The Luck of the Bride (The Cavensham Heiresses #3)(44)

People weren’t interested in her. Certainly not Michael, and why would he? With her height and her muscular frame from farming, she was anything but what eligible men considered beautiful.

If she could fall through the floor, it would be the quickest escape. At her inept error, tears stung, but she refused to let them fall.

“Father, I’ll return shortly,” Lady Miranda offered.

“Take your time. Enjoy yourself.” The encouragement in Lord Fletcher’s tone was unmistakable as the handsome couple proceeded to the dance floor. He turned to the duke and whispered, “They’d make a fine match.”

Without answering Lord Fletcher, the duke regarded her. The gentle empathy in his eyes bore straight through her. “Would you care to dance, Miss Lawson?”

The offer caused another stinging heat to flame her cheeks. The duke must have seen her mistake.

“No, thank you, Your Grace,” she whispered, “I’m finding it extremely warm.”

With a sympathetic smile, he nodded. “Take the exit behind me. It leads to a mezzanine balcony,” he whispered. “You’ll be able to catch your breath there.”

She bowed her head and cleared her throat. The effort did little to tame her humiliation.

Without another word, she quietly took her leave and quickly found the hidden staircase leading to the mezzanine above the dance floor. It was a perfect place to view the crowd below.

Shortly, Bennett stood beside her.

“You aren’t in bed?” she asked.

Bennett’s handsome face split into a merry grin, and like a tonic, she drank in the happy sight. “I haven’t claimed my dance with Lady Somerton yet.”

The earnest statement caused her to laugh. How could she deny him the magical evening? He had every right to enjoy this as much as she did. “I’ll let you stay up for fifteen minutes, then to bed.”

“Indeed,” Emma said. Somehow, March’s pregnant friend had sidled up beside her without making a sound. “I can’t go to bed without my dance either.” Dressed in a satin crimson gown that was daring and bold, the beautiful blond looked up at her and winked. “Besides, I don’t get many chances to escape from Somerton.”

March nodded and glanced down at the ballroom. Dr. Kennett was escorting Faith to the refreshment room. The good doctor must have noticed her sister’s pinched mouth, a clear sign she was growing weary.

Julia danced with the newly titled young Earl of Queensgrace, a representative peer from Scotland sitting for the first time in the House of Lords. By all appearances, the two were enjoying each other immensely.

March’s gaze swept across the ballroom, awash in all colors of the rainbow. She tapped her toes in time to the music, then stopped suddenly. Her traitorous eyes had found Michael dancing with Lady Miranda Fletcher. Enjoying some quip, Michael threw back his head and laughed. It had to be March’s imagination, but his deep mellifluous baritone had traveled all the way up into the mezzanine and wrapped itself around her in a suffocating weight. The joyful sound knocked the breath out of her as if she’d fallen out of a tree.

Desperate to hide her distress, she stared into the distance, willing herself not to steal another peek at the perfection the couple presented to the crowd. Gripping the railing tightly, she didn’t know if she could let go without falling into a heap of velvet, one completely emptied since her soul had withered to nothing. She gasped, not realizing she’d been holding her breath.

Emma’s hand covered hers. “It means nothing. Father wanted him to dance with her as he’s courting Lady Miranda’s father for support in next week’s vote in the House of Lords.”

She didn’t say a word as she continued to stare at the whirling couples below. Finally, she swallowed and found her voice in a shaky tone that betrayed her disquiet. “It’s none of my concern.”

Liar, her mind screamed, but she dismissed the warning. It was too late, as her heart lay pummeled on the ground.

“March.” Emma’s voice softened to a whisper. “Believe me, it’s nothing.”

The orchestra began the second waltz of the evening, and the notes brought forth shimmering memories of the sweet card she’d found enclosed with the dress she wore this evening. Absently, she rubbed her hands down the soft velvet, upsetting the nap. It was exactly how she felt—out of place and out of sorts. She didn’t need a reminder of Michael’s promise of a dance. There was only one more waltz, and that was the supper waltz. She’d already promised it to William and planned to retire shortly afterward.

She’d been a fool to even wish for anything more. He was the Duke of Langham’s heir, and she was nothing more than a shepherdess. For heaven’s sake, she had the scars from the work on her hands, wrists, and arms to prove she wasn’t a lady. How could he ever see a life with her?

She pressed her eyes closed to stop tears from forming. Michael was a good man who treated her fairly after all she’d done. This ball and this night were his world, not hers. She’d do well to remember that piece of wisdom. It’d keep her heart from shattering into smaller and smaller pieces.

She pasted a smile on her lips and turned to Emma and Bennett. “I’d like to see that waltz now, if you please. In minutes, my brother might turn into a rat if he doesn’t go to bed.”

Emma stared at her with a crinkled her brow as if not believing the change of mood.