A Duke’s Overlooked Spinster (The Courting Season #1)

Chapter 11

Sarah gave a small gasp as she saw the figure leaning on the rails. She had not expected anyone to be outside, and yet the tall figure of a man lounged against the railing. His gaze moved to hers and she drew in another small, shocked breath as she recognized the man who stood there, his long, firm-jawed face half-lit by the light that spilled from the ballroom.

“Your Grace!” she whispered.

Her heart was thudding louder than the musicians playing music, louder than the sound of laughter from the ballroom. She fought the urge to press her hand to her chest, sure that the duke could hear it.

He smiled. His eyes widened in surprise and a smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Miss Brooke!” he greeted her. “Were you escaping the heat?” he asked.

Sarah chuckled. “The heat and the noise,” she told him. To her surprise, he nodded.

“It is very noisy in there,” he agreed.

Caroline had mentioned that the duke had remained aloof from society for many years. It was unsurprising that he understood about the oppressive noise and how strange it all was after years away. She smiled and nodded.

“So many people! Here it is pleasantly quiet.”

He nodded, a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. He was so handsome, Sarah thought, blushing wildly. His dark blonde hair was swept back from his brow, his eyes crinkling at the corners with his smile. His lips were well-molded, his chin firm and his nose long, but somehow elegant. Overall, his face was long and well-formed, lit from within with an ironic, clever humor. Her heart beat faster, her blood rushing in her ears.

“I think one thing few members of the ton tend to notice is how much noise we all make.” He chuckled.

Sarah grinned. “I imagine not, Your Grace.”

His eyes twinkled. Sarah gazed up at him. He moved up so that she could lean on the railing beside him. Breathlessly, feeling excited, she did so. He was only six inches away. She gazed out across the grounds, watching the way the shadows shifted as the small breeze shivered across the garden.

“It’s a strange thing to say, but does it not seem odd, all of this pomp and ceremony, after time away?”

Sarah blinked and nodded. She had the identical thought herself when first entering the ballroom, but she had not suspected that anyone she would meet there would think as she did.

“It does. I suppose that life is really very simple. It seems odd that people make it so complicated.”

He laughed. “Is life simple?” The question sounded almost bitter, but almost yearning at once. Sarah tilted her head thoughtfully.

“Yes. I think it is. The world is a beautiful place, and people are mostly good—not saints or sinners, but mostly not harmful. Yet how often do we take time to appreciate the beauty around us? And how often do we fight and strive against our fellows?” It was a thought that had occurred to her when she sat sketching near the ruins of what had either been a hostel or a manor.

Beside her, the duke drew in a breath. She thought at first that she had offended him, and she hastened to think of an apology, but before she could say further, he spoke.

“I think that is very wise. I would wish that we all might live a little more in the way that you suggest.”

“I do not mean to...” Sarah hastily began, wishing to clarify that she had not meant to be prescriptive about any particular view or way of living, but a voice spoke from behind them.

“Brother! There you are!”

The duke whipped round, and Sarah drew in a gasp. While it was certainly not immoral for the duke and herself to stand together talking on the terrace at a private ball, it would seem a trifle odd, or a trifle salacious, for many.

She saw the duke’s eyes widen and then narrow again, his expression softening as he recognized the woman standing there.

“Victoria,” he murmured, addressing Lady Egerton by name. Sarah slumped in relief, seeing the friendly woman there.

“Brother! I was just wondering where you were. Or, rather, Mama sent me to find you. I suppose I have to report something to her, or she will be upset and then none of us will have a pleasant evening.” She smiled at Sarah. “Miss Brooke. My apologies. Our mother wished me to find my brother, or I would not disturb your conversation.” She made a wry face.

“Of course,” Sarah stammered, not knowing what else to say. Lady Egerton smiled at the duke.

“I suppose it is my duty to inform you that there is a waltz playing, and that you ought to come indoors now. Having said that, I feel that my duty is discharged, and I shall return to the ballroom without questioning you any further.” She grinned at her brother and turned around.

“A waltz?” Sarah asked, feeling the need to say something. It was more than a little embarrassing for the duke’s sister to catch them in conversation; even more so for her to assume that the conversation was something that she ought not to interrupt.

“Do you like waltzes?” The duke asked her. Sarah drew a breath.

“Um, well...I have not waltzed in years,” she began to stammer, and the duke smiled.

“Well, then. We are well-matched. May I?” He held out his hand.

Sarah gaped at him. Part of her mind could barely believe she had heard him. The other part of her mind—the part that had been schooled in etiquette by her governess since she was able to read, dropped a slight bob of a curtsey.

“Yes. Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured.

The duke smiled and took her hand and Sarah walked with him, walking behind his sister into the ballroom. Part of her mind was still working, enabling her to navigate her way through the room with the duke holding her gloved hand, while the other part was gaping in astonishment and disbelief. She was really dancing with the Duke of Clairwood. She had allowed herself to imagine it, just once, but the thought had seemed so crazily improbable that she had laughed. The duke would never dance with her, not really.

She walked across the ballroom, her head spinning. She was aware of colors and light as they moved through the room, of the sound of voices and the musicians tuning their instruments before they resumed playing, but everything was blotted out by the immense, overwhelming awareness of his hand in hers and the wild thumping of her heart in her chest.

“Miss Brooke?” The duke’s voice asked, cutting through the fog in her head. She looked up to find him looking down at her, a slight, unsure smile on his face.

“Yes?” she asked, blinking up at him in surprise.

“It is acceptable to you, that we dance?” His voice was almost shy and Sarah blinked. She was imagining that; she was quite sure. She nodded.

“Of course, Your Grace,” she murmured. Emotion clogged her throat. It was more than acceptable. It was entirely wonderful and her soul was floating above her somewhere, joy fizzing inside her. All she could do was nod and smile and tense a little as his hand found her shoulder-blade and his other hand took her own, white-gloved hand in his. He was standing very close and her heart thrummed with awareness of his presence so near her.

“I hope you do not mind,” the duke began as they took uncertain steps forward, moving along with the rest to the opening bars. “But I have not waltzed in five years. I have forgotten how, as I clearly realised a while ago when I tried to dance.”

“Me, too. Ouch,” Sarah added as his foot collided with hers. He blushed.

“Sorry, miss. Are you unhurt?” he asked, stopping for a second, his face a picture of care.

Sarah nodded. “I am unhurt. I think I have to step back more next time.” She grinned, her cheeks flushing with warmth. It had been many, many years since she waltzed.

“The fault was all mine,” he said swiftly. “It has been years.”

They stepped neatly sideways, avoiding collision with a couple who were twirling close as they rounded the corner, and who shot annoyed glances at them. The duke raised a brow and the ironic expression on his face made her grin.

“It feels like we’re in a stagecoach,” she said. “Everything else is moving faster than we are.”

The duke laughed aloud. “Quite so, miss. An excellent comparison.”

Sarah’s face reddened.

They stepped neatly around the corner, following the rest of the dancers. The music had slowed slightly, and it made it easier, giving them time to consider what they did. The others whirled past, but it felt simpler somehow.

As they stepped to the music, going down the long length of the ballroom, things became speedier. It felt natural again, and they glided around the turn, traversing the short side of the room with speed and skill. Sarah’s cheeks flushed, her heart soaring as she twirled close to him, her skirt brushing his leg, her body pressed briefly against his in the turn that made the dance so scandalous. She tried to gaze up at him but his eyes were almost shut and she could not guess what he was thinking.

They reached the long side of the ballroom and twirled neatly round, their steps fast and natural, the music twining them close together and then further from each other as the tempo changed and it became faster again. Sarah half-shut her eyes. It felt beautiful; natural and wonderful. It felt like she imagined flying must, if one were a bird—careless and carefree, wild and beautiful and as easy as breathing. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the duke in wonderment.

He smiled.

Sarah felt her heart melt and her hand tightened even as his own did, squeezing her fingers in a way that was not painful but that made warm blood flush into her cheeks.

The music was slowing again and Sarah blinked, realizing that it was nearing the concluding cadence. She gazed up at the duke and his eyes met hers. She stared into them. They were a darker blue than her own, rich and warm—perhaps like spring flowers in the fields at home. The expression in them was warm and tender, awash with feeling, and her soul drowned in their depths.

The sound of murmurous voices made her blink and she realized that they had come to a halt as the others did, and that everyone around them was congratulating one another on the dance, some applauding their partner and their fellows on the floor in a sound muted by the gloves they wore.

The duke smiled. Sarah smiled back, gazing up into his eyes. They narrowed a little as his grin widened and her heart melted again as she looked up at him, his gaze holding hers like there was nobody else around them.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

Sarah stammered her thanks and then, before she could say anything more, he bowed low and straightened up. She frowned, feeling hurt, but then she saw that his mother, the duchess, had appeared at the edge of the dance floor. The duchess saw her staring, and her gaze held Sarah’s, seeing her but ignoring her, not even acknowledging her existence.

“Son. There you are. Charles and Philipa were looking for you. They had a question for you.”

“I am certain it was not of such vital importance that I needed to be fetched straightaway.” The duke held his mother’s gaze. Sarah, standing behind him, tried not to smile at his neat reply. She saw the duchess’ eyes widen.

“Son! That is unfair. I have waited for at least ten minutes for your reply.”

Sarah was aware of the duke’s back stiffening at the words as though he had received a slap, but then she did not see them anymore as Caroline appeared, smiling at her as she glided through the crowd.

“Sarah! How lovely! There you are. I was just speaking to Lady Egerton. She was asking me about a painting. I have little knowledge of art, and so I sought you out to ask your opinion. If you could join us?”

Sarah nodded. Lady Egerton was a pleasant woman and good company. After the hard, cold stare that the duchess had leveled at her, it would feel pleasant and safe to be among friendly people again. She followed Caroline across the ballroom to the back, where Lady Egerton stood, and another young lady who she distantly recognized.

“Ah! Miss Brooke. Grand. We were just discussing the works of Constable.”

“Oh?” Sarah smiled. He was one of her favorite artists. She could happily discuss him for hours. “I am fond of his works.”

“Oh, good!” Lady Egerton smiled. “So am I. My mother is terribly critical of them.”

“Oh?” Sarah frowned.

“Yes. She always says that a painting ought to look like what it represents, and that Constable’s works do not.” She tilted her head. “Nor do mine, of course. But for a different reason.”

Sarah giggled. “My lady, I am sure that is not true. But I must add that Constable’s style is intentionally looser. He is attempting to convey what the landscape means to him, not what it looks like—or not exactly, at any rate.”

“Yes!” Lady Egerton beamed. “I thought so!”

Sarah inclined her head. “My lady, I believe you underestimate your deep understanding of art.”

“No.” Lady Egerton chuckled. “No, really. I don’t. But I am pleased to hear that you think so.” She shot Sarah a smile that seemed genuinely fond.

“Sarah is an excellent artist,” Caroline pointed out.

“Oh! Not excellent, my dear Caroline,” Sarah said quickly. Her cheeks were flaring with embarrassment. Lady Egerton shook her head.

“I am sure you are just shy, Miss Brooke.”

“I agree,” Caroline said quickly, making Sarah blush even more red.

“I do not like drawing. Or painting,” the other young lady commented. “Perhaps it is because I am not good at it. I do play the pianoforte, though.” She grinned.

“And you are excellent at that,” Lady Egerton teased her. “You must play for us later, Philipa. Lady Averhill has a pianoforte, do you not?”

“I do,” Caroline agreed. “Mayhap later, when we retire to the drawing room, you can...”

“No,” Lady Philipa said at once, laughing. “Victoria! You cannot make me,” she teased. “I am shy.”

“I know,” Lady Egerton said with a grin. “Perhaps all of us ladies are too modest.”

“Mayhap so,” Caroline agreed. Sarah smiled at all of them.

The warmth of Lady Egerton and Lady Philipa was soothing the ache of the duchess’s cool stare. And the excitement of having danced with the duke bubbled like champagne inside her, irrepressible and joyous, so that she could barely wait to see him again.