The somewhat daunting and endless parade of guests finally trickled to a few dozen who stood in line to greet March and her sisters. The Duke of Langham stood between Bennett and March followed by Faith, Julia, and the Duchess of Langham. Though children weren’t normally allowed at such events, the duke had insisted Bennett stand in the receiving line to meet the members of parliament who attended. The duke considered such introductions part of Bennett’s education as to how to be a productive member of the House of Lords. Lord William had joined the receiving line midway through the introductions.
March had never seen so many people in her entire life. Everyone who was anyone had attended the duchess’s ball for the Lawson sisters. However, the most heartwarming were the men who had remembered her father and his service to the Crown. Bennett and her sisters were enchanted with the stories about their parents. She’d been struck by how generous the duke and duchess had been in the introductions, effusing how remarkable the Lawson sisters were and how much they enjoyed having them at Langham Hall.
Lady Pembrooke’s personal physician, Dr. Wade Camden, received a warm welcome from the duke and duchess. Tall with tawny-colored hair, the doctor was the epitome of grace and kindness.
When his attention turned to March, he didn’t hesitate in his introduction of his friend. “Miss Lawson, may I introduce Dr. Mark Kennett? He’s a colleague of mine from the University of Edinburgh,” the handsome doctor offered.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lawson,” said Dr. Kennett.
March extended her hand, and the doctor sketched a bow. With dark red hair and a Scottish burr, the man exuded confidence and a sense of ease.
“Are you newly arrived in town, Dr. Kennett?” Faith asked. She leaned slightly, the movement a cause for concern. Faith had little tolerance for standing long periods of time.
“No, Miss Faith. I have a fellowship at the Royal Academy of Physicians.”
“Kennett’s caught a case of modesty, I’m afraid,” Dr. Camden offered. “He recently presented to his distinguished peers a paper about the importance of exercise and manipulation of muscles as a way to increase one’s ambulatory abilities, and it was wildly praised.”
Dr. Kennett’s ruddy complexion turned redder as he flushed briefly. His gaze fell to Faith’s cane. “May I have one of your dances this evening?”
Faith stood a little straighter at the doctor’s request. The smile on his face was genuine, and March held her breath to hear her sister’s response.
Faith dipped her head but refused to meet his gaze. “That would be lovely. I may not manage to last long on the dance floor.”
He nodded in response, and the two handsome men moved down the line to greet Julia and Lord William.
“He seemed to be a nice gentleman,” Faith whispered. “Do you think he could help me?”
The hope in her sister’s voice hit March square in the chest. Her sister’s suffering was always present, and she couldn’t help but wilt a little at the desperation she’d heard in Faith’s voice. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’ll find out,” March offered.
Faith nodded then turned her attention to the next guest who waited to meet her.
March took the opportunity and studied the ballroom. Glowing like a jewel, the room was magnificent. Streams of silver and gold silk hung from the massive windows. The refreshment tables sparkled with silver serving pieces polished to perfection. Gold candles littered the silver chandeliers and transformed the room into another world, almost as if the heavens had descended to entertain the guests this evening.
She glanced at the crowd of people hoping to catch a glimpse of Michael. He was nowhere in sight. The duchess had decided that the duke would dance with March, Michael with Faith, and William with Julia for the first dance.
For a moment, her confidence deserted her as she gazed at all the handsome men and beautiful women who crowded the outer edges of the ballroom floor. Suddenly, the truth slammed into every corner of her being. She was ill equipped to meet the expectations society would place upon her, namely a well-bred lady who was accustomed to such events.
The musicians had already started tuning their instruments. Boisterous laughs and the buzz of conversations floated toward them. The ball was officially set to begin.
The duke took the duchess’s arm. “Shall we, my love?”
The duchess stretched up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips against his cheek. “As long as you save every dance after the first for me.”
He colored slightly. “You never have to ask,” he gruffly answered.
After they entered through the doorway, the duke and duchess stood aside so March and her sisters could enter. Side by side, the trio strolled into the brightly lit room. Suddenly, Faith stumbled. March grabbed her arm to keep her from falling. Absolute silence descended, and the entire gathering gawked as if they were some type of carnival act.
“I’m so nervous. Please forgive me,” Faith whispered.
March cursed under her breath. She straightened her shoulders and pasted her best smile on her face. The sea of faces before them was transfixed on Faith.
With a sideways glance, March stole a peek at her poor sister. Her earlier rosy glow had paled. The pain of Faith’s embarrassment stabbed March’s heart, and she wanted to cry out at the unfairness of it all. How could this have happened now? Resplendent in the light orchard silk the duchess had Mademoiselle Mignon design, her beautiful sister appeared ready to burst into tears.
“Nonsense, my love. There’s nothing to forgive.” March took her hand and squeezed, hoping Faith would take every piece of strength and courage she could offer. “They’re all entranced by you and your beauty. Take my place and dance the first set with the duke. That will set everything to rights.”
Out of the corner of her eye, the duke started forward, but he was too late.
A man brushed against her, and March felt a caress of his hand on her lower back. “Softer than I could have dared imagine,” he whispered in her ear. “Tsk, tsk, March. You shouldn’t be trying to rearrange the dance cards just yet. I have the honor of the first dance with Faith.”
A towering Michael emblazoned with a smile, one brighter than the light from the room’s largest chandelier, hurried past and stood before Faith. His black evening coat and breeches emphasized his athletic build, and the ivory waistcoat, shirt, and neckcloth were perfection against his olive skin. When he leaned toward Faith and whispered, the ruby pin in the center of his neckcloth caught the light and glimmered as if it were a living creature.
Whatever he had said made her sister laugh. The beautiful sound rang through the silent ballroom. He extended his gloved hand in a commanding movement. Tentatively, Faith took it. Briefly, he turned back toward March and winked with a translucent smile only for her.
She couldn’t stop, couldn’t rein in the hope, and couldn’t help but return a smile that mirrored his. Michael’s breath visibly caught, and his smile grew even bigger. His eyes followed the line of her dress before returning to her face. For a moment, his gaze caressed hers, and her heart joyfully danced in reply. In the next split second, all sound shushed as the crowd waited.
That was when it happened. Between the opening first three notes of the waltz and the three fast beats of her heart, she fell—tumbled—then finally plummeted hopelessly and irretrievably in love.
With the Marquess of McCalpin, a powerful enigma of a man, who with his simple gesture of wrapping his strong and resolute arms about Faith’s waist, proclaimed to the world that he, and only he, would have the first dance with Miss Faith Lawson.
Her David in his splendor had captured her heart, and March didn’t even fight back or try to protect the pounding organ in her chest. Determined not to think too logically about what had just happened, she happily resigned herself to witness the magnificent moment her sister danced for the first time in public.
William escorted Julia to the floor, and March’s tears threatened to spill at the sight. All she’d wanted for the last year had come to fruition tonight. Her lovely, beautiful sisters made their grand entrance into society because of Michael and his family’s graciousness and charity.
The duke stood beside her, then bowed before her. “March, by the look on your face, I’d say the evening is a smashing success?”
March curtsied in response. “Indeed, Your Grace. I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy in my life. Thank you and your lovely family for”—she waved her hand toward the dance floor in a tiny half circle, offering proof of the magic of the night—“all of this.”
“You’re welcome,” the duke whispered.
The smile on his face robbed her of her breath. It resembled Michael’s smile, the one that left little doubt there was genuine affection for the recipient.
“May I have this dance, my dear?” he asked.
Without a second of hesitation, March nodded.
The last five minutes of her life burrowed into a place deep inside her and took root. She’d recall this evening whenever she found herself lonely or unhappy. Forever engraved on her heart, it would provide hope in times of darkness.
Though she couldn’t deny how lovely it would be if the night never ended.
* * *
After March had danced five sets, she found herself at the perimeter of the ballroom with the Duke of Langham. Needing a respite from the uncomfortably hot and loud crowd on the dance floor, she welcomed his company.
“Miss Lawson, I’d like you to meet Lord Fletcher. He and his family just arrived.” The duke waved his hand at The Earl of Fletcher, who politely took her hand and bowed.
“It’s a pleasure, Miss Lawson. I understand you and your sisters are newly arrived from Leyton.” The silver-gray of his hair caught the candlelight from the chandeliers above their heads. A little older than the duke, Lord Fletcher’s bearing indicated a man quite comfortable in the opulent surroundings of Langham Hall. “London is all the richer for your company.”
Immediately, Michael joined their group, and in welcome, the candlelight seemed a bit brighter in his presence. Her pulse quickened as she, too, felt the heat of his nearness. Everything about the night was better than perfect. To call it extraordinary was like comparing a tiger to a striped barn cat. With all her senses heightened, she waited for his invitation for a dance. Perhaps, with the heat in the ballroom, he wanted to take a stroll outside. To have a few minutes alone with him would make the rest of the evening pale in comparison.
The duke nodded to his son, then addressed her. “Lord Fletcher has an estate in Suffolk where he’s imported about one hundred Merino sheep from Spain.”
The duke’s comment with his sly smile made March immediately take notice. Merino wool was highly valued by the wealthy, but the sheep didn’t care for the cold wet climate of England. They prospered in the dry mountainous areas of Spain. Either Lord Fletcher was a dreamer who believed he could raise the creatures in England and succeed where other more-experienced sheep farmers hadn’t, or he was a fool. Either way, his sheep-raising methods would undoubtedly fail.
“At my family’s estate, we also raise sheep for their wool, though ours isn’t as fine as a Merino fleece. But we’ve managed to constantly produce wool of the highest quality.”
The duke smiled as if he approved of her comments. “Fletcher and I will soon ram heads in the House of Lords. He wants to impose a tax on all wool sold in England with the exception, of course, of Merino.”
March tilted her head in answer. The duke’s comment proved her theory. Fletcher was a fool. “My lord, wouldn’t that seriously threaten the sheep farming in our great country? The selling price of wool is already too low, and to put any additional financial burden on the farmers would result in dire consequences. In addition, wouldn’t it harm the growing woolen mills in areas such as Leeds? How much of a tax are you thinking of proposing?”
“A quarter or half a shilling per pound, Miss Lawson,” Lord Fletcher answered.
She stole a quick glance at Michael to gage his reaction. His normal visage had turned pale, and his brow glistened with sweat.
As the duke questioned the earl, she leaned slightly toward Michael. “Lord McCalpin, are you all right?”
He nodded, but she couldn’t inquire any further as the duke caught her attention. “What kind of an impact would a quarter of a shilling per pound have on your estate, Miss Lawson?”
“An immense impact, Your Grace. I’d be bankrupt.”
Before she could offer more, Michael whispered, “May I have the next dance?”
This was the dance he’d promised. Pure unfettered bliss pulsed through her veins. She could almost feel his arms around her. With a slight turn, she delivered her best smile. “That would be—”
“Of course, my lord.” A typical English beauty with a slight build and blond hair dipped her head and answered Michael at the same time.
“Perhaps a glass of lemonade before the start would be refreshing.” He held out his arm to the perfect English rose.
The young woman turned to Lord Fletcher, and immediately March’s stomach twisted into a knot. It was Lady Miranda from Mademoiselle Mignon’s modiste’s shop. Heat blazed through her. She slightly turned away from the couple to hide her embarrassment.
People weren’t interested in her. Certainly not Michael, and why would he? With her height and her muscular frame from farming, she was anything but what eligible men considered beautiful.
If she could fall through the floor, it would be the quickest escape. At her inept error, tears stung, but she refused to let them fall.
“Father, I’ll return shortly,” Lady Miranda offered.
“Take your time. Enjoy yourself.” The encouragement in Lord Fletcher’s tone was unmistakable as the handsome couple proceeded to the dance floor. He turned to the duke and whispered, “They’d make a fine match.”
Without answering Lord Fletcher, the duke regarded her. The gentle empathy in his eyes bore straight through her. “Would you care to dance, Miss Lawson?”
The offer caused another stinging heat to flame her cheeks. The duke must have seen her mistake.
“No, thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered, “I’m finding it extremely warm.”
With a sympathetic smile, he nodded. “Take the exit behind me. It leads to a mezzanine balcony,” he whispered. “You’ll be able to catch your breath there.”
She bowed her head and cleared her throat. The effort did little to tame her humiliation.
Without another word, she quietly took her leave and quickly found the hidden staircase leading to the mezzanine above the dance floor. It was a perfect place to view the crowd below.
Shortly, Bennett stood beside her.
“You aren’t in bed?” she asked.
Bennett’s handsome face split into a merry grin, and like a tonic, she drank in the happy sight. “I haven’t claimed my dance with Lady Somerton yet.”
The earnest statement caused her to laugh. How could she deny him the magical evening? He had every right to enjoy this as much as she did. “I’ll let you stay up for fifteen minutes, then to bed.”
“Indeed,” Emma said. Somehow, March’s pregnant friend had sidled up beside her without making a sound. “I can’t go to bed without my dance either.” Dressed in a satin crimson gown that was daring and bold, the beautiful blond looked up at her and winked. “Besides, I don’t get many chances to escape from Somerton.”
March nodded and glanced down at the ballroom. Dr. Kennett was escorting Faith to the refreshment room. The good doctor must have noticed her sister’s pinched mouth, a clear sign she was growing weary.
Julia danced with the newly titled young Earl of Queensgrace, a representative peer from Scotland sitting for the first time in the House of Lords. By all appearances, the two were enjoying each other immensely.
March’s gaze swept across the ballroom, awash in all colors of the rainbow. She tapped her toes in time to the music, then stopped suddenly. Her traitorous eyes had found Michael dancing with Lady Miranda Fletcher. Enjoying some quip, Michael threw back his head and laughed. It had to be March’s imagination, but his deep mellifluous baritone had traveled all the way up into the mezzanine and wrapped itself around her in a suffocating weight. The joyful sound knocked the breath out of her as if she’d fallen out of a tree.
Desperate to hide her distress, she stared into the distance, willing herself not to steal another peek at the perfection the couple presented to the crowd. Gripping the railing tightly, she didn’t know if she could let go without falling into a heap of velvet, one completely emptied since her soul had withered to nothing. She gasped, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.
Emma’s hand covered hers. “It means nothing. Father wanted him to dance with her as he’s courting Lady Miranda’s father for support in next week’s vote in the House of Lords.”
She didn’t say a word as she continued to stare at the whirling couples below. Finally, she swallowed and found her voice in a shaky tone that betrayed her disquiet. “It’s none of my concern.”
Liar, her mind screamed, but she dismissed the warning. It was too late, as her heart lay pummeled on the ground.
“March.” Emma’s voice softened to a whisper. “Believe me, it’s nothing.”
The orchestra began the second waltz of the evening, and the notes brought forth shimmering memories of the sweet card she’d found enclosed with the dress she wore this evening. Absently, she rubbed her hands down the soft velvet, upsetting the nap. It was exactly how she felt—out of place and out of sorts. She didn’t need a reminder of Michael’s promise of a dance. There was only one more waltz, and that was the supper waltz. She’d already promised it to William and planned to retire shortly afterward.
She’d been a fool to even wish for anything more. He was the Duke of Langham’s heir, and she was nothing more than a shepherdess. For heaven’s sake, she had the scars from the work on her hands, wrists, and arms to prove she wasn’t a lady. How could he ever see a life with her?
She pressed her eyes closed to stop tears from forming. Michael was a good man who treated her fairly after all she’d done. This ball and this night were his world, not hers. She’d do well to remember that piece of wisdom. It’d keep her heart from shattering into smaller and smaller pieces.
She pasted a smile on her lips and turned to Emma and Bennett. “I’d like to see that waltz now, if you please. In minutes, my brother might turn into a rat if he doesn’t go to bed.”
Emma stared at her with a crinkled her brow as if not believing the change of mood.
Bennett approached and then in a bow that would have made the fussiest dance master proud, asked, “My lady, may I have this dance?”
Emma turned her attention to the young lord and granted him a proper curtsy. “It would be an honor, my lord.”
Bennett’s happy face shot to March’s, and he waggled his eyebrows. That simple expression garnered a real smile. She’d not let her disappointment over Michael rob her of this precious moment—her brother’s first dance with a lady, even if the chosen lady was pregnant.
When the couple started to dance, March didn’t try to tame her glee. Bennett’s arm could barely reach around Emma’s waist. Somehow, Emma adjusted their stance, and they stepped with relative ease and grace into the waltz movements.
As her laughter subsided into uncontrollable giggles, March clung to the beauty before her. Silly as it was, Emma with her brother was exactly the type of frivolity she needed at this despicable moment. There was kindness and friendship all around if she would just forget her sorrows and focus on the goodness. Her sweet brother’s first waltz was a perfect example of all the happiness that awaited her. She’d not let her petty wishes for another life rob her of this special moment in time.
Emerging from the small hallway leading to the family quarters, Lord Somerton observed the proceedings. With a breathtaking smile that clearly showed his love for his wife, he sauntered forward and tapped Bennett on the shoulder. “Lord Lawson, may I have my wife now?”
Graciously, Bennett nodded and stepped out of the way. Lord Somerton took his beautiful wife in his arms and instead of leading them away, he swept Emma into the full waltz pattern.
Never in her life had March witnessed anything as breathtakingly beautiful as the couple before her—one full of life and love, dancing and cherishing each other. She brought her hand to her mouth in awe.
A familiar scent of pine wafted toward her, but she ignored it. Earlier, when she thought Michael had asked her to dance, she’d allowed her imagination free rein. Now, she’d not be tricked again. She was trying desperately to survive the rest of the evening without thinking of him with Lady Miranda. She wanted now, this perfect moment, to be the memory that wrested away her unhappiness.
“They are a sight to behold, aren’t they?” Michael whispered.
She couldn’t allow herself to look at him or she’d burst into sobs. All she could manage was a nod.
Bennett wrinkled his nose and directed his attention to the marquess. “Sometimes when March sees something that makes her happy, she cries. You should see her when she helps a ewe lambing. Like a spring shower if you know what I mean, McCalpin.”
She tried to escape by stepping closer to the exit toward the family quarters. Michael stopped her, standing in her path with a gaze that reached deep inside and twisted her resolve. All the control she’d managed to summon within the last several minutes, he crushed into tiny shards.
Fearful he’d see what was in her heart, she turned back to Emma and Somerton’s waltz. She’d never recover if Michael discerned her pathetic disappointment over his dance with Lady Miranda.
“Dance with me,” he demanded.
Surprised, she blinked and tore her attention from the couple.
“Please,” he said. The blue of his eyes captured hers, and she couldn’t pull away.
She didn’t want to. It was pure folly. No, a better description was pure torture, but her heart demanded she agree. It might be her only chance. She called forth every piece of strength she had and smiled.
His warm hand possessed hers, and he squeezed her fingers as he led her close to Emma and Somerton. With an elegant turn, he took her in his arms. It felt like heaven. He led her in the sweeping pattern, and with no resistance, she closed her eyes, concentrating on his touch and the movement that threatened to make her dizzy.
“You are the most beautiful woman here tonight,” he whispered close to her ear.
His warm breath teased her skin. Lost in the moment, she didn’t respond. The need to relish every sensation he gave her this evening took precedence.
“I imagined how utterly right you’d feel in my arms, but the reality of perfection isn’t an adequate comparison. The softness of the velvet to the silkiness of your skin—”
“Stop,” she whispered. “There’s no need to pretend this is anything other than what it is.”
He seemed confused. “Which is?”
“A dance.”
She chanced a glance at Emma and a besotted Somerton. Their happiness was almost tangible, and it caused a crushing emptiness inside her. She refused to let it overtake her. Not here, not in front of him. “You’re the guardian of my family, and I’m an additional responsibility. You don’t have to pretend anything else.”
Bennett studied them as if trying to divine what was occurring between her and Michael. She didn’t need her brother quizzing her in the morning in front of her sisters. How could she explain it if she didn’t understand it herself?
How can someone fall in love and experience the most euphoric moment of their life, her family finally taking their rightful place in society, then in the same evening feel as if a pack of wolves had shredded her heart?
She bit her lip and sighed. Michael narrowed his eyes and stared at her lips. He swept her in a perfect circle. Thankfully, the waltz finally ended and they came to a slow stop.
Emma covered her mouth with her elegant silk-gloved hand and yawned. “Come, Bennett. Lord Somerton and I will escort you to the nursery. I’ll show you some of McCalpin’s favorite hiding places when he was your age. Sometime you may need an escape from your lovely sisters. Tomorrow, I’ll show you mine. In exchange, perhaps you’ll share with Somerton that move you used to turn us. I quite enjoyed that.”
Somerton drew her close and kissed her on the cheek. “Minx,” he whispered, but it was still loud enough they all heard it.
With Bennett chatting away to Somerton, the couple took their leave heading to the family quarters.
Without letting go, Michael drew her into the shadows of a curtained alcove. Foolish as it was, March followed without any resistance.
* * *
Not saying a word, McCalpin waited until March finished her thorough examination of the floor. Thinly disguised, the effort kept her from looking at him. Finally, her gaze met his. Her beautiful eyes glistened with sadness, making his heart clench. Her hurt, mistrust, and longing combined into a maelstrom that nearly brought him to his knees.
Without thought of the decorum or propriety of meeting a woman alone in the middle of a ball, McCalpin trailed the back of his hand against her cheek. He cursed as his glove kept him from touching the silkiness of her skin. He ripped the offending piece off his hand, then returned to his ministrations.
She closed her eyes as if his touch soothed.
“Tell me what’s happened?” he coaxed.
Her eyes fluttered open. She searched his with an intensity that surely exposed every flaw he’d so desperately tried to hide.
“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Nothing important.”
Her whisper caressed him in return. For the entire night, he’d wanted to take her in his arms. However, when she’d stood beside him and started to discuss wool prices and taxes, he had to escape. If he’d stayed any longer, someone might have asked him a question he would not have been able to answer. His inability to perform his duties laid bare for all to see.
His only solution had led him to ask Lady Miranda to dance. When he’d returned the chit to Lord Fletcher, McCalpin’s father had told him where he could find March.
Now they were alone, and he wanted to brush his lips against hers. Ever since they’d shared their first kiss at Lawson Court, he couldn’t get her out of his thoughts. He didn’t care that he was responsible for her family. He didn’t care they were in a ballroom filled with guests.
He didn’t care about anything except her.
Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. The sweet taste of peppermint and her warm mouth greeted him. She sighed gently. He deepened the kiss until her lips opened, inviting him in.
Not rushing, he tenderly delved into every inch of her mouth with his tongue, exploring what she liked and teaching her in turn. Her moan was a heady sound, and he embraced her tightly to his chest. The softness of the velvet and the crush of her breasts yielding against his chest caused a wildfire of desire to ignite through him. She was as lost as he was if her moans were any indication.
With her fingers threaded through his hair, she urged him closer, almost frantic in her desire for him.
He traced the edge of her bodice with his fingertips as if trying to memorize the dips and swells of her exquisite flesh. With one forefinger he slipped beneath her stays, he explored the gentle curve of her breast and found her nipple. She cried out in pleasure, and he kept up the sweet torment. She pulled him closer, but slowly with infinite care, he pulled away. If they continued, he’d sweep her into his arms and carry her to her bed.
She reached for him as if displeased he broke the kiss. To appease her, he brushed her lips once more, then rested his forehead against hers. Their wayward breathing proved they were both desperate for more.
His lips trailed around the delicate skin of her ear. He closed his body around hers seeking to protect her from any more sadness. Velvet heat coursed through every inch of him. His hard length pulsed against her lower body, electrifying him, and she responded in kind with the tilt of her hips.
He nipped the lobe of her ear to make damn well certain she paid attention.
“Does that feel like a responsibility to you?” he whispered.