Valentine said nothing more.
He sat back, his gaze settling not on her, but on the glass of the opposite window, where the blurred lanterns of streetlamps passed in slow procession. The carriage rolled steadily forward, the silence between them no longer strained, only quiet.
By the time they reached the Wentworths’ residence, the streets were already lined with carriages. The sounds of laughter and music drifted faintly into the warm night air.
Their arrival was announced with typical grandeur, and as Valentine stepped down first and turned to offer his hand, Cecilia placed hers lightly into his. She didn’t look at him. But he felt the tremor in her fingers nonetheless, small, fleeting.
Inside, the foyer was all marble and polished wood, with footmen scurrying past and ladies preening as they shed their cloaks. As soon as they moved into the ballroom, a voice broke through the din.
“Cecilia!”
“Emma!” Cecilia answered.
Valentine smiled faintly on seeing Emma, Cecilia’s sister. She swept across the room, her gown a soft blue, with her curls pinned artfully back. Behind her trailed a tall man, the same height as him, watching the interaction. Valentine took a guess, figuring the man was Emma’s husband.
Emma gathered Cecilia into a warm embrace before stepping back to properly inspect her.
“Oh heavens, you look beautiful. That color is positively ravishing on you.”
Cecilia laughed, truly laughed, and something in Valentine’s chest shifted at the sound.
“Solomon Miller, Duke of Montclaire,” Emma’s husband stepped forward and greeted. “I believe we have not had the pleasure, Your Grace.”
“Valentine Price,” he returned as they shook hands.
“Ashbourne, right?” Solomon said thoughtfully. “You hold land south of Derby, too, do you not?”
“I do,” Valentine replied, his interest sharpening as he squinted his eyes. “I hear Montclaire’s holdings flank the eastern ridge.”
Solomon gave a short nod. “A fair portion of the river trade filters through our docks.”
“Convenient,” Valentine said, already calculating numbers. “I’ve long been considering an expansion into timber and refined coal transport. I understand you’re involved in negotiations with Walford?”
Solomon’s brow arched, just a fraction. “I am. Though I’ll admit it’s slow going. Magnus Fitzgerald isn’t exactly the most accessible man.”
Valentine gave a short laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching. “No, he’s not. I’ve written to him twice in the last year. There is so much we can do with combined resources in that aspect.”
“He hardly ever leaves his estate,” Solomon said. “Keeps to his land in the north like it’s a fortress.”
“Still, you’ve made headway with him,” Valentine noted.
“We’ve spoken through an intermediary. Nothing signed yet, but the foundation is there.” Solomon glanced toward Cecilia and Emma, who were still deep in cheerful conversation. “If you’re interested, perhaps we might meet after the ball. I wouldn’t mind speaking in more detail.”
Valentine inclined his head. “I’d welcome it.”
A brief pause followed, just long enough for the hum of voices to give way to the gentle stir of strings. The orchestra had begun again, this time slower, smoother. A waltz.
Across the ballroom, couples lifted their heads, exchanged glances, and began to move toward the center of the floor.
Solomon turned slightly. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said with an easy smile. “I intend to claim the first one.”
Valentine gave a short nod. “Of course. I intend to do the same.”
Without further delay, Solomon crossed the floor and practically pried Emma away from Cecilia. They melted into the forming circle of dancers. Valentine watched how careful Solomon was with Emma, making sure not to rush her as she was pregnant. He smiled to himself...but it felt too bitter, so he stopped.
Valentine’s gaze shifted naturally from them, not wanting to relive any depressing memories. He made his way to Cecilia, who was standing a few paces away from him as she watched Emma and Solomon.
“Shall we?” he asked, giving her his hand.
