks at me,” she said softly. “I cannot put a name to it, but it makes me feel rather uncomfortable.”
“Perhaps he is just shy,” Daphne suggested. “Although it seems rather silly for a duke to be shy!”
“I don’t know,” Isabella said. “I think dukes and earls and viscounts are human beings just like us, with feelings and fears and all those things we have. Perhaps they just do not like to talk of them. I suppose gentlemen are not supposed to admit to such feelings at all.”
Before Daphne could reply, the music started, and Isabella glanced up to see the duke approaching, that cold smile on his face again. She forced herself to smile back and take the arm he was offering her. He led her to the dance floor, and they joined the line of couples waiting for the dance to start. Isabella glanced back a little regretfully at Daphne, who nodded encouragingly at her.
“I am sure you do not need to worry about your friend, My Lady,” the duke said, following her gaze. “No doubt someone will come along soon and ask her to dance. It would not do for there to be any young ladies without partners for the first dance, now would it?”
Isabella shook her head, hoping he was right. Daphne had always been popular with young gentlemen at balls, even though she had yet to find her perfect match.
She turned her focus back to the duke, waiting for him to say something else to further their conversation. She thought back to her conversation with Lord Ashcroft in the library and how unforced it had been.
There had not been a second of awkwardness between them, and she felt they could have continued talking for hours. But with the duke, she found that she could not think of a thing to say, and from the look on his face, he, too, was struggling to find a topic of conversation that he wished to pursue with her. But conversation was required at a ball, even when dancing, and they both knew it.
He watched the other couples moving around the dance floor, and then he turned to her. “This is rather pleasant, is it not?”
“Indeed,” she replied. “I often prefer this kind of dance, as it allows time for conversation in between the dancing.”
He looked at her, and she thought she saw his lip curling slightly with something that looked rather like disdain. “And what shall we talk of, Lady Isabella?” he asked.
She paused for a moment. It felt like a trick question. She wanted to ask him what she wanted to ask almost everyone she met, whether he had travelled much and what his favourite experiences and sights had been. But her father had told her that this was not always a suitable topic of conversation for a young lady. Right now, though, with him looking at her expectantly, she found she could not think of anything interesting to talk about at all.
“I hope that you are looking forward to our festive celebrations,” she said eventually, knowing as soon as the remark left her lips that it might be the most bland and boring thing she had ever said.
The duke shrugged. “I must confess that I have not had time to think about it very much,” he replied. “I have been so very busy with my business ventures of late that I have barely stopped to think about anything.”
He smiled, showing his even, white teeth, and Isabella could not help thinking that although many other young ladies would consider him handsome, something seemed to be missing in her response to him. She could not imagine enjoying kissing him. In fact, the thought of it made her feel rather repulsed.
She forced herself to concentrate on what he had said. “Oh, that sounds very onerous indeed,” she said, trying to sound sympathetic. She had often thought it must be rather marvellous to be a man and have so many things to take up one’s time and attention. Young ladies had to stay at home, with nothing much to do besides sewing and practicing the pianoforte and waiting for someone to propose to them.
“Yes, you could say that,” the duke replied. He seemed to be looking over his shoulder as he spoke to her rather than focusing on her face, and Isabella found it rather distracting.
Before he had the chance to say anything else, their turn to dance came, and the duke swiftly took Isabella in his arms and led her down the dance. He was a proficient dancer, and Isabella could feel the eyes of many people in the ballroom on them as they traversed the dance floor. She felt rather relieved when they could stop at the other end of the dance, as she hoped it meant that no one else would be staring at them.
“What have been your most recent business ventures, Your Grace?” she ventured to ask. Genuinely, she found that she was a little interested in this manly world that she knew very little about. She was not really sure if it was proper for her to ask, but it did not seem as if the duke was about to suggest any other topic of conversation, and she had no wish to stand in silence for several minutes while they waited for their next turn in the dance.
He looked at her a little oddly, then cocked his head to one side. “Do you think you will understand anything about it, Lady Isabella?”
She flushed, partly with anger as well as a little embarrassment that perhaps he thought she should not have asked such a thing. “I will do my very best, Your Grace,” she replied, not looking at him.
That seemed enough for him, though, and he began to tell her at some length about some trouble he was having with a mill he owned on the edge of his estate. It seemed that the workers were protesting against the introduction of new machinery into the mill, which they saw as a threat to their livelihoods.
“And I keep trying to explain to them that there is no threat to them, but they do not understand,” the duke said. “They seem to me to be almost determined to misunderstand the situation. It is most frustrating.”
Isabella listened to his words and momentarily wondered what it must feel like to be one of these mill workers, most of whom she assumed had families to feed. Of course, they would fear machines, which might change things for them. But she did not want to voice her opinion; she knew that would be seen as unladylike.
She thought for a moment of Lord Sebastian and wondered what he would think of the duke’s predicament. She wondered, too, if he would think it inappropriate for her, as a young lady, to even venture to have an opinion on it.
The duke was still talking about the various developments he had planned for his mills and the advances being made on the continent. Again, Isabella had to resist the urge to ask him more about his travels.
“That sounds very interesting, Your Grace,” she said instead, once again cringing at the blandness of her response.
Something about him made her feel as if she could not be herself, as if she could not speak her mind about anything. And still, she found a look in his eye most unsettling, too. She could not deny the harsh truth; the Duke of Harbridge made her feel very uncomfortable indeed.
