“Her parents know my intention?”
“They do.” His mother looked as smug as a cat with a mouse between its paws.
“And they are keeping it from her?”
“Only for two weeks. They are not a family for secrets any more than we are. As soon as we decide on the exact date of the party, we must send word to the confectionery. Meanwhile, I forbid you to go there and ruin my surprise.”
“You are getting entirely too caught up in my life.” Nonetheless, Henry bent over and kissed her cheek, feeling nothing but gratitude and love. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”
AMITY SMOOTHED THE front of her new silk gown for the hundredth time while the Pelham butler and servants took her family’s coats and her father’s hat, as well as four hundred chocolates. Amity had taken it upon herself to change the order so there were two hundred assorted chocolates and one hundred each of the Pelham and her own favorite marzipan-chocolate-toffee creation. If it had been the wrong thing to do, the blame would fall squarely upon her own head.
At the last minute, her parents had declared their intent to go, too. It was unlike her parents to do something as rash as attend a party uninvited. Thus, she questioned them in the carriage.
“When the date of the event came by messenger, invitations were extended to your father and to me,” Felicity Rare-Foure assured her.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Amity had moaned, squeezed in the seat next to her sisters as they rode toward St. James Place. “If I’d known, the two of you could have delivered the chocolates with Charlotte and Bea, and I could have stayed home.”
Beatrice had shown little enthusiasm in getting into her finery and going to a place where she knew no one. All the same, because the dowager duchess herself had invited her, she had acquiesced. Charlotte, as expected, had been looking forward to her own triumphant return to the Pelham residence all week.
“That is precisely why I didn’t tell you,” her mother said. “It’s good for you to get out and about. Did I tell you how beautiful you look in that gown?”
Indeed, Amity felt like a princess in silver silk with her favorite plum-colored trim around the hem and the sleeves, as well as matching buttons and sash — a princess whose insides were all aflutter with butterflies and hummingbirds.
“Wait until you see the carpeting and chandeliers and the paintings and...,” Charlotte went on and on to Beatrice, who was either listening or dozing in her corner of the carriage.
When their quick trip across Mayfair was complete, Amity smoothed her gown again as the butler led them up the stairs.
“Stop fidgeting,” her mother said, but her tone was soothing and kind, and next, she smiled as broadly as a crescent moon, something she’d been doing a lot of lately.
At the top of the stairs, precisely as the last time, the Dowager Duchess of Pelham, along with her daughter and son-in-law, stood waiting to receive guests. And as before, there was Henry. He looked, if possible, even more handsome than he ever had, and Amity’s heart began hammering in her chest at the sight of him.
She nearly stumbled on the top step, and her mother took her hand to steady her.
“I don’t see the future fiancée’s family,” Amity whispered as Charlotte and Beatrice stepped forward first.
Her mother only smiled again. When it was her turn, Amity greeted the dowager, who gave her a very kind welcome and thanked her for bringing the chocolates. Lady Penelope and Lord Yardley were next. And then...
Suddenly, Amity was standing in front of Henry, who took her hand as she curtseyed.
“Your Grace,” she said, hardly able to look at him, so tightly strung were her emotions.
“Miss Rare-Foure,” he said, and his warm, inviting tone brought her gaze up to his. His green eyes were as friendly as ever, calming her nerves somewhat. “I’m so glad you could come tonight. You look positively ravishing.”
Her cheeks heated at his honeyed tone, which seemed most improper for a man about to propose marriage to someone else. Unable to respond, she nodded, curtsied again, and turned away. How would she make it through this evening?
Unlike the previous occasion, there was no Lady Madeleine in a stunning gold gown. Yet most puzzling, no other young lady appeared either. As expected, many of the same people were there who had attended the previous proposal party. Amity recognized some faces but doubted she would recall many of their names. Maybe if Henry got engaged three more times, she would be able to remember all his friends.
She wished her private joke cheered her up, but it didn’t.
Lord Waverly was there, of course, and Lord Jeffcoat, with whom Charlotte had been previously partnered. Amity went around the room, meeting them all again, as did the rest of her family.
That night, there was no sit-down dinner, but musicians played in the ballroom while food was served in the dining room on small plates, which could be taken either to the drawing room where some sat on the sofas and chairs to nibble on small meat-filled pastries or to the ballroom, where most everyone ate while stand and chatting. Tall tables had been placed around the edges of the room for setting down one’s food and glass of wine. The chocolates — all four hundred of them — had been set out without fanfare on a dessert table, dwarfing the other sweetmeats, cakes, and puddings.
“I like this relaxed way of dining,” Beatrice said.
“If you’d had a Season,” her mother explained, “you would have experienced the like at some of the larger dances when sit-down meals are impossible.”
“Will there be dancing tonight?” Charlotte asked, her excitement evident.
“Goodness, I hope not,” Amity said. “I can do a poor imitation of a waltz at best.”
“Not true,” Beatrice said. “We can all manage a fair lancer or polka.”
Regardless, it had given Amity another thing to worry about. She looked around, as she’d been doing all evening, to see where Henry was. She expected to spy him with his new ladylove at any instant.
Currently, he stood with Lords Waverly and Jeffcoat, sipping a drink and chatting, looking happier than she’d seen him the entire time he was at her family’s country house.
He turned in her direction while she was staring, and to her mortification, he waved.
She spun on her heel away from his gaze. “I think I have to go home.”
Her father put a hand under her elbow. “What is wrong? Are you ill?”
“I suspect it’s simply nerves,” her mother said, and in an uncharacteristically firm tone, she added, “You cannot go home or we shall all be stranded. Why don’t you go speak with His Grace?”
“Mother! No. That definitely won’t help my nerves.”
“He’s coming over,” her father said cheerfully.
“God help me,” Amity said. “I think I’m going to be sick. Where is the closest water-closet?”
Grabbing Beatrice’s arm for support, she dashed from the room, even as she could feel the duke behind her, making her skin prickle with awareness.
After a few minutes in the luxurious retiring room with Beatrice applying a damp cloth to the back of her neck, being careful not to get a drop of water on the silk, Amity felt no better.
“I knew I shouldn’t have come. I’m liable to melt into a pool of humiliation and sadness on the ballroom floor if the duke so much as smiles at me. Look at my hands.”