The blond woman gave Lucy a quick furtive glance before turning her attention to Maggie. “It’s a pleasure, Lady Magnolia,” Lady Swifdon said. “And I do hope you’ll call me Cass as all my friends do.”
“And I am Julian,” the good-looking blond man announced, bowing to Maggie.
“A pleasure to meet you, Lord and Lady Swifdon.” Maggie curtsied to the friendly couple before turning her attention back to Lucy, where she was quickly introduced to Mr. and Mrs. Upton, the brunette couple, who each in turn insisted she call them Garrett and Jane. Jane paused in her endeavor of munching on a teacake to greet Maggie warmly. They all seemed quite nice but Maggie had never met them before, she was sure of it. Why had she never met people who were obviously Peter’s good friends?
“Likewise, it’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” she said to the group. “Have you all known Peter long?”
“Peter?” Julian’s brow furrowed.
His wife cleared her throat loudly. “Yes. Peter,” she repeated in a warning tone.
“His Grace?” Maggie clarified, giving Julian a hopeful look.
Garrett began coughing. Jane slapped her husband on the back a bit too hard. Lucy elbowed Garrett. There was certainly a great deal of elbowing happening here this evening. It was as if they were all in on a jest that Maggie knew nothing of. She tugged nervously on the strings to her borrowed reticule.
“Oh, yes. Of course. We’ve known him for many years,” Julian hurried to say.
“Indeed,” Garrett added while being glared at by his wife.
A waltz began to play. Peter stepped forward and offered his arm. “Lady Magnolia, may I have this dance?”
“Of course!” She grabbed his muscled forearm as if it were a lifeline, happy to leave the strange little group. She’d had enough uncomfortable conversation for one evening. Not to mention the fact that she was greatly looking forward to waltzing with her betrothed. The Peter she’d come to know over the last two days in his house was different from the Peter she thought she knew. The Peter of her memory was a duke, arrogant, authoritative, always in control. But the Peter she’d come to know stopped by her bedchamber and asked how she was doing. He brought her roses and tucked hair behind her ear. He’d even made her laugh when she’d been frightened and felt alone. Then he’d agreed to call her Maggie even though she knew he didn’t like informality.
Peter spun her around on the dance floor and Maggie completely forgot the awkward conversation she’d been engaged in moments before.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Peter asked, his green eyes studying her intently.
“I am,” she replied, averting her gaze. “Though I…” She bit her lip and glanced away.
“What? What is it?”
“I wonder why everyone isn’t treating you with the respect due your rank.”
Peter missed a step in the dance and Maggie had to catch his upper arm to straighten him. She pulled back her hand quickly.
“My apologies, my lady. I, er, well, with friends I’ve always been quite informal,” he said.
Maggie nodded. She didn’t remember that about him but then again she didn’t seem to remember much about him. It was all so odd. Her head was beginning to pound. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good idea to come here this evening after all.
“I hope you don’t mind my saying that you are breathtaking this evening,” Peter said.
Maggie pressed her smiling lips together. Ah, there was the charming.
It turned out that Peter was actually a marvelous dancer, despite that one misstep. He was also a delightful companion, making her laugh and keeping her entertained with comments about the other dancers and the ball in general. By the time their waltz was nearly finished, Maggie was glancing at him from beneath her lashes and hoping that they would have a chance to be alone this evening.
When the dance came to an end, Peter led her back to the sidelines. As they made their way toward their friends, a blur in blue bumped into Maggie.
“I beg your pardon,” a blond lady said just before she looked up at Maggie and her eyes widened. “Cecelia?”
Maggie frowned. “No, I—”
The woman narrowed her gaze on her. “Cecelia, is that you?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Cecelia? Was that her name? Adam searched her face. If the name sparked a memory, her countenance did not betray it. Not at present.
She shook her head. “No … I … Have we met?” she said to the young woman who was studying her face.
The woman cocked her head to the side and frowned. “No. I suppose not. You simply reminded me of someone else. Someone I used to know. I apologize for the mistake.”