As Valeria echoed the movement, she sighed softly to herself; he had steered the conversation away from the things that interested her, putting her back in her ‘womanly’ box of ladylike topics.
“An excellent orchestra,” she said flatly. “Plenty of refreshments. Youshouldbe unique, though. If you host it on the beach, the entirety of society will empty out of London to attend.It will be the quietest the capital has ever been, I imagine.”
Roger nodded eagerly. “Then… I shall do it! Would you mind terribly if I were to continue to ask your opinion about it, as I make arrangements?”
“Not at all,” she answered, hoping her disappointment was not showing too much.
A short while later, the music faded to a close, and Valeria duly curtseyed to her partner. He bowed low, a pleased smile upon his face, oblivious to her dismay. And when he offered his arm to lead her away from the dance floor, she did not refuse. She was in no position to do so.
I can speak with my friends and my father about things that interest me,she told herself, fighting to keep a surge of panic from rising too high.
Roger led her to a table on the periphery, and as they sat, presumably to continue the conversation about his ball, a shadow stretched across her. For a foolish moment, her hopes soared.
“You dance very well, Miss Maxwell.”
Her hopes sank again. It was only the baron.
“Thank you, Lord Tarporley,” she said, unable to dip into the reservoir of her charms.
Suddenly, she was so very tired of it all.
“I hope you have not wearied yourself,” the baron continued. “You shall have to have that grace and liveliness when we dance.”
Valeria forced a smile. “I have vigor aplenty, Lord Tarporley. Do not fret; I shall not embarrass you upon the dance floor.”
He gave a nod of satisfaction that made her want to scream, and as he took a seat and began to ask how many years she had spent with a dance tutor, her gaze wandered the ballroom. Her replies automatic, unconscious.
Where is Beatrice? I should find her soon. I should?—
Her heart jumped into her throat as her gaze fell upon an imposing figure, standing in the corner of the ballroom, a drink in hand, watching her like a hawk. There was a strange smile upon Duncan’s lips, his expression hard to decipher—at once pleased by what he saw, but, at the same time, brooding in a way she could not figure out.
Indeed, the smile did not reach his unusual blue eyes, his brow slightly creased, as though the two halves of his face were in conflict about how to feel.
“Miss Maxwell?” William said gruffly.
She blinked, returning her attention to him. “Pardon? Apologies, I was… distracted, searching for my cousin.”
He is here. He came, after all. He… has been watching me.
Her cheeks tingled with warmth, her own feelings hard to decipher.
“I asked if you like poetry,” William muttered, clearly annoyed.
Roger chuckled. “Find me a lady who doesnotlike poetry, and I shall eat my hat. All ladies relish poetry, though I daresay I do not understand why.”
“Because poetry is music put into words,” Valeria shot back, hurrying to temper the tone of her voice. “That being said, not all ladies enjoy it. Notallladies are the same. If you were to gatherten of us together, and ask us… meaningful questions, you might be surprised.”
The two gentlemen exchanged a look, smirking at the notion, as if they somehow knew better.
“Come now, you cannot argue that there are countless similarities,” the baron remarked, tugging at a frayed nerve in Valeria’s wearied soul. “All I hear ladies speak of is poetry, embroidery, dancing, playing the pianoforte and, on occasion, how dearly they adore the theater or the opera.”
Valeria’s eyes narrowed at him, against her better judgment. “That is why I said you ought to askmeaningfulquestions. If you ask a lady if she enjoys poetry, of course she is going to say that she does; it is an expectation.
If you were to ask a lady what her fondest memory is, you allow her to reply without hindrance or limitation. Ask her what her favoritestanzaof a poem is, and you might find it enlightening. Do not ask her if she likes to read—ask herwhatshe is reading at present, and what has held her interest, or not, as the case may be.”
William blinked in surprise, but his face did not redden as if he had been insulted, nor did he hurl back a sharp retort. Rather, he frowned, as if considering Valeria’s words, contemplating something he had never thought about before.
“Ladies would… appreciate that?” he asked with remarkable sincerity.
