Page 12 of The Duke's Unclaimed Bride
Gasps rippled through the ballroom. Edith froze, silently begging the floor to open beneath her.
“What on earth is a child doing here, Lady Nealton?” a gentleman’s irate voice rang out across the ballroom.
The voice belonged to the host, Lord Wexton.
“Lord Wexton, I can explain—” Edith started.
“I showed you mercy by allowing you to speak to my guests about your charity. I expected you to show better judgment than you have in recent days. I dare say I am rather ashamed to have been proven wrong,” Lord Wexton chided. “It does not bode well for the girl’s upbringing.”
“I did not intentionally bring her, and her upbringing is not your concern,” Edith replied. “And I have not shown poor judgment in my time here; I have simply spoken about my charity. Calling it a mercy to allow me to do what others are doing here is an insult.”
Her heart sank as she surveyed the crowd. The expressions of the guests surrounding her were pure anger and derision. What was worse, and cut her to the core, was their complete indifference toward her and Tilly.
We mean nothing to them. Nothing at all.
She glanced down at Tilly, whose big brown eyes shimmered with tears.
Suddenly, a man’s irritated voice cut through the tense silence. “What nonsense is taking place here?”
Edith turned at the sound of his voice.
A tall man with slightly tousled, dark brown hair and striking blue eyes stepped forward. His piercing gaze took in everything at once, scanning the group and registering its full impact. His shoulders were broad and powerful, the muscles beneath his coat flexing as he moved with quiet control. Rough fingers raked through his beard, revealing hands that were both strong and capable.
But it was his face that held her gaze: deep, jagged scars carved across his features, remnants of long-past violence. They lent him a dangerous edge, yet he carried himself with a quiet strength and unshakeable resilience.
This is a man who has endured much and survived.
Edith was vaguely reminded of a maid she had once seen burn her hand, but there was nothing fragile about him. Her stomach fluttered, and she could feel a pink blush forming on her cheeks.
“D-Disappointed, Your Grace?” Lord Wexton stuttered.
So, he is a duke.
But who was he? She couldn’t remember meeting him before.
“Yes, I had been under the impression that this was a charity ball,” the Duke continued.
“It is,” Lord Wexton replied.
The Duke nodded slowly. “Strange. This woman has come, advocating for her charity, and yet she has received no donations at all,” he said, his cold gaze sweeping over the crowd once more.
“Y-Your Grace, we’re just questioning her judgment based on some recent… choices,” Lord Wexton stammered, while sneering in Tilly’s direction.
“I would have thought this would have been to her benefit,” the Duke said, folding his arms.
“Her… benefit?” Lord Wexton echoed, baffled.
“Indeed. The lady’s charity helps the poor, does it not? She has proven she is willing to do more than just raise funds. Unlike some here, she is not a hypocrite. Her morals and actions appear to align,” the Duke replied.
Lord Wexton’s mouth opened and then closed. The guests who had gathered around them quickly stepped away.
“I… I apologize, Your Grace. I will see to it that you are not so disappointed again,” Lord Wexton stuttered, before walking away.
It hadn’t been lost on Edith that he had apologized to the Duke and not to her.
She glanced at the Duke, who now stood beside her, and began to connect him to snippets of gossip she’d heard.
There was one scarred duke she’d never seen at events before. The Duke of Alderbourne.
