“Well, that’s simple,” Jemima said, arching an eyebrow. “It is because she knows of the way my brother feels about you.”
Rebecca raised her head, meeting Jemima’s eye. “I wish I knew.”
“Oh, Rebecca,” Jemima said, tilting her head as she studied her. “He loves you — I know it, even if he doesn’t know it himself.”
Rebecca couldn’t say a word, her heart lodged in her throat, but she tried her best to swallow it as Valentine entered the room and began walking toward them.
Jemima smiled mischievously.
“Say you will come to the ball.”
“Oh, Jemima, I couldn’t.”
Jemima turned as her brother approached.
“Valentine,” she said, swinging her gaze back upon Rebecca. “Tell Rebecca that she must come to the ball.”
“Rebecca, you must come to the ball,” he repeated dutifully, and Rebecca frowned at him.
“You both know that this ball is not being held for the likes of me.”
“You have much more in common with us than any of the other people who will be in attendance,” Jemima said. “Even if you do not wish to speak to anyone else, you can sit in the corner with me and Celeste.”
“Mother will not be pleased with you ensconced in a corner seat,” Valentine teased his sister, and she swatted him.
“I would invite you not to share my plans with her,” she dismissed her brother, turning back to Rebecca. “Please, say you will,” she said with some desperation. “To have people there I know and trust is the only way I can make it through such a night.”
Rebecca stole a glance at Valentine to see what he thought of Jemima’s plea, but he wore a similar expression to his sister. Apparently she was not the only one who might welcome Rebecca’s presence.
“Very well,” Rebecca finally agreed. “As long as your mother doesn’t toss me out.”
“I’ll make sure of it,” Jemima said, clapping her hands together and Rebecca took a deep breath. This could be a terrible decision, but in a way, she was eager to view the ballroom full of people, to see firsthand what they thought of her design.
She would soon find out if it would be worth it.
Valentine surveyed the room in front of him. The ballroom renovation had taken nearly a month to complete — during which time he had taken every opportunity to be at home, just in case Rebecca happened to arrive with her father. His mother thought him ridiculous, and she told him such, but there was nothing he could do about it. He was a man torn by indecision, between following his heart and doing what he thought was the right thing, what his father had always wanted from him, what Matthew would have done.
He and Rebecca had a few stolen moments alone, but it seemed his mother was always hanging about, or Rebecca’s father required her assistance for one thing or another.
Valentine still wasn’t completely comfortable with Mr. Lambert. The man he presented himself as did not align with the designs he produced. He was always speaking of past projects, was lost in his affinity for the baroque, and yet the designs were innovative and classical.
Val didn’t enjoy not completely trusting someone who worked for him — but he could never fire Mr. Lambert, for that would mean being rid of Rebecca as well, which he could never, ever do, despite his mother’s persistence.
Guests had begun to trickle in, and while Val did his utmost to be a most gracious host, he couldn’t help his gaze from continuing to wander to the door, awaiting Rebecca.
“Careful, or your neck is going to be stuck like that,” Jemima said from the corner of her mouth. She stood beside him near the entryway to the ballroom — which was a masterpiece. Valentine’s mother had nearly fainted dead away when she saw the pugilists locked in an everlasting battle in the middle of the ceiling, but when she tried to insist that they be painted over, Valentine had told her that this was one decision that was not hers to make.
It was one thing in this house that spoke to who he was, the new Duke of Wyndham, and he was not going to cover it up. He may have lost most of his identity as Valentine St. Vincent, but these pugilists would not be destroyed.
“Do you think she’ll come?” he asked Jemima, not hiding the desperation in his voice as he asked after Rebecca.
“She promised she would, so she will,” Jemima said confidently, and he nodded as he greeted another young woman and her mother. This entire ball seemed to be filled with an endless line of eligible young ladies. He expected most of them had significant dowries to accompany their lofty titles, but he couldn’t form much more than a passing interest in greeting them. None of them spoke to him.
Until a striking raven-haired vixen approached. She wore a long crimson gown that draped around those hips and the bodice that he knew so well. He wanted to pick her up and spirit her away upstairs to his bedroom. He could only wish that there was a passage from here up to his bedchamber, such as the one from the long gallery to his room at Stonehall. But that was not to be.
“Miss Lambert,” he said, a smile gracing his lips. “I am so glad you could join us.”
“As am I,” added Jemima with a grin.
“Save a dance for me?” Valentine asked, ignoring the knowing smile of his sister next to him.
“I will.”
The time between his request and their actual dance seemed interminable. Valentine decided that he didn’t particularly enjoy playing host at a ball. Which wasn’t a surprise, for he hardly enjoyed attending one as it was.
But at least in the home of others he could leave when he wanted. Here, he was stuck.
He managed to extricate himself from his welcoming duties once the orchestra began to play in earnest, and he quickly sought out Rebecca.
He was well aware that he should be asking for a dance with one of the many young women vying for his attention. In fact, he could actually feel his mother’s pointed stare upon him as he crossed the ballroom. But his feet seemed as fickle as heart, for they led him over to where Rebecca sat against one of the walls with Jemima, her friend Miss Keswick, and Lady Fredericka.
Val knew what his mother was thinking — that he was here for Lady Fredericka. She was a pleasant woman, and one Valentine figured would make a good friend.
But not a wife.
For there was only one woman who so captured his attention.
“Miss Lambert,” he said, holding out his hand to her, “may I have this dance?”
She smiled as she rose, placing her hand in his.
“You shall.”
He led her out onto the dance floor, aware of the many eyes turned in their direction, but he didn’t overly care. If he was to hold this infernal ball, then he would dance with whomever he damn well pleased.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked, forcing himself to make polite conversation when all he wanted to do was crush her into his arms and hold her tight.
“I am enjoying my time with your sister and her friends,” she said. “They are not like typical ladies of their station.”
“Which is a compliment from you.”
“And you as well, I should think.”
He chuckled. “You are correct. I have not taken to my new status very well.”
“I think you are doing just fine,” she said, and Val cringed slightly at her look of admiration. He didn’t deserve it. He had done nothing that he should receive any praise for.