Together, they would face whatever came their way, with courage and resilience. And perhaps, just perhaps, the ball would mark the beginning of a new chapter in their lives, one filled with hope and the promise of better days to come.
The ballroom at the home of Lord and Lady Hawthorn, their neighbors, was packed when the three sisters arrived. Their father had left them at the ballroom door under the guise of tending to business matters, although they all knew what this meant. He’d decided to have a drink to start off the evening on the right foot. At least that was how he justified it.
The grand ballroom was ablaze with the soft glow of chandeliers, the lively hum of conversation, and the rustling of silk gowns as guests moved about. Arabella stood with Hanna and Emma near a refreshments table. The three young women formed a striking tableau. Arabella, with chestnut-brown hair neatly arranged in intricate curls, wore a gown of pale blue that highlighted her jade-colored eyes. She’d noticed the way some of the gentlemen looked at her and had to confess that she rather liked the attention.
Hanna’s emerald-green dress accentuated her lovely auburn hair, giving it a fiery look, while Emma was as striking as always in her burgundy gown. Burgundy wasn’t one of the colors the ton considered fashionable, but Emma had never been the sort of girl to care about such things. She knew it looked good with her dark hair and thus wore it.
“Goodness, so many people,” Hanna said, sipping from a glass of red wine as her eyes darted around the space.
“Perhaps we can all find husbands tonight and get out of that house,” Emma said, likewise taking a sip. “I’ll settle for a baronet if I must.”
“I do not think Father would be happy about that,” Hanna pointed out.
Emma’s eyes flashed. “So what? I care little about what he wants,” she replied with a shrug.
“Let us not speak of Father and what he wants,” Arabella said, once again the peacemaker.
Why did she always have to be the one to smooth things over between her sisters? Why was she always the one who had to be reasonable?
Arabella sighed, her father’s warning echoing in her head still. Two dances. How was she going to do that? By all rights, by the time they returned, their father would likely be as drunk as awheelbarrow and wouldn’t remember anything in the morning—but she couldn’t count on that.
In her experience, the more he drank, the more tolerant he grew of the spirits. Just then, the ballroom door opened once more to admit straggles.
“By Jove, look who has graced us with his presence,” a woman said, her voice full of contempt.
Arabella looked to the door again and saw who the woman was talking about.
A rather striking, tall man with dark blue eyes that seemed to pierce through the crowd had entered. He was a few steps away from her, and when their eyes briefly met, she felt a strange jolt. She stepped back, bumping into Emma, who let out a dramatic squeal.
“What is it, Bella?” Emma complained, but Arabella was still staring at the man.
She’d never seen him before. Not that she knew all the gentlemen of the ton. This was her first Season, after all. Still, something about him was captivating. It wasn’t that he was taller than most other gentlemen or more handsome—though he was. It was his attitude. He walked as though he were a man of consequence. His muscular frame was evident even through the impeccably tailored black evening suit he wore. His black hair was neatly styled, and he exuded an air of authority and charm.
Arabella, intrigued by the sudden shift in the atmosphere, turned to her sisters. “Who is that?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
Hanna glanced over and then leaned in to whisper, “That’s the Duke of Sheffield. Don’t dance with him. He is as difficult and high in the instep as he is handsome.”
Emma added, “He’s also known for being distant. Hardly anyone knows him. He comes to these events with an air of arrogance like you have never seen, Bella.”
That was why he’d stood out. His bad attitude must have caught Arabella’s attention. She watched as the Duke moved through the crowd with ease. The whispers and stolen glances followed him, but soon he disappeared from sight.
Dukes had that sort of effect on people. Every young lady wanted to make herself a duke’s ball and chain, that was known. And if he was as handsome as this one, then all the better.
However, this sort of man was exactly the kind Arabella knew she had to stay away from.
“I heard his parents died on the crossing to Ireland when he was five,” Hanna said.
Arabella looked up, shaking her head at her sister. Mentioning Ireland was a terrible idea. Alas, it was already too late.
Emma looked up, her eyes narrowed. “I wonder if His Grace knows Alexander,” she mused.
However, the connection made no sense to Arabella at all. “He was a mere boy when they passed,” she pointed out.
Emma waved a dismissive hand. “And so what? He may well be familiar with the families of consequence in Ireland. I ought to have a word with him. In fact, I should go to Ireland myself and issue a stern rebuke to our brother. How dare he abandon us like this? It has been weeks since I received a letter from him,” she scoffed, crossing her arms.
Arabella looked down at her half boots, knowing that if she looked directly at her sister, Emma would see right through her and know she had received a letter.
However, she didn’t have to, for Hanna gave it all away.
