The Duke Identity (Game of Dukes #1)(74)
“Miss Smith,” her chaperone hissed.
Ransom’s lips curved, and he kissed her hand before departing.
“Flaunting one’s deficiencies is no way to reel in His Grace.” The baroness gave her a dark look. “Why can’t you at least try to flirt?”
Because I don’t want to marry him.
Tessa shrugged. “Why bother when my dowry is the true bait?”
“Your flippancy is unbecoming, Miss Smith. Your grandpapa will be made aware of this,” von Friesing warned. “I shan’t be held accountable for your lack of cooperation.”
“Crikey, I’ve danced with His Grace twice,” she protested. “To cooperate any more, I’d have to offer to do the buttock jig with him on the dance floor.”
“Mind the vulgarity.”
“Who’s going to hear me?” Tessa crossed her gloved arms over her chest. “Everyone’s avoiding me like the plague.”
It was Mrs. Southbridge’s all over again. She was alone (except for the bristling company of the baroness which, frankly, was worse than being alone). And seeing Lady Hyacinth huddled with her cronies, their smirks as they whispered behind fans, Tessa knew who, once again, was the ringleader behind her social ostracism.
She told herself she didn’t care. Held onto the advice that Bennett had given her.
You’re not the same girl you were… You know your worth… Take no notice of them…
She craned her neck for any sign of Bennett. She was scanning the alcoves along the perimeter when a female voice said, “What a delightful costume.”
Tessa swung around to see that she’d been approached by a lovely brunette and an equally lovely blonde. The former’s orange-and-black striped gown suggested she was a tigress while the latter wore the soft, white plumage of a dove. The ladies were escorted by tall, dazzlingly attractive gentlemen who’d eschewed costumes, their black demi-masks their only nod to the masquerade.
Tessa blinked. “Are you, um, talking to me?”
Beside her, the baroness froze at the sight of the newcomers, her jaw going oddly slack.
“Why, yes. I wanted to complement you on your ferret costume.” The brunette’s smile and tea-colored eyes radiated genuine warmth. “I have great respect for originality.”
“Oh…thank you.” Tessa didn’t know what shocked her more, the lady’s perceptiveness or her compliment. “You’re the first person here to guess that I’m a ferret.”
“My wife is shockingly astute.” This came from the black-haired gentleman. His wicked good looks could appear quite cold, Tessa imagined, but his jade eyes were warmly amused as he regarded his lady. “And original also. For instance, she eschews introductions and launches into conversation.”
“Oh, dear. How amiss of me.” The brunette flushed prettily. “I am Emma, and the gentleman teasing me mercilessly is my husband, the Duke of Strathaven. This is my younger sister Polly,”—she waved to the voluptuous golden-haired lady—“and her husband Sinjin. They are the Duchess and Duke of Acton.”
“How do you do?” Hastily, Tessa sank into a curtsy. “I’m Miss Theresa Smith. And this is my, um, aunt, Baroness von Friesing.”
“A pleasure, Your Graces.” The baroness bowed low.
“How are you enjoying the ball?” The Duchess of Acton possessed a shy smile and stunning aquamarine eyes.
“I’m not really—ouch.” Tessa glared at the baroness, who’d elbowed her in the side. “What did you do that for?”
“My charge has enjoyed herself immensely,” von Friesing gushed. “In fact, the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville has paid particular attention to her and asked her to dance twice.”
“Which is the sum total of the times I’ve been on the dance floor,” Tessa muttered.
“A fact that must be remedied.” The Duchess of Strathaven tilted her head at her husband. “Strathaven, weren’t you just saying you fancied a dance?”
The duke bowed. “Would you do me the honor, Miss Smith?”
To her bemusement, Tessa found herself doing a Scottish Reel with Strathaven. And then a Quadrille with the Duke of Acton. After that, the duchesses took her under their collective wing, insisting that she call them “Emma” and “Polly” and introducing her to a plethora of people. To Tessa’s surprise, she was welcomed into the fold.
Her dance card began to fill up. And even though her partners were aristocrats, they were actually nice to her. Her current partner was the Earl of Ruthven, a fit man with thick, greying hair and an avuncular manner. He led her into a waltz, navigating the constellation of bright, spinning gowns.
“What a charming cat you make, Miss Smith,” he said.
“I’m a ferret, actually.” When she saw his green eyes flicker behind his black feathered mask, she said quickly, “If it makes you feel any better, I’m not sure what you are either. A crow or raven perhaps?”
“I’m open to your interpretation.” He smiled. “In truth, I was a late addition to the guest list, and my valet scavenged this mask from God knows where.”
“Are you well acquainted with the host?” she asked as they whirled to the music.
“I do not know anyone in this room well. I am newly come into the title, you see, and from a distant branch of the family that no one expected to inherit.” He looked rueful. “Yet here I am.”