Deborah breathed a sigh of relief now that the dance between her and Lord Macaulay had finally drawn to a close. She could not stand the man, and it was clear that she was not going to change her mind about him, no matter how many chances she gave him.
“My Lord.” She curtsied for him one final time.
“It was a pleasure to dance with you.” Lord Macaulay gave her a toothy grin, which made her stomach lurch in an unpleasant way. “I hope we get the chance to speak to each other soon again.”
“Of course,” she lied through her teeth, knowing fully well that she had no intention of ever seeing the man again in her life.
When he finally left, she happily made her way back to the crowds of people. When she spotted the Duke standing next to Peter and Emma, blood immediately rushed to her cheeks.
She and Henry exchanged a quick glance, but they looked away. She hoped that he had seen her dance together with Lord Macaulay.
“Deborah,” Peter called out to her, before she could successfully duck out of view.
“Peter, Emma.” Deborah smiled sheepishly as she made her away over to them, and then lowered her voice down so that it was barely audible. “Your Grace.”
“It is lovely to see you so involved in this ball,” Peter noted, smiling proudly at her, and then turned towards Emma and the Duke to clarify himself further. “Usually, she is the last person to enjoy herself at a ball. But tonight, she actually made an effort and danced with a gentleman.”
Deborah wanted to roll her eyes. The truth was, she still couldn’t care less about these balls and thought of them as a waste of time. She was only biding her time until it was over.
“The quartet is about to play the next song, Peter,” Emma said excitedly, pulling at his hand. “Seeing Deborah dance has gotten me excited. You must ask me to dance!”
“Of course, my love. How could I ever decline a request like that?”
“Emma,” the Duke said firmly, “it is not appropriate for you to ask Peter to dance yourself. A lady must wait for the gentleman to make that request.”
“Oh, my apologies, Your Grace,” Peter said, then turned towards Emma. “My Lady, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
Emma giggled and promptly agreed. The couple quickly scurried away over to the dance floor.
Deborah stared at the Duke, annoyed. “Must you be like this? It is obvious that Peter wanted to dance with Emma, as well. Does it really matter who asked first?”
“You would not understand.” Henry shook his head. “And frankly, I do not expect you to.”
“You seem to have a very high opinion of me,” Deborah said, a hint of sarcasm seeping into her voice.
“Oh, the highest.”
There was a pause in their conversation, and the Duke now seemed to be frozen in place. She couldn’t decipher what the expression on his face meant as he stared at her intently.
“What is it?” she finally asked, growing impatient under his scrutinizing gaze.
“You look different.”
“Do I?” Deborah batted her eyelashes at him, wondering if her appearance was having the same effect on him as it had had on Lord Macaulay. “Well, it’s only some powder and rouge. I figured I should dress myself for the occasion tonight.”
The Duke opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it back again.
“What is it?” she asked again, growing frustrated at her inability to read his expression.
“I always thought you were the kind of woman who does not care about appearances.” He sighed, a hint of resignation in his voice. “To be honest, you do not need any of this.”
Deborah looked back at him in surprise. She had expected him to appreciate her, but instead, here he was making his preference for her natural beauty known.
“Cosmetics is not something that one needs,” she replied, remembering what her grandmother had once told her. “It is merely an accessory. Like a purse, or a hat.”
“If you say so,” he muttered.
She noticed that he seemed nicer than usual today. The wheels in her brain began to turn, and she felt her jealously rear its ugly head yet again.
