Page 18 of The Lion Duke's Proposal
“Did you accept?” she asked with a knowing smile.
“Well, I could hardly refuse in front of all these people.” Julia rolled her eyes. “They’d definitely think me disagreeable, and that might reflect poorly on Poppy. Plus, of course, he’s the host. It would have been rather ill-mannered of me to decline his invitation.”
“Indeed.” Her aunt’s smile didn’t falter.
“There’s nothing to it!” Julia protested, looking between her aunt and sister. “Oh, the two of you are incorrigible. Why aren’t you teasing Poppy?”
“Because it’s nowhere near as much fun, darling,” Lady Bendon replied, pouring herself some tea. “I suppose we’d better go and select your dress for this evening, then, hadn’t we? Do you know what color cravat the Duke will be wearing? You’ll want to match, of course.”
“Oh, I’ve had enough of this,” Julia huffed, putting down her napkin and standing as Poppy giggled. “I’m going to read my book in the garden.”
“Try not to run into any more eligible gentlemen on the way,” Poppy advised. “We wouldn’t want our host getting jealous!”
“You’d better hope I don’t run into Lord Blackwell. I might accidentally tell him that you’ve already planned the wedding and picked out the baby names.” Julia stuck out her tongue and departed before Poppy could offer a retort. Lady Bendon hid her laughter behind her teacup.
This, Julia thought as she ascended the staircase, was going to be an extraordinarily long week indeed, and by the end of it, where would she and Poppy go?
Chapter Six
That night, the ballroom was even busier than the day before. Leander had to admit that the servants had done an excellent job with the decorations, having transformed the place completely: the flowers had been replaced, the banners and ornaments rearranged, and the color palette had shifted from the yellow and green hues of spring to deeper reds and oranges. It resembled a romantic sunset.
Now, to business. He searched the room for the Norish sisters.
He told himself his eagerness to find her was purely strategic. The dining room gambit had been well-executed — public, visible, impossible for her to deflect without drawing more attention than she clearly wanted. News of his interest would travel, and when it reached Lord Norish, the man would come crawling out of whatever hole he had retreated into last week. That was the plan. That was all this was.
And yet he found her at the back of the room with the group of dowagers that had descended upon him the minute they’d arrived yesterday. before he had finished the thought. Matchmaking mothers were the terror of the Season.
Miss Julia Norish was standing at the edge of the room with her sister, her chin lifted at the precise angle of someone who had decided that if people were going to stare, they would have to work for it. He had noticed that about her in the carriage incident — that particular brand of dignity that had nothing to do with status and everything to do with sheer, quiet refusal to be diminished. Most women in her position would have retreated. She had stepped out of the carriage and squared up to him on the cobblestones.
He hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since.
Leander reached for his glass and looked away, mildly irritated with himself. He was here for Lord Norish. He was here for Henry. That was the only thing that mattered, and he would do well to remember it.
He looked back across the room.
She was still there. Still unbowed. Still entirely unaware that he was watching.
He reminded himself, firmly, that this was a strategic observation.
There was no need to separate Miss Norish from the group; the musicians were about to play, and she’d promised him the first dance. He stepped up to the dance floor, waiting for her to join him.
“Your Grace!” came a sudden, simpering voice, and a tall blonde girl stepped into his eyeline, blocking his view of Miss Norish. He recognized her immediately - the troublemaker who had tried to accuse Miss Norish of theft the previous evening. “I seem to be partnerless for the dance,” Miss Burbank whispered in a papery thin voice. “Lord Blackwell was supposed to meet me here, but he appears to be late to the ball tonight. Would you mind if I joined you, so that I am not left up here alone?”
Leander frowned, trying to look past her to where Miss Norish had been without seeming overly rude. “My apologies, Miss Burbank, but I am otherwise promised for this dance. Perhaps I could find you later?”
Ignoring his words, she took the spot opposite him. “The music is about to begin, Your Grace, and it seems that your partner hasn’t arrived either.”
Leander looked around, schooling his face to remain impassive.
Where could she have gone?
She’d been right there just a second ago. Her aunt and sister were still engaged in conversation.
The musicians started up a lively tune, and he moved automatically, not concentrating on Miss Burbank at all. Miss Norish had, indeed, failed to appear. Although he knew that it wasn’t a real invitation to dance, his pride was still a little wounded by her continued rejection, especially since she’d publicly agreed to join him.
Then he spotted her.
She was tucked into a secluded spot by the terrace doors with Lord Stockhill, who was leaning toward her with the particular attentiveness of a man who had decided he was interested. Leander knew Blackwell. Everyone knew Stockhill. He was charming in the effortless way of someone who had never had to work hard at anything, quick with a compliment, quicker to move on when something shinier appeared.
