A year ago, Callie would not have had the courage to respond—but with a pointed look in the direction of the dowager duchess, she said, “I believe I could think of a worse habit, Your Grace.”
With that, she headed across the ballroom to save Juliana from these vipers.
Mariana was fast on her heels. “Well done, sister!” Mariana applauded her boldness. “The look on their faces! Priceless!”
“They deserved it. Their snobbery is unconscionable,” Callie said absently, focused entirely on getting to Juliana’s side and placing her squarely under the protection of the Allendale name for the evening. It would not stem the gossip, but it most certainly would help matters.
As they pushed through the throng of people, the pair passed Rivington, and Mari placed a quick hand on her betrothed’s arm, speaking so only he could hear. “Come and meet Juliana, Riv.” Of course, Rivington had met the girl before, but the duke knew immediately what Mariana really meant. Come and stamp her with the approval of a dukedom. He followed without pause.
Callie pushed past the last cluster of people to find Juliana standing in an empty area, several feet from the various clusters of revelers nearby who appeared to be so enthralled with their own conversations that they could not bear to interrupt themselves to meet Juliana. Callie knew better. So did everyone else. Ralston and St. John stood on either side of their sister, looking entirely ready to do bodily harm to half of London. Callie met Ralston’s gaze briefly, noting his obvious anger at this society that so easily shunned those it did not immediately accept. How many times had she felt precisely the same way as he did in this moment?
She could not stop to sympathize with him, however. His sister needed her. “Juliana!” she said, her voice high and clear and obvious to those standing nearby, keenly aware of the power of the moment. “I am so happy that you are here! Mariana and I have been waiting for your arrival!”
Mariana clasped Juliana’s hands in her own, and said, “Indeed we have! The evening has been quite dismal without you!” She turned eager eyes on Rivington. “Rivington, don’t you agree?”
The Duke of Rivington bowed low over Juliana’s hand. “Indeed. Miss Fiori, I should very much like to accompany you for the next dance,” he said, his tone warm and a touch louder than usual. “That is, assuming you have not already promised it to another?”
Juliana shook her head, overwhelmed by the moment. “No, Your Grace.”
Mariana beamed up at her future husband, and said, “I think that is an excellent idea!” She then leaned in to Juliana and whispered conspiratorially, “Mind he doesn’t tread on your toes.”
The foursome laughed at Mari’s jest, and Rivington guided Juliana into the center of the room. Mariana and Callie watched as the two took their place and Juliana received her first public acceptance—in the form of a dance with one of the most powerful men in England. The sisters looked to each other, unable to hide their wide, proud smiles.
“I find I should very much like to dance myself,” came a voice close behind them. They turned to find St. John smiling at them. “Lady Mariana, never say you have promised this one to someone else?”
Mari looked down at her dance card and laughed. “Indeed I had, my lord,” she whispered, “although, it appears that my partner has chosen your sister instead.”
Nick shook his head, a tragic frown upon his face. “I shall endeavor to make it up to you, my lady.”
“That would be the gentlemanly thing to do,” Mari said with a brilliant smile, and allowed him to guide her onto the floor.
Callie watched them go, amused. It was almost enough for her to forget that they’d all summarily left her with Ralston. Almost enough.
Uncertain of what to say in light of their last conversation, she turned and met his unreadable gaze. Nervous, she decided on the safest topic. “Lord Ralston,” she said, “it appears your sister is in fine form this evening.”
“Indeed. Thanks to you and your family.”
“Rivington is proving himself to be an excellent soon-to-be member of our motley crew.” Callie’s lips curved in a quiet smile as they watched the dancing couples.
One side of Ralston’s mouth kicked up. “I am indebted to him.” He looked at her, spearing her with a serious look. “And to you.”
His eyes darkened and narrowed as they passed over her, and Callie detected a slight shifting of his weight. And it was then that she knew…he had noticed her dress. Ask me to dance. She knew that it was a terrible idea—that the very last thing she should do was allow herself to be swept away by Ralston tonight—mere hours after refusing his proposal of marriage and resolving to remain far, far away from him. Ask me to dance so that my first waltz in this gown is with you. She quashed the little voice, resolving this moment to stop her silly flights of fancy. Dancing with Ralston was a decidedly awful idea.
“Lady Calpurnia, would you care to dance?”
At first, Callie was legitimately confused by the words, which she had willed Ralston to speak but that instead came from an altogether different direction—over her right shoulder. She blinked uncertainly, barely noting Ralston’s thunderous expression before understanding dawned, and she turned to face Baron Oxford.
No! She resisted the urge to stomp her foot.
She could not refuse his offer; not only would it be the height of impropriety to do so, Callie was certainly in no position to refuse any offer to dance. It wasn’t as though they came fast and furiously. She darted a little glance in the direction of Ralston, briefly wondering if he might step in and claim the dance for himself. She would not deny it if he were to say that he had requested the waltz in question.
But he said nothing, instead watching her with that cold, unreadable gaze. She turned back to Oxford. “I would very much like to dance, my lord. Thank you.”
The baron extended his hand to her, and she settled her palm in his.
When their hands touched, he flashed a broad grin that did not wholly reach his eyes. “Excellent.”
Ralston watched as Oxford guided Callie into the waltz, fury coursing through him at the sight of the other man’s arms wrapped around her—touching her. Only years of training in restraint stayed him from storming out onto the ballroom floor and wrenching her from the clutches of the fortune-hunting dandy.
It should be me dancing with her, for God’s sake. Ralston berated himself as he followed their path around the dance floor, Oxford’s tall frame towering over Callie as he swept her through the room, turning her into a swirl of blue. As if the events that had transpired—her thorough dismissal of him and his marriage proposal—had not smarted enough, now she was in Oxford’s arms, dressed like an angel.
Where the hell had she found a dress like that? It fit her beautifully, embracing and celebrating the lush, feminine shape of her, highlighting her lovely br**sts, the subtle curve of her hips, her voluptuous figure. It was a dress designed to enhance and embolden and drive men mad. It was a dress that served only one purpose—to tempt men into removing it.
At that moment, Oxford and Callie turned in such a way that she was facing Ralston head-on. He met her gaze and was shaken by the sadness in her eyes. There was something about her tonight that was different, more tragic, from other nights. He knew instinctively that he was the reason for her sadness—that he had made a thorough mess of everything, mucking up his marriage proposal, somehow leading her to believe that he didn’t really want to marry her.