But he nodded stiffly instead and said, “Thank you, my lord.”
Lord Grovington seemed pleased with that response. He put his hand on his daughter’s back, guiding her forward. “Allow me to introduce my daughter, Isabella.”
Michael nodded stiffly to her as well. “A pleasure, my lady.”
“Isabella was hoping to dance with you. I assured her that His Grace would not mind. Would you, Your Grace?”
Michael gritted his teeth. Lord Grovington had easily backed him into a corner and he saw no way out without being impolite.
“As you wish, my lady.”
He held out his hand and Lady Isabella smiled demurely as she slid her hand into his. The dance would not last forever, he told himself as he led her out amongst the others. It would be over before he knew it and he could get on with his life.
“How are you enjoying your evening, Your Grace?”
Michael tried not to sigh in annoyance. The last thing he wished was to prolong this uncomfortable situation by engaging in conversation. But he supposed it was not her fault he was not interested.
“I find it quite adequate, my lady.”
“As do I, Your Grace. I do enjoy such activities, after all. And you happen to be an exceptional dancer.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Do you know my father well?”
“I do not know him at all, save for his name.”
“Ah, I understand. He thinks quite highly of you. I suppose that is merely your reputation at play. It is pleasing to know that you are as kind as they say.”
Michael wasn’t fooled by such flowery words. No one would describe him as kind, nor would they think him to be reputable. He was the new duke of a disgraced title. Judging from the snippets of conversations and the curious looks he had been trying to ignore all night, they were wary of him, if nothing else.
“Thank you, my lady,” he said again, his voice bland.
“Will you be taking part in this year’s Season, Your Grace?”
Michael looked at her, surprised. She gazed up at him with natural confidence, the mark of a lady who had gotten everything she had ever asked her. She was quite beautiful, he had to admit, but there was a lack of vibrancy to her features. Like a porcelain doll. Beautiful but lifeless.
“I mean, are you seeking a wife?” she expounded when he did not answer right away.
“I have not given it any thought,” he admitted.
“Have you not? Could this evening serve to alter your perspective, then? Or are you simply waiting for the right lady to reveal herself?”
“Are you curious because you wish to know where you stand, my lady?”
Lady Isabella laughed, the sound light. “I cannot deny it, Your Grace. It is my hope to find a husband this Season. As it is the hope of every other lady here, I’m sure. Surely that does not surprise you.”
“It does not.” Though he had been hoping he was wrong about Lord Grovington’s reason for approaching him. Now there was no denying the obvious.
They lapsed into silence, a rather uncomfortable one though Michael was grateful for it. Lady Isabella seemed to be searching for something to say.
At last, she settled on another question. “What do you like to do in your spare time, Your Grace?”
The question was as mundane and uninspiring as they come, yet Michael found no reason to withhold a response. He indulged her and was not surprised when she responded saying she enjoys poetry and embroidery. He could only assume giving such a generic response was part of a lady’s lessons.
Eventually, the dance came to an end. He maintained his politeness until the very last moment, disappearing before LordGrovington could approach him again. He supposed the proper thing to do was to escort her back to her father, but Michael had other matters occupying his thoughts. Or rather, other people.
He could easily spot Lady Elaine amidst the crowd. As he rejoined Beatrice and Henry’s side, he noticed Lady Elaine standing near the terrace doors, nodding along to something Lord Penly was saying to her. But she seemed distracted, torn between paying attention to the man and looking around for someone else.
