Page 9 of An Unfamiliar Duke

Sebastian leaned back in the carriage seat. It had been three days since he’d stood in the Langton House drawing room to greet his future bride. His initial shock that the girl he recalled from his youth was so changed that he had not recognized her when she’d run into him on the street had turned to unexpected pleasure when she’d expressed genuine interest in the Montgolfier brothers’ hot-air balloon. But then something had changed.

He had thought through their exchange countless times since then but still could not pinpoint what had happened. The engaging Miss Ainsworth had suddenly become aloof and indifferent, and he was left wishing he understood her better. He’d been a fool to put off their meeting as adults. The prospect of forcing himself upon a reluctant bride—particularly one he remembered in a negative light—had been so onerous he had allowed it to hold his future hostage. And by so doing, he had unwittingly held Miss Ainsworth’s future hostage as well.

The carriage lurched to a stop, and a footman stepped forward to open the door. Sebastian exited. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and watched Lord and Lady Winchester enter the house together. Strains of music floated through the open door. Straightening his coat, Sebastian rolled his shoulders. That Miss Ainsworth had not expected him to call again had been telling. It had also been motivating. He could do better, and this evening he would prove it.

Lord and Lady Marlborough were standing in the main hall, greeting their arriving guests. The elderly baroness’s hair had whitened since Sebastian had last seen her, and the baron had gained a few more pounds around his ample girth, but they both welcomed him warmly.

“Honored to have you here, Kelbrook,” Lord Marlborough said.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Lady Marlborough tapped his arm with her closed fan and gave him a knowing look. “There will be many a young lady thrilled by your presence here this evening, Your Grace.”

Sebastian forced a smile. There would be many a young lady sorely disappointed, then. He was here for one purpose and one person. Another gentleman approached from the doorway, ushering his wife and two daughters ahead of him. The Marlboroughs turned to speak with him, and Sebastian made his escape. He crossed the hall in a few long strides, coming to a stop at the entrance of the ballroom.

Candles flickered around the vast room, reflecting off the silver candelabras and casting wavering shadows across the walls. A small orchestra played in the far corner, surrounded by potted plants on Grecian pillars. Large portraits—presumably of Marlborough ancestors—hung in ornate gold frames around the room, watching the current occupants with glazed eyes.

Sebastian took the opportunity to survey the room himself. The dancing had already begun. Matrons sat in clusters around the perimeter of the room, watching and gossiping, while several of the gentlemen were situated beside the refreshment table. Already, the rapidly growing number of attendees made it difficult to identify specific individuals.

“By Jove, Kelbrook. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Sebastian turned to see Lord Eppingham standing at his left.

“Good evening, Eppingham.”

“Well, yes. I’d say it’s a rather remarkable one if the Duke of Kelbrook deigns to grace Society with his presence.”

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. Is that how his absence at these events was construed? That he considered himself above them? “I am only just returned to London,” he said.

“Is that so.” Eppingham appeared unconvinced. “Well, I hope you enjoy the evening, old fellow. Don’t suppose there will be many more Society events this Season.”

The music came to an end. On the center of the floor, the dancers bowed and curtsied. All around the room, people clapped. Sebastian turned to watch the flow of couples head toward the sides of the room. And then he spotted her. Miss Ainsworth was walking toward the rear of the ballroom on the arm of a tall, dark-haired gentleman. Sebastian did not recognize him, but before he could ask Eppingham for a name, his former schoolmate stepped forward.

“If you would excuse me, Kelbrook,” Eppingham said. “There is someone I should like to invite to dance, and experience has taught me that if I wait, another will claim her first.”

“Of course.”

Sebastian watched as Eppingham walked briskly across the room. The gentleman greeted a few people as he went, but his course remained fixed, and it wasn’t long before Sebastian realized Eppingham’s end goal. As the dark-haired stranger bowed deeply and kissed Miss Ainsworth’s gloved hand a fraction too long, Eppingham stepped in to offer her his arm.

From a distance, Sebastian watched her smile warmly and nod at the other gentleman. His stomach clenched. Unprepared for the involuntary response, he took a moment to order his thoughts. Reason told him that he had no call to be irritated. Miss Ainsworth looked beautiful in her peach-colored gown, with her hair pulled up in a mass of ringlets. That her small nose crinkled charmingly when she smiled was also indisputable. Ergo, every gentleman at the ball would likely desire a turn on the dance floor with her.

He took a slow breath. None of the gentlemen in this room knew that Miss Ainsworth was already spoken for. Sebastian could not fault them for taking advantage of his absence. But it was well past time to put a stop to it. Eppingham had needed to move quickly to claim this dance. Miss Ainsworth would likely be requested for the next one moments after the gentleman returned her to her two friends in the corner. Sebastian would need to ensure that he was in position to reach her first. With a polite nod to a slight acquaintance at his right and the avoidance of eye contact with a mother and her two daughters on his left, Sebastian started around the room.

* * *

The orchestra played the last notes of the minuet, and Rosalind dropped into a curtsy. Across from her, Lord Eppingham bowed and reached for her hand to lead her off the floor.

“Thank you, Miss Ainsworth,” he said. “It was a delight, as always.”

She smiled, as was expected, but it took effort. Ever since the ball had begun, she’d struggled to muster her usual enthusiasm for the dances. She had wondered if her melancholy was due to this likely being her last ball before she was a married woman. Although, if that were the case, it would seem that she should be all the more anxious for a wide array of partners rather than wishing for a turn at being a wallflower.

When Mr. Sellers’s lips had lingered a little too long on her gloved hand, she had been tempted to snatch it from his grasp. And although Lord Eppingham was a pleasant enough dance partner, she had no desire for him to remain after returning her to her place at the edge of the ballroom. She hoped that he would move quickly to claim another partner.

Her friend Elinor Spencer was already off the dance floor. Elinor’s partner for the minuet, Mr. Michaels, had claimed Margaret Fotheringham for the next dance. Elinor barely seemed to have noticed. Her attention was riveted upon something beyond Rosalind’s shoulder.

Rosalind’s curiosity burned, but to turn around and stare would be impolite, so she mustered one last smile for Lord Eppingham and slipped her hand free of his. “You have my thanks, Lord Eppingham,” she said.

“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Ainsworth.” He inclined his head politely, and then, to her relief, he turned to go.