A Most Unlikely Betrothal by Alice Kirks
Chapter 1
A ball in the evening
Ryan looked around the hall at Almack’s, feeling weary. He had attended the event mainly because he had to, not necessarily because he wished to. He didn’t care for crowds of people or for socializing in general, especially not in London.
He glanced across at a young lady – Lady Camelia – who had been introduced to him by her father. She was pretty – brown-haired, round-cheeked, and with big brown eyes. He reckoned he might as well dance with her.
He was not particularly keen on balls, dances, or socializing in general. He tried his best not to form connections with anyone if he could avoid it. Being raised in almost isolation at his manor – with just tutors – following his father’s death, had ensured that he had no preparation for society at all. It was easier he had found over the years, to adopt an indifferent air than to let people close.
“My Lady?” he said, approaching the young woman. “Would you like to dance?”
“Your Grace! I would be honoured.” She curtseyed, and he could see how flustered she seemed, her eyes downcast, breath quickening.
“Well, then. I think there’s a Polonaise next. Shall we?”
“Yes, Your Grace! Why, what an honour. I’m quite dizzied.”
Ryan felt his own eyes squeeze shut a moment. He felt so awkward! What was he supposed to do or say? He stood silently beside her, waiting for the musicians to provide the opening melody.
He let his dark eyes wander across the dance floor, to where he could just spot the dark hair of his friend, Jasper, standing out against the white wall behind. He was leaning on the wall, drinking, and Ryan was sure it wasn’t cordial in that glass he held. He felt a little disgruntled: he could have done with Jasper’s assistance just then, he thought.
The music was starting, lively and melodic, and he took her hand and led her through the paces, feeling like he was a wooden marionette. He had to admit that Lady Camelia was a good dancer – elegant and gracious – but he couldn’t match her. He was tolerable as a dancer, he knew – his tutors had told him so, and at Cambridge, nobody had noticed anything else – but he didn’t feel right when he danced in London.
He didn’t feel right in London at all.
The music was moving to a new key, and he reckoned they were getting close to halfway. He counted his steps and focused firmly on the bright hall and the people, doing his best to ignore everyone and everything around him. He could feel her ladyship’s hand in his own, and he wished he could think to make conversation, but he’d never been much good at it. He felt relieved when the music changed again, indicating they were nearing the end.
“Thank you,” he said as he bowed to Lady Camelia.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. She looked at him as if she expected him to say something. Ryan took a deep breath.
“I will go and take refreshments,” he said. He turned around before she could ask him to fetch something and walked briskly to the table.
When he got there, Jasper walked over.
“I saw you, Ryan,” he said. His voice sounded pointed.
“What, old boy?” he asked mildly. He felt uncomfortable – like Jasper had something to pick him out about.
“I saw you run away from one of the prettier girls in the room without saying anything to her.” His expression showed hurt.
“I didn’t run away!” Ryan hissed, feeling annoyed. “I simply politely distanced myself.”
Jasper raised a brow. “Like always?”
Ryan drew a breath. He didn’t need Jasper to act as though he was the voice of rationality. He had his own system when it came to London and the ton. He didn’t need his friend to be so difficult. The most annoying thing about it was that he knew his friend was right. He was rude and what he did was unkind.
“Yes, all right. I don’t tend to make friendships easily. I am rude quite a lot of the time because I barely talk. But I don’t need my best friend – my only friend – to be so critical.”
He felt overly warm, his black velvet jacket seeming suddenly too hot. He wished he could take it off, but nobody would attend Almack’s in just shirtsleeves. He looked up at Jasper, who smiled fondly.
“I am aware you don’t,” he said. “But I will be critical, anyway – I offer it as a service, absolutely without asking any money for it.”
They looked at each other. Ryan grinned. He could never resist his friend’s jokes; not for long, anyhow.
“Very well, Jasper. You are right. I am rude. And quite probably worse, too. But you know what it’s like – I’m too old to learn new ways.”
Jasper looked at him, and Ryan could see fondness in his brown eyes.
He was about to say something when Jasper’s wife came across to join them. A pretty woman – plump, with reddish hair and the palest, softest skin Ryan had ever seen – she looked up at Jasper. Ryan saw his friend’s expression soften. He looked down at his wife, Adeline, with such tenderness that Ryan felt his breath almost stop.
“Dearest,” Adeline said with a teasing look in her green-flecked eyes, “won’t you come here a moment? I’m arguing with Lord Rockley, and we need you to settle the conversation.”
Ryan looked at Jasper, who smiled lovingly at Adeline. He glanced at Ryan apologetically, but Ryan could see he didn’t regret for a moment going with Adeline.
“Excuse me, old chap,” he said.
Ryan inclined his head. “Of course, Jasper.” He gestured at the refreshments table. “I’ll just stay here, I reckon.”
Jasper smiled. “You could go and dance again, you know.”
Ryan shot him a look that was slightly exaggerated – he wasn’t really annoyed – and they both laughed. Lady Adeline smiled and curtseyed to Ryan. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she said.
Ryan bowed, greeted her politely, and turned to the refreshments table. He felt strangely awkward and a little confused, too.
He had never seen anyone look at someone the way Jasper looked at Adeline. She looked just the same at him, too. He wondered at it. How might it feel to love someone the way the two of them loved one another? He couldn’t imagine.
“Why are you thinking about that?” he asked himself, annoyed.
He was the sort of fellow who liked his own company. He had told himself that repeatedly at Cambridge, and he told himself now that nothing had changed. The further you kept from people, the happier you would be – that was his phrase. He would believe that, too, except for how blissfully Jasper and his wife smiled at each other.
“Damn it, you’re moody today,” he told himself. He went to the table – where a small crowd had developed – and tried to reach a glass of something. There were two footmen in livery pouring drinks, and he nodded to one, receiving a glass of sparkling wine.
“Ah! Your grace! What an honour to see you here. It’s been years since I last called at Claypool.”
Ryan raised a brow. He recalled the fellow vaguely – Viscount Alsworth. He had been a captain in the army and was distantly related to the family. Ryan wasn’t in the mood for conversation right now, and he hastily looked about for an escape.
“Good to see you, Lord Alsworth. It’s so hot in here, isn’t it?” Ryan said, making a step towards the exit. There were two doors leading onto the balcony, and he went quickly in that direction. Lord Alsworth followed him a few paces.
“A fine evening. Yes, very warm! It’s all the bodies, you know.” He gestured at the room. “So many people, and you get a fine heat.”
Ryan nodded. He enjoyed Lord Alsworth’s company sometimes – he was at least unconventional in the extreme, saying whatever happened to pop into his head – but right now, he wasn’t equipped with enough energy. He walked to the doors, managed to slip in front of a few people, and hurried to the exit. There were some people by the door, but he managed to step outside.
He stood there on the balcony, taking gasps of air. He felt as if he’d been stifled underground in there, surrounded by so many people. Gradually becoming calmer, after a moment or two out there, he looked over the city. He could see lights here and there in windows, but it was mostly dark, the rooftops black against the midnight-dark sky. Stars twinkled overhead, silver and remote. He looked up, feeling oddly empty inside.
He was used to his own company, so it was strange to him that he should feel alone. But standing there under cold stars, he realised he had been alone most of his life. His parents had both died when he was a child – Mama when he was just two and Papa when he was eight. Tutors had raised him in Claypool, the family manor, which was held in trust for him by his tutor Marlford until he was sixteen.
He was a duke, but he had nobody besides Jasper he felt close to.
“Damn it, you’re being silly,” he told himself harshly. He was twenty-four, a duke, and he liked his own company! He was not – absolutely not – feeling lonely.
He sniffed and walked towards the door leading into the hall. It was still crowded and overheated. He could see a dance beginning, people waltzing on the dance floor to the delicate strains of melody. The hall was a mass of black velvet suits, pale dresses, and bright candlelight, the smells of perfume and wine and beeswax subtle in the air.
Ryan stood by the door and tried to find a sense of peace and calm, though he was feeling shaken again. After that moment outside, realising his own aloneness, the ballroom seemed desperately foreign, as if he had wandered into another world whose rules made no sense to him.
“Excuse me.”
He stepped sideways, avoiding a group who had moved to stand nearer the entrance, and walked into the curtain hanging by the door. It unfurled to reveal a young girl, who looked at him with startled eyes.
“My Lady!” he gasped.
He found himself looking into the loveliest eyes. They were pale blue. He thought of skies and water, of bluebells and summer flowers and rivulets. He was so stunned by her wide gaze that it took him a second to step back, studying her – she had pale brown hair that was straight, drawn back from her face in a bun.
She was wearing a plain silk gown with a low-cut neck, simpler than the dresses of other ladies. Her face was heart-shaped and her eyes wide, framed with brown lashes and brows. She was beautiful in a strong, compelling way.
She looked up at him, and he thought shock was what he could read most strongly on her face – shock and insult.
“My Lord,” she said. She curtseyed, and he could tell she was trying to rein in her feelings. She wasn’t able to keep the affronted tone from her voice, and he understood it. He bowed.
“I apologise, My Lady, for having walked into you. But you were hiding behind the curtain.” He couldn’t help a lift of his lips.
“I was simply trying to avoid unwanted company.”
He smiled broadly. “I don’t blame you, My Lady,” he said. “I found myself in the same spot. I went out to take the air. If you like, I could escort you there?” He looked at her hopefully. She was the first person he’d met that drew his heart like this. He felt the urge to speak to her and get to know her better, to understand what had driven her to hide there, and whether she was as much like him as he thought.
“No, thank you, My Lord,” she said. She sounded firm. “I would prefer to remain indoors.”
“Of course,” he said. Perhaps she was offended by the idea of being alone with an unknown gentleman. He glanced about, but if she was accompanied by a maidservant, he could see no sign of her. He turned back to her, bowing again. “I did not intend anything unseemly, My Lady.”
“Well, for that, I commend you, My Lord.” She was teasing him. He grinned, glad she was no longer angry with him.
“My Lady, might I fetch you some refreshment?” he asked. She had moved towards the room, and he followed her, entranced. She walked with easy grace, and he kept up, wanting to be with her. He had never felt like this, so instantly captivated. He was eager to know more about her.
“No, thank you,” she said. She walked towards a group standing at the side of the room, waiting for the sarabande to end. Perhaps she wanted to dance with him. He felt his heart thump. He never enjoyed dancing, but now he was looking forward to it.
“You like to waltz?” he asked her, thinking there might be a waltz next.
She shrugged. “I am not really in the mood for dancing.”
He raised a brow. She was intriguing. So confident – he was not. He pretended to be, but his own attempts were cold and wooden. She was poised and filled with cool assurance.
“I see,” he said. He was about to ask what would entice her onto the floor when she stepped neatly around two people and went across the room.
Ryan stared. She was talking to a group of people – a tall blond man and two or three other men, some accompanied by ladies. He was about to go and ask to be introduced when a man came up to him.
“Your Grace!” he said, bowing low. “I am delighted to see you here. We met at the park if you recall? I am Lord Abermale. You have not yet been introduced to my daughter?”
Ryan took a deep breath. He looked around, wanting to give the unknown woman an earful. She had led him here with intent! She knew he would be lost in a sea of lords and ladies wanting their daughters to meet him. He was known to be young and wealthy, and that was enough to draw them close. He wanted to rebuke her.
He grinned inwardly. She had served him right. He had been rude all evening, and this was exactly the sort of treatment he merited.
He wished that he could have asked her name – he would love to talk to her again sometime.