The rejection of her gift stung as viscerally as she’d expected it would. This was why the letter never ought to have been sent in the first place. And why she should never have placed herself in such a place of vulnerability.
The pain was deep and unforgiving, where it lodged in her chest like fire.
It was not simply the sorrow of imagining never again being kissed by him or experiencing his strong embrace as they danced. The loss was truly for the man himself. For his sweet, shy, awkward nature, for the knowledge he possessed, and the way conversation flowed so readily between them.
At that moment, she realized that she would rather have Lucien as a friend than not have him in her life at all.
10
Hannah took more care than usual when preparing to attend Jillian’s ball the following week. She wore a new ice-blue silk gown with a bodice and hem that glinted with small crystals and flowers embroidered with silver thread. Her hair was twisted, pinned and curled with a hot tong until she was the very picture of top fashion.
Her efforts were acknowledged in the squealing compliments from her friends. However, her enjoyment of their affectionate encouragement was dampened by realizing how much they did not know about what had so recently transpired in her life.
Yes, they had teased her about the time she spent with Lucien. Yes, Lucy alluded to Hannah’s hand in helping establish his new fashionable presence.
But none of them knew about the kiss, nor how desperately Hannah longed for him to be interested in her, nor even of her fears of rejection. Fears that were realized again and again each season with yet another gentleman whose interest she had placed too high a wager on.
Jillian looked radiant in a white silk gown with a sparkling silver tissue that made her catch the candlelight like a star.
Sirius.
The brightest star in the sky.
The newfound fact of the heavens dawned on Hannah before she could stop it, followed by the memory of Lucien’s warm lips upon hers and how her heart had nearly pounded out of her chest.
“Lady Jillian.” The Duke of Dudley appeared at her side. “I should like to dance this first set together.”
Jillian turned to him with a pretty smile hovering on the corners of her lips. “Would you dance with me if I was a tree?”
He sighed, not bothering to stifle his irritation. “How could I possibly dance with you if you were a tree?”
She tilted her face as if the chandeliers overhead were sunlight. “To the sway of the wind, and the orchestra the rustling leaves and birdsong.”
As if on cue, the opening notes of the first dance began to tinkle to life.
“Don’t be preposterous,” the duke grated out in a low hiss. “This foolishness must cease. Come, we are to open your ball with a dance.” He extended his hand to her, which she slowly accepted.
She was whisked away from them before they could protest. There was something extraordinarily awful about having seen such a display. It was more than a man crushing the spirit of a woman; it was Jillian’s spirit he sought to destroy. Everything colorful and beautiful and fascinatingly unique about who she was had dulled at that moment. After a lifetime of such treatment, that beautiful light that was Jillian’s creative soul might eventually wink out.
Hannah and the other three women were silent as they watched Jillian gracefully take her place on the dance floor.
“I hate that there isn’t more we can do to stop this,” Elizabeth said softly.
“I could find a way,” Lucy said with a curl of her lips.
“Don’t you dare,” Amy warned half-heartedly before sighing in quiet resignation. “What did you have in mind?”
But Lucy wasn’t listening. She was craning her neck across the room to where a crowd of women bustled around something.
Hannah looked in the same direction. Her stomach dropped, and she realized it wasn’t something but someone.
And that someone was Lucien.
A jewel-toned array of ballgowns swished and swirled as women tried to get closer to him. He bestowed smile after devastating smile to his adoring devotees.
Whatever ached in Hannah’s chest before, now burned like an ember, red-hot and glowing.
“Isn’t that your neighbor?” Amy asked.
“It is,” Hannah replied as if she did not care. But, of course, she did. Far more than she should.
But he was not out for the first dance with any of the women as she’d suspected he would be. Instead, he was walking away from the crowd of eligible ladies.
At least now would present a chance to speak to him.
“Excuse me,” Hannah mumbled and quickly swept through the crowds toward him.
As she neared Lucien, however, he shifted, moving in the opposite direction. At first, she thought this was simply a coincidence until she redirected her steps, and he once more altered his.
He was intentionally evading her.
The realization struck her like a slap.
He was fleeing from her.
Suddenly, she understood the situation for exactly what it was. He had all he needed from her. All the time they had spent together—he had gleaned the proper way to dress, the courage to lead ladies onto the dance floor and how to best converse with them. In those three small areas, he had gone from a man oft overlooked to a man most sought after. He had done so through her counsel and guidance.
And now, there was no further need of her in his life.
It was so painfully clear that the ache she felt earlier rose and lodged in her throat.
On the dance floor, the Duke of Dudley led Jillian in a stiff dance, his face as stern as his sense of humor. And all the while, poor Jillian’s chin remained up and her posture proud. Her lips were moving as she spoke, and the duke’s face seemed to darken. Doubtless, Jillian had not stifled “her foolishness,” as the duke had called it, and the victory of her friend’s defiance made Hannah proud.
If only she could be as strong as Jillian, who did not care what she said, nor to whom, Hannah would approach Lucien over the matter rather than let his rejection wither her spirit.
And what was stopping her?
Nothing.
Nothing stopped her from marching across the ballroom until Lucien had no place to go and confronting him with the truth of her anger toward him. Decision locked thoroughly in place, she set across the room like a warship locked on its target.
As she drew closer to Lucien, he skirted away. She pursued.
Finally, when they were nearing a wall, he turned to face her. “Ah, Miss Bexley, what a lovely surprise.”
“My presence before you is no more of a surprise than you are a gentleman,” she whispered in a low voice to keep from being overheard. It was not her intention to dishonor him but to explain how rude his actions were and that she would not tolerate his indifference.
She would never command the love and adoration that others did in life, but she at least deserved better than how she was being treated.
“You saw me heading toward you, and you attempted to run away from me.” There was a wounded note in her voice she hadn’t the time or energy to mask.
His shoulders sagged. “Forgive me, Miss Bexley. It isn’t as it appeared.”
“You mean you were not trying to escape having a conversation with me?” She frowned as she imagined how she could have been wrong when it seemed so obvious that he was avoiding her.