The Reluctant Duchess (13 page)

To say that Sara didn't want to attend Lord and Lady Plainfield's ball would be a gross understatement.

When Elizabeth told Sara that she had acquired an invitation for her, Sara's heart immediately began to hammer and her palms to perspire, and that was just
thinking
about attending the ball. It had been years since she'd attended one. The last one being the night of Meredith's death.

“Oh, Your Grace, I wouldn't dream of going.”

“But of course you will. The countess was excited when I asked if I could bring you. She remembers your mother with fondness.”

Lovely. She probably knew that Sara's mother had abandoned her family, and she would look at Sara with pity. Just what she didn't need.

“I have nothing to wear,” she said, grasping at any excuse that came to mind.

“Oh, but you do. The gowns we ordered will arrive this afternoon. I sent a note to the
modiste,
and she assured me that a suitable gown will be ready in time.” Elizabeth looked at her in sorrow. “Sara, dear, I know you're committed to helping your father, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy yourself while you're in London.”

If only the duchess knew that attending a ball was far from enjoying herself. Sara
hated
balls. But Elizabeth would never understand nor accept such an excuse.

So Sara allowed herself to be dressed in the gold gown that arrived that afternoon. It was an exquisite gown, and she could hardly believe that it was hers or that she would wear something so…elegant. She hadn't had a new ball gown in years. Not that she wanted or needed one; she wondered why she'd agreed to order it. It was far too elegant for any of the festivities she attended in Hadley Springs.

A stranger stared back at her in the mirror. This person looked sophisticated, even though her insides were trembling so hard that she had to put a hand over her stomach in an effort to quell it.

The golden gown draped to the floor in soft folds, and the material shimmered as she moved. Her hair had been curled and was piled high on her head, a gold chain woven through it. Her shoulders were bare. Had she ever bared her shoulders before? She couldn't remember ever doing so.

“Oh, my dear, you are beautiful.”

Sara spun around, away from the person in the mirror. Elizabeth was standing at the door, looking at her from head to toe.

“I just knew the gold fabric would bring out the gold in your eyes.”

Gold in her eyes? What gold in her eyes? She had very average, boring brown eyes.

“Well,” Elizabeth said. “You will be the belle of the ball. Mark my words.”

Oh, no. She wanted no such thing. She had planned to find an empty chair in a quiet corner to sit and observe and nothing else. If Elizabeth had ideas about dragging Sara around…But of course she had such ideas. To Elizabeth a ball was fun, entertaining, not torture.

“I'm afraid we're keeping Ross waiting, and he hates to wait. I was lucky to get him to agree to come tonight as it is.”

Numbly, Sara followed Elizabeth out of the bedchamber and down the stairs to the entryway, where Ross was impatiently pacing.

When he saw them, he froze. For long moments he didn't say anything at all, and Sara had to quell the urge to touch her hair and fidget with her gown. Was it that bad?

“Stunning,” he finally whispered. He held his hand out as if to caress her cheek, then let it drop to his side before he touched her. “You are beautiful,” he said softly.

Sara stared up at him, hardly recognizing him. Without thought, she touched his shorn hair. Gone was the hair that nearly reached his shoulders. Now it was close-cropped with a lock of auburn that fell over his forehead. No longer was his face hidden; she could clearly see the angle of his cheekbones, the noble jut of his jaw, and the amber of his eyes.

“You cut it,” she said.

“I thought it long past time.”

“I like it.”

“Do you?” He appeared pleased.

“I do.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “If we stand around admiring ourselves for too long, we will miss the ball.”

Sara laughed, embarrassed to be caught, but as much as Ross could not stop looking at her, she could not stop looking at him. There were no words to describe him in his black trousers, black tails, and snow-white shirt. And that hair…She had grown to love the long hair, but now she equally loved the short hair.

“Let us be off,” he said, pulling his gaze away.

Ross sat across from Sara and his mother in the carriage. His mother chatted, but Ross was barely listening, and Sara wasn't listening at all.

The closer they got to the ball, the smaller Sara became. It was as if she shrank before his very eyes. He'd never seen such a thing. She sank into the cushions, nearly hiding in the shadows. Her fingers were so tightly clenched in her lap that they were turning white. He desperately wanted to reach across the space and put his hand over hers to reassure her.

She truly didn't want to attend the ball, and he was angry at his mother for forcing her to come along. Because he had no doubt that his mother had pressured her to attend.

When the carriage stopped in front of the Plainfield mansion, the tiger opened the door and lowered the step. Ross watched Sara take a deep breath, lift her chin, and square her shoulders. And in that moment, his admiration for her rose even more. If it changed to something more than admiration, he wasn't ready to admit it.

“Shall we?” he asked the women, but he kept his eyes on Sara.

She nodded, her expression bleak even though she was attempting to smile.

Ross hopped out and helped his mother down. And then there was Sara in her golden gown, with all her golden-brown hair and her scared golden eyes and pinched lips.

“You can make your excuses if you wish. I'll tell my mother you're not feeling well,” he said quietly.

Her smile was fleeting but grateful. “Thank you, but I'm fine.”

“You're a bundle of nerves.”

She stepped out of the carriage and fluffed her skirts. “I will survive.”

“Sara—”

“I'm fine, Ross.”

He looked at her for a few long moments. She was pale, but she was determined.

“Very well.” He held his arm out and she took it. His mother took his other arm and they made their way up the steps. They could hear the crowded ballroom before they reached it. Sara stiffened, clutching his arm tighter, but she was smiling and looking straight ahead. So what if only he could see that her smile was brittle and her eyes frightened.

They were announced by the butler. A few people stopped to look, but most continued with their conversations. Beside him, he could feel Sara slightly relax.

Ross settled into the vacant chair beside Sara. He had been pulled away from her almost as soon as they had arrived. It was probably for the best, because if it were up to him, he would have followed her around like a lost puppy the entire night, and that surely would not have been good for her reputation or his. Not to mention that his mother would have been furious.

However, he'd kept an eye on her, albeit discreetly. She'd stuck with his mother but had stood at the periphery of any group. Occasionally, she would smile and converse, but the conversation was always short and she immediately retreated back into herself. It bothered him more than he was willing to admit. Why didn't she enjoy herself at these functions? He'd never met a woman who didn't enjoy the festivities of a ball.

About halfway through the night, he noticed that she'd found a chair in a quiet corner. It was obvious to him that she felt more comfortable there as an observer rather than in the midst of the fun as a participant.

She was so different from Meredith. He knew he shouldn't compare the two, but sometimes he couldn't help himself. Meredith had been bundled energy and Sara was the calm amidst the storm.

Ross discovered that he preferred the calm far more than the chaos.

She raised an eyebrow at him as he sat beside her. “I'm quite certain that no one has seen a duke sit on the side of the room.”

He shrugged and settled more comfortably into the chair. “What do you see from here?” He looked around, taking everything in from this vantage point. She was correct. He'd never sat off to the side before.

“Welcome to my corner of the world.”

She was smiling and her eyes were sparkling, and the tight ball in his stomach that he hadn't been really aware of until now loosened a bit. He almost hated to admit how worried he'd been for her, because then he would have to admit how much he had come to care for her.

Only as a friend. A friend of the family I almost married into. That is all.

“You should never feel you have to sit in the corner, Sara.”

She shrugged. “It's where I'm comfortable.”

“Maybe you should step out of your comfort sometimes.”

She pursed her lips and looked away, and Ross knew he had stepped across a line into a place that she was not comfortable with. Apparently, they could speak openly in his study but nowhere else.

She nodded toward a clutch of men across the ballroom floor. “Lord Clifton is having an affair with Lady Roberts.”

He looked at the man in question. Ross was not well acquainted with Lord Clifton but had heard that he was a conservative in Parliament. “Truly? How do you know this?”

“Lord Clifton keeps looking over at Lady Roberts with a certain”—she coughed—“light in his eyes. Lady Roberts refuses to look at him, but her color is high, and she is waving her fan more vigorously than necessary.”

Ross studied the two, his gaze jumping from one to the other, seeing what Sara described. “Huh,” he said. “Remarkable.”

Sara tipped her head to the trio of older gentlemen in the opposite corner. “They are coming to some sort of agreement. I don't know what they're discussing, but two of them are passionate about it and trying to convince the third to come to their side.”

“The prime minister, Derby,” Ross said.

Sara looked at him in surprise. “How do you know this?”

“Lord Ertel is a fanatical conservative. No doubt he and his crony Lord Simmons have joined forces to convince Lord Johnstown, who is on the fence, to vote for Derby. Personally, I think Palmerston is going to become the next prime minister.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“What? Did you not think I knew about current events?”

“I guess I never thought about it.”

He snorted. But truth be told, he was enjoying himself immensely. Far more than if he had been dancing with the many ladies who looked at him anxiously, hoping he would ask them to dance. They were so desperate to land a duke that they forgot they had a tongue in their head, or their mamas had warned them not to say anything that would offend him. Sara had no problem offending him, and he liked that.

“Palmerston, huh?” she asked, almost to herself.

“I think it's inevitable now that the Whigs won Parliament. Derby's following isn't strong enough to give him the votes he needs.”

She looked at him, her eyes alight in interest. “But how does this affect what is happening in India?”

Ross was rendered speechless. India was a main topic of conversation in the palace but not as much in society and definitely not with a woman in society. He was astonished that Sara had put the two together.

“The East India Company has been disbanded, but there are still uprisings among the native population of India. I don't think that will change under Palmerston. Not until India accepts that they are under British rule.”

“Will you return to India then?” she asked quietly, her look sober.

Ross hesitated. That had been his plan all along, but now…Now he wasn't so certain. “That will be up the to queen,” he said, sidestepping a direct answer because he didn't know anymore what he was going to do.

Her shrewd gaze pierced him, as if she were trying to read his true thoughts. He stared back, his mind abandoning any thoughts of India and centering on more immediate things.

Her hair had been curled into golden ringlets that picked up the candlelight and burnished them a myriad of colors ranging from yellow to red. Her brown eyes held far too much intelligence. Was she truly happy living so far from London with only her father as company? She'd mentioned friends, like the Blackbournes, but what else did she have? Such a small town couldn't feed the intelligence in those eyes.

“Lady Penelope Grafton,” she said.

Startled out of his thoughts, Ross focused on his surroundings. Whatever Sara Emerson chose to do with her life wasn't his business. If she said she was happy in her small town with her close friends, then who was he to say she was wrong?

“Pardon?” he asked.

“Lady Penelope Grafton. She has her sights set on becoming your duchess.”

“She does?” Who the hell was Lady Penelope Grafton?

“Don't look now,” Sara warned in a harsh whisper. “She keeps looking over here. If her glares were daggers, I would be dead beside you.”

Despite her warning, Ross looked over just as a young woman looked toward him. She was attractive, with blond hair and a fair complexion. Her gown was of the highest fashion. She looked familiar, but Ross didn't recall being introduced to her. For all he knew, she could be the nicest, kindest person in the room. But she wasn't Sara, and that was a mark against her. Her cheeks flamed red, and she instantly looked away, but not before there was a glint of triumph in her eyes and a fleeting smile of conquest.

Sara groaned. “You've done it now. She thinks you're interested. Mark my words, she will find a way to be introduced, and you will be hooked.”

“Not likely. She is far too young.”

“She is of marriageable age.”

He turned to face Sara fully, preferring to look upon her rather than Lady Penelope. “How do you know all of this? You claim not to have been in society for two years.”