Such things do not matter, she reminded herself as she nodded along to Lord Thornbush’s tale of his Grand Tour.I am here to find a husband. Not to fall in love.
But convincing herself of that was harder than she expected.
Lorna observed the interaction, pleased, but she didn’t let it go on forever. She slipped in at an opportune time and bade the men farewell before leading Elaine away to another acquaintance.
“They took too long to ask for a dance,” Lorna remarked. “They shall return, I am certain. I believe they took a liking to you.”
“I would certainly hope so,” Elaine murmured, feeling a twinge of nervousness.
“Worry not, my darling. We must make use of our time before the dancing begins so that you are seen by as many gentlemen as possible.”
“I cannot help but liken this to a prised pig being paraded at themarket,” James drawled from behind.
Lorna stopped and sent her son a scathing look. “Pray, go and divert yourself elsewhere, James. I can manage this alone.”
James was about to protest, Elaine knew. Yet she recognised it made little sense for him to follow them about, though she appreciated his dedication. Before he could say anything, she said, “It’s all right, James. I will be fine.”
He didn’t look convinced but he finally gave her a stiff nod before walking off.
Lorna let out a breath. “Feels much lighter, does it not?”
Elaine chuckled softly at that, allowing herself to be swept away.
***
Michael was drawing closer to her. It was strategic at first. He had no intention of approaching her directly and had already devised a plan for making the introduction. Thus, he moved slowly around the ballroom, keeping a watchful eye on Lady Elaine and Lady Abney.
The dowager viscountess seemed determined to introduce Lady Elaine to every gentleman in attendance. Michael felt a bolt of relief when Lord Abney was sent away. That was the first step of his plan and they’d made it easy for him. What troubled him was their eagerness, as they moved from one gentleman to another, capturing the interest of nearly everyone they encountered.
Something about watching Lord Balor’s eyes trail after Lady Elaine unsettled him.
Michael dismissed the sensation and moved even closer. Soon enough, he found himself standing just a few feet away from her, pretending to enjoy a glass of wine. He was close enough to notice her swan-like neck and her tendency to clasp her hands behind her, then in front, then behind. A nervous act, he realised. Above all, he was close enough to overhear her.
“The night has hardly begun and I already feel dreadfully tired,” he heard her say. Her voice was melodic, soft yet firm, carrying easily. Michael straightened, bothered by the way it affected him.
“You will have to get used to that, my darling,” Lady Abney said. “These things are often long and drawn out, though I’m sure Lady Jones will keep us entertained.”
“When will the dancing begin?”
“Soon, I’m sure. Are you prepared?”
Michael slid his eyes to the side, watching as she nodded, then shook her head. “I am not,” she confessed. “It has been so long since I’ve danced. I’m afraid I will not remember the steps.”
“There’s nothing to it, darling. You simply need to let the gentleman guide you.”
“That sounds easier said than done.”
“You shall know soon enough, I am certain.”
Michael watched as she clasped her hands behind her once more, a worried frown furrowing her brow. Before she could say anything, an elderly man approached her.
Michael recognised him, though their last interaction had occurred while he was still the heir to the dukedom. Lord Weatherby seemed as ancient as time itself, his lined, pockmarked face unchanged despite the years that had passed. The only difference Michael noticed was that he was slightly bent now and would certainly do from the use of a cane.
Still, his steps were sure as he approached Lady Elaine and Lady Abney. Lady Abney’s smile was swift, yet Michael's sharp gaze did not miss her fleeting glance of uncertainty toward her niece. Lady Elaine, on the other hand… she looked as if she was staring at a spectre.
Michael smiled ruefully behind his glass. The analogy was not entirely unfounded.
“My ladies,” Lord Weatherby greeted in a gravelly voice, bowing deeply. “My apologies for any interruption.”
