Page 63 of The Duke of Desire
Would anyone ask her tonight? She certainly looked the part. Her brain conjured an image of West—dammit,Clare. Oh, what difference did it make what she called him in her head?
She saw him in her mind, his pitch-black hair waving back from his temples, his wickedly dark eyes moving over her with seductive intent. He’d be garbed in black save a colored waistcoat—a brilliant blue or a stunning gold—and the stark white linen of his cravat and shirt.
An ache formed in her gut and spread out through her body. How she wished he were here, that he could see her like this. He’d ask her to dance, she was certain. And she’d say yes.
But he wasn’t here, and nor would he be.
Ivy went to the wall and took up her usual position. It had never bothered her before, and she decided right then she wasn’t going to let it trouble her tonight either.
The dance concluded, and her friends made their way to Ivy’s side.
When they arrived, Dartford offered her a bow. “I’d be honored if you’d allow me the next dance.”
Ivy coaxed her lips into a smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I think I prefer my wallflower status. I mean no offense, but I’d like to spend the evening with my friends.” She inclined her head toward his wife and Aquilla, who laughed softly.
“I told you she’d say no,” Lucy said on a sigh. She briefly clasped her husband’s hand. “But I love you for asking.”
Dartford gave Ivy another bow. “If you should change your mind, you have only to say so. For now, I suppose Sutton and I are for the cardroom.”
Sutton pointed himself toward the doorway. “Indeed. We wouldn’t want to interfere with your wallflowering.” He winked at his wife.
Aquilla rolled her eyes. “Thank you. Wallflowering isextremelyimportant and requires our undivided attention.” She waved her fingers at him and Dartford as they departed.
“I thought they’d never leave,” Lucy huffed good-naturedly. “Where shall we take our position?” She glanced around at the chairs along the wall, very few of which were occupied. “I suppose we can take our pick.”
“Let’s not sit just yet,” Aquilla said. “I don’t want Ivy’s dress to crease. We should move to a more visible location so that a gentleman may ask her to dance.”
Ivy shook her head. “One already did, and I said no. I’m content to sit. Preferably in a corner.”
“Nonsense. You look far too beautiful to cloak yourself in the shadows.”
“Thank you, Aquilla, but there’s really no need. It’s enough that I’m here with both of you. That’s all I want.”
Lucy and Aquilla exchanged looks, and Ivy grew suspicious. “You aren’ttryingto put me on the Marriage Mart, are you? I’ll disassociate myself from both of you immediately.”
Lucy touched her arm, her fingers grazing along Ivy’s kid glove. “No, we aren’t. Truly. I think we both forgot for a moment that you aren’t us. You really don’t wish to marry.”
“Neither did either of you,” Ivy retorted, perhaps a bit too harshly.
Aquilla winced. “I think I forget that sometimes. Marriage to Ned has far surpassed anything I could have imagined.”
“As has marriage to Andrew,” Lucy said softly. “I guess we just want to see you as happy as we are, but that’s unfair. Happiness is not based on marriage. We know you are quite content with your life. You enjoy an independence many women can only covet.”
Ivy relaxed a bit. They understood. Why, then, did she still feel a lingering sense of unease?
“Come,” Aquilla said briskly. “It’s time to call a meeting of the League of Invincibles.” She led them off to the side, not quite the corner, but close enough for Ivy’s comfort.
The league was the name they’d given themselves quite some time ago. They’d found strength in having a secret club of sorts. Back then, they’d met to discuss books and events, they’d visited museums, and of course, they’d banded together at balls and musicales and everywhere else they’d managed to find themselves.
“I must say, I don’t know a good many of the people in attendance,” Aquilla said as she looked about the room. “Who is that beautiful woman over there? She seems to be holding court.”
Aquilla inclined her head toward a woman standing several feet from the dance floor. Garbed in a silvery blue gown and with rich blonde hair dressed with what looked to be diamonds, she was more than beautiful—she was ethereal and dazzling, like something from a dream. She was also past the blush of youth, which gave her an air of sophistication and poise that Ivy longed to possess.
“I think that’s Lady Lamberton,” Lucy said. She’d always been the best with names and recognizing people. “She’s a widow, and it seems to agree with her.”
Ivy felt a surge of envy. Lady Lamberton was in a most advantageous position—she had money, position, and independence. At least, Ivy assumed she had money given the way she looked. That gown and the diamonds in her hair cost more than Ivy made in a year. She suddenly felt strange in the gown she was wearing. It had been a gift, but after a decade of providing everything for herself, she wasn’t sure she was comfortable accepting it. Not that she wouldn’t. To do so would crush her friends, and she didn’t wish to do that.
“She looks a bit like a swan,” Aquilla observed. “I would’ve envied her a year ago.”
