Page 8 of To Have & To Hold

Charlotte gave him a wicked smile, but before she could object, their attention was stolen by a moderately decent youngman whom Nathaniel vaguely recognized from the last time he had graced London Society.

“Your Grace.” The tall, lanky fellow bowed, his mop of blonde hair falling forward into his eyes as he did.

Charlotte giggled behind her glass, and Nathaniel had to keep himself from rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all.

“It is an honor to see you in London again. I hope you are enjoying yourself so far.” The young man continued to address Nathaniel, but his eyes were firmly locked on Charlotte.

Nathaniel hummed, “I wish I could say I was.”

If the young man was taken aback by Nathaniel’s reply, he did not show it. He merely nodded, his overly bright smile fixed firmly in place.

Nathaniel drew a slow breath before turning to Charlotte. She looked up at him, her smile full of expectation. He knew he would have to present her to eligible gentlemen eventually. He had simply hoped to delay the headache a little longer.

Nathaniel turned back to the young man. “Mr Huxley, I believe?” Relief filled his chest when he nodded.

“Yes, Your Grace. Eustace Huxley.” He bowed again.

“Allow me to introduce my sister,” Nathaniel gestured to Charlotte, who was already dipping into a perfectly elegant curtsy. “Lady Charlotte Eaton.”

Mr. Huxley beamed as he offered his arm. “It would be an honor to escort you for the first set, Lady Charlotte.”

Charlotte turned her hopeful glance to Nathaniel. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat before offering a small smile and a nod.

She slipped her hand beneath Mr. Huxley’s arm, and he led her toward the center of the ballroom just as the first notes of music filled the air. Nathaniel felt his chest tighten at the sound.

It wasn’t that he disliked balls—not truly. Everyone wore their finest clothes and jewels, dusted off their best manners and most impressive stories. The rooms glittered and glowed, and laughter and elegant music floated through the air. If he were honest with himself, it was all rather magical. But that was all it was. Magic. An illusion.

He had fallen in love with Sarah Weston in a ballroom like this—her lovely green eyes, outspoken opinions, and quick wit. In a room like this, he had been able to envision her falling in love with him as well. Everyone had. They were the perfect couple, in a perfect courtship, moving steadily towards marriage

But outside the ballroom, Sarah had been falling in love with someone else—and no number of evenings spent dancing and sipping on champagne could have changed that.

Nathaniel watched as Charlotte and Mr. Huxley spun across the floor, her light and airy laughter blending with the music, and the pain in his chestintensified.

Regardless of how entertaining one found Society, Nathaniel couldn’t shake the feeling that his time would be better spent doing just about anything else. As soon as Charlotte was settled and married, he would have no need to grace the doorway of a London ballroom again.

He lifted his glass and took another sip when another familiar laugh caught his attention.

“Blackburn!” He called, unable to hide the smile from his voice as he spotted his friend from across the room.

Oliver looked up and broke into a grin. “Kenswick!” He returned, already weaving through the crowd toward him. Nathaniel felt the tightness in his chest ease as his friend came closer.

Over two years had passed since they had last seen each other, but no part of Oliver had changed—except for the fact that his smile was even brighter with his new bride on his arm.

“Well,” Oliver said, coming to a stop in front of him, eyes dancing. “Tell me, Your Grace, is that frown your new permanent expression, or are we simply getting a preview of the speech you are going to bore the House with at our next session?”

“Ollie!” Grace discreetly jabbed her elbow into her husband’s ribs.

Nathaniel laughed. He forgot how easy it was to be himself with Oliver, or at least the person he was whenever his old friend was around. Even if just for a moment, he was able tostand a little taller because he knew his title held less weight with Oliver than it did with the rest of the world.

He was the one person who saw him simply as Nathaniel Eaton; the only one who truly understood what the title of Duke of Kenswick cost him. But when Sarah had broken his heart, Nathaniel couldn’t bear the thought of even his closest friend seeing him crumble.

He told himself he needed a few weeks to mend his wounded pride, and then a few months, and then a year—and then the invitation to the wedding arrived.

If Oliver had married anyone else, Nathaniel would have been the first to offer his congratulations, but Grace Rockwell was Sarah’s dearest friend. He simply had not been ready to face them.

So one year became two, and now Nathaniel realized that the pain he felt from seeing Oliver and Grace was not from old heartbreak being unearthed, but the realization that there was none, and he had stayed away so long for nothing.

Grace cleared her throat. “Do not let him rile you, Your Grace. He has been perfectly intolerable all evening.”