Thegirlcouldn’t even curtsy effortlessly yet, let alone waltz with a duke. He knew it would eat away at Nicholas to watch them glide (well, stumble) across the dance floor and to know that Talbot was judging his precious sister and finding her extremely wanting.
“It would be my pleasure, Your Grace,” the half-sister replied in that calm, even voice.
He struggled to remember if she’d said anything to him before kneeing him all those months ago.She couldn’t have, I would have remembered her voice.
Talbot didn’t like the fact that she regarded him and everything around her with what looked like cool detachment, instead of the awe and humility that would have been more appropriate for someone in her situation. It irked him.
They all exchanged some more niceties (during which the Duchess was awfully stilted and monosyllabic, poor form for a hostess!) before Talbot excused himself and went off in search of better company. The Season never got old for someone like him. Talbot loved everything the Ton had to offer: the gossip, the entertainment, how it managed to be comfortingly familiar and yet never boring.
He kept his eye on the interloper throughout the evening and watched her make notes on her dance card with a shaky hand, clearly new to the activity. It reminded him of his first days at Eton, of how lost he was among all the other, older boys, who seemed to have a better sense of what they were doing. He shook his head slightly to dispel the memory.
Unlike him, who, at Eton, had aligned himself with thecrème de la crèmeof British aristocracy and wealth, Nicholas’ sister was standing at the refreshment table withAmelia Fairchildof all people. Boring Lady Amelia, who was so fair-haired that it seemed like she didn’t have any eyelashes. Dancing with her made one think that she didn’t possess a tongue either, for she was painfully shy and difficult to talk to.
If Nicholas’s sister is anything like Lady Amelia, she’ll never get married,he thought.
Not even the large dowry provided by Lady Amelia’s grandmother had managed secure her a match, and she was already four and twenty.
Another young woman stood with them.
Another bad choice, Colin thought as he took in her features. Blonde, blue-eyed, voluptuous, with skin thatlookedfragrant, if that was even possible.
She’s going to draw attention away from you, little Hawkins, he thought, pursing his lips at her poor calculations.
He looked at the blonde again. A lesser man might be taken in by the air of fragility and the almost-tears shimmering in her blue eyes, but Talbot quickly took note of herpassédress and the worn leather of her gloves, and he knew she and her entire family needed her to catch a rich husband. He would not let himself get entangled with poor relatives constantly needing his aid, nor a bride who needed to be bought and paid for.
As a man who had everything, for him to give a woman the gift of his name and title, she would have to provide him with something extraordinary in return. Wealth? Political connections? Unearthly beauty? He still hadn’t decided, but was sure he would recognise it once he encountered it.
The half-sister seemed cheerfully oblivious of both her companions’ shortcomings, and she nattered away with them for the better part of an hour, while Colin made the rounds and greeted better, more important people.
Didn’t she know what this ball was for, or how precarious her position in theTonwas? Perhaps she was lulled into a false sense of security due to having secured a dance with a duke, but Talbot vowed to disabuse her of that very quickly.
When the dancing started, it wasn’t too difficult to keep track of her and simultaneously converse with his dance partners. After ten years as a duke, Talbot knew exactly how much flatteryothers were due, and how much to expect in return. He knew all the topicsdu jour, was familiar with popular writers and painters, and read the broadsheets enough to keep up with theTongossip that he was frequently a subject of. He was also a virtuoso in the art of casual flirting, never one to be accused of misleading a lady about his intentions.
Talbot found himself relaxing as the evening progressed, his initial turmoil over being reminded of the death of his friendship with Nicholas fading away in good company. Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed taut as a bowstring, he noted with malicious glee. He could have sworn her eyes had darted towards the exit several times, but since she had been dancing with Gideon Powell at the time, it was understandable. The man did have a reputation for being ruthless and cold. And then there were the rumours about his late wife. Colin shuddered inwardly.
The waltz Talbot had claimed fell right in the middle of the evening, and when he took Elizabeth’s gloved hand in his, he expected her to be as tense as she had been during her other dances, but as he put his other hand on her waist, he could feel her exhale in what could only be interpreted as relief. But that didn’t make any sense.
When the music started and they (for lack of a better word) embraced, he finally had an opportunity to properly observe her face. Her eye colour was stunning – it reminded him of lying in the grass in Norwich, looking up at tree branches illuminated by the sun, creating amelangeof brown, green, and sunlight gold.
Her features resembled Nicholas’s, particularly her colouring and her brow. She smelled of lavender, which was a popularsoap among the ladies, but he suspected that the sweet, floral smell belied her true nature.
“Allow me to express my gratitude for the honour of this dance, Miss Hawkins,” Talbot started his offensive, feeling vexed for some unclear reason.
“The honour is mine, Your Grace,” she said, not even registering the way he cut her.
And there was no enthusiasm or flirtation in her voice, although she was waltzing with a young, unmarried duke. It was hard to believe she was related to Lady Charlotte, with whom he’d had the misfortune of dancing many times last year, always with the intent to annoy Nicholas. He couldn’t help but compare the two girls to each other.
They are nothing alike,he thought,in colouring, demeanour, or(he glanced down briefly)bosom.
Talbot made another attempt at conversation, “Did you have an opportunity to meet many new friends this evening?”
“Yes,” she responded absent-mindedly.
She wasn’t even looking him in the eye, she was peering at his cravat instead.
“Do you enjoy dancing?”
Good Lord. She was turninghiminto Amelia Fairchild.
