The Secret Pearl(41)

She had decided earlier that she was going to enjoy the ball, and she was doing so. Life had been such a nightmare for six weeks, and still and for always the threat would hang over her head that it could be so again, and even worse. But for now she had been given this precious gift of peace—perhaps not forever, perhaps for only a week or a day. But she would not think of forever. She would think only of this night.

She had hoped to dance—Mr. Chamberlain had, after all, more or less asked her in advance. But she had not expected to dance every set of the evening, and with a variety of partners. Even some of the visiting guests danced with her and learned that she was the governess of the house.

Mr. Chamberlain danced with her four times in all, and he talked to her whenever the figures of the dance did not separate them. His conversation was light, amusing, as befitted the occasion. He raised her hand to his lips after the fourth time, told her with a smile that he must restrain himself from dancing with her again and depriving all the other gentlemen of the loveliest lady of all—words spoken with a wink—and led her a little away from the dancing area to where the Duke of Ridgeway was standing and talking with an older lady.

Fleur wished he had taken her anywhere else. The one blight on the evening, the one detail that had threatened all night to ruin her joy, was the constant presence of his grace. She had not once looked at him, and yet she had found that at every moment she knew where he was and with whom he danced or talked.

He looked somewhat different from all the other gentlemen, dressed in black evening clothes and snowy white linen that sparkled in the lantern light. And of course his height and his coloring emphasized the darkness that was him.

He looked quite splendid, Fleur supposed, if one saw only the right side of his face and not the terrifying scar of the left side. Though why a scar acquired in battle when fighting for one’s country should terrify her, she did not know. Perhaps even with the disfigurement he would look splendid to someone who had not watched him walk into the shadows of the Drury Lane Theater, tall and dark and menacing in his evening cloak and hat, to ask if she was looking for a night’s employment.

She tried not to cling too tightly to Mr. Chamberlain’s arm. She tried to keep her smile intact.

“Mrs. Kendall,” Mr. Chamberlain said, “have you met Miss Hamilton, Adam’s governess? Or Lady Pamela’s governess, I suppose I should say.”

Fleur smiled at Mrs. Kendall as the introductions were made.

“A splendid evening, Adam,” Mr. Chamberlain said. “I don’t know when one of the Willoughby balls has been better. Ah, a waltz. Ma’am?” He bowed and held out a hand for Mrs. Kendall’s.

They were gone almost before Fleur’s mind could register dismay.

“Miss Hamilton?” The duke’s dark eyes were glittering down into hers, she saw when she looked up at him. “Would you care to waltz?”

She stared at him, at his hand outstretched for hers, long-fingered, beautiful. And the nightmare was back. Not even this night was to be hers.

She watched as his hand closed upon itself.

“Let’s take a stroll instead,” he said quietly, and he clasped his hands at his back, turned onto the path that followed the shore of the lake, and waited for her to fall into step beside him.

“You have been enjoying the evening?” he asked. He was following the south shore, the one less frequented, more heavily wooded than the other, though a string of lanterns extended its entire length.

“Yes, thank you, your grace,” she said.

“Willoughby has always been famous for its grand entertainments,” he said. “And I have always been proud of that reputation. When one has been granted the privilege of inheriting all this, it seems only right to share it with others to some small degree, does it not?”

No one else was walking on this particular path. The wider paths and more open lawns on the north and west sides were crowded with guests. Fleur felt far more terrified than she had felt when walking beside him away from the Drury Lane Theater. Then she had not been terrified at all, only resigned to what must be.

“You dance well,” he said. “I have watched you a few times. You have had practice?”

“A little, your grace,” she said.

“But you have never been to London for a Season, have you?” he said. “I have never seen you there.”

Only on one occasion, Fleur thought, when she had very obviously not been a part of the social whirl of the Season.

“No, your grace,” she said.

She was aware of his eyes on her as they walked, and she had to concentrate every effort of will on setting one foot before the other. If she was forced to scream, would she be heard? The sounds of merriment coming from the dancing area and the refreshment tables were loud across the water.