Callie stood up on her toes and looked around the room, concerned that they might have missed Juliana’s entrance. The hour was growing late for arrivals, and the last thing that a new addition to the ton needed was to be unfashionably late to her first ball. Surely Ralston understood that, Callie thought to herself as she searched for the younger woman.
There had been little doubt that the Salisbury Ball was the ideal place to launch Juliana into society. The annual event, one of the largest and most inclusive of the season, was hosted by the very dear and very kind Earl and Countess of Salisbury, whom Callie had always considered one of the most gracious couples in London. When her father had passed away, it had been Lord and Lady Salisbury who had offered the most support—for both Callie’s devastated mother and for young, ill-prepared Benedick, who had been in dire need of the tutelage that the earl had offered. The Salisburys were friends, and they would welcome Juliana and Ralston without question. Of that, Callie was certain.
Assuming, of course, they ever arrived.
Callie gave a little sigh. She was as nervous as she had been on the night of her own coming out.
“They shall be here,” Mariana said calmly. “I don’t know Ralston nearly as well as you do, but I know enough of him to be certain that he would not miss this evening.” She turned an impish gaze on Callie. “And when he sees you in this dress, he will be very happy that he did not miss it.”
Callie rolled her eyes at her sister and said dryly, “A bit much, Mari, even for you.”
Mariana laughed and gave a delicate shrug. “Perhaps…but true, nonetheless. Hebert has outdone herself. It is a stunning gown.”
Callie looked down at herself, at the drape of blue silk across her bodice and the full, lovely skirt that swayed perfectly when she walked. The fabric, which she had only ever seen in sunlight, took on an entirely different sheen in candlelight. It shimmered as though it were alive, like the bluest of oceans. She gave a little smile at the memory of her image in the mirror tonight. Gone was the dusty old lace-capped spinster; this gown had transformed her.
“They’re here.”
Callie’s reverie was cut short by Mariana’s whisper, and her gaze flew to the entrance of the ballroom, marked by a wide staircase, just long enough to offer attendees an ideal look at those entering the festivities. There were masses of people crowded along the edges of the stairway and on the platform above, but it was impossible to miss the trio that had just arrived.
Juliana was relieved of her pristine white cloak and stood, back straight, perfectly still, in a soft empire-waisted dress of the palest of pinks. It was the perfect gown for the evening—beautifully crafted without being ostentatious, expensive without being gaudy. Just behind her, moving almost in unison, stood Ralston and St. John, shucking their greatcoats to flank their sister. They were twin portraits of determination, each surveying the crowd below as though preparing to do battle. The corner of Callie’s mouth twitched in amusement. London society just might be the closest thing to battle that the people in this room would ever see.
Callie’s gaze settled on Ralston as her heart pounded in her chest, noting the firm set of his jaw and the cool determination in his eyes—so blue that she could see them from where she stood, halfway across the room. And then he was looking at her. She warmed as his gaze lingered, taking in her in. Unconsciously, she sighed, a deep, resigned sigh, and Mariana gave her a little nudge with her elbow. “Callie, do try not to appear as though you’re thoroughly infatuated with the man, will you?”
Callie snapped her head around to her sister, and whispered harshly, “I am doing no such thing!”
“Mmm. And I am Queen Charlotte,” Mariana said dryly, ignoring her sister’s glare before adding, “And so it begins.”
Callie followed the direction of Mariana’s gaze and noted Juliana being presented to the countess and earl. She watched as the young woman fell into a perfectly executed curtsy, eyes downcast, serene smile pasted on her face. The long column of her neck gave her a swanlike grace that was sure to be the envy of every woman in the room who was watching. And they were all watching.
At Callie’s shoulder, Mariana let out a little sound of satisfaction. “She did that better than I’ve ever done!”
Callie ignored Mariana, instead turning her attention to the rest of the ballroom and taking note of the stares directed at Juliana from every direction.
This was not going to be easy.
“I heard that she is illegitimate—by the mother.” A feminine whisper came from Callie’s left, and she turned to see the Duke and Dowager Duchess of Leighton, each staring at Juliana. Callie’s breath hitched in anger as she registered the disdain on the duke’s handsome face as his mother continued, “I cannot imagine why Salisbury would have let her in the door. It’s not as though Ralston’s reputation is much better. I’m sure he’s sired a few on the wrong side of the blanket himself.”
The words, so thoroughly inappropriate and, at the same time, so very expected, were too much. Callie cast a long, quelling look at the duchess—a look meant to be seen.
The Duke of Leighton noticed and matched Callie’s stare with a cool one of his own. “Eavesdropping is a terrible habit, Lady Calpurnia.”
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 plac
e 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 breasts, 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.
He bit back a curse as Oxford and Callie were swallowed up by the teeming crowd of dancers. He could see the shimmering blue of the gown peeking out at him as the wave of people ebbed and flowed, and his mood descended into blackness as the couple moved farther and farther away.
Ralston began to prowl his way around the outside edge of the ballroom, unwilling to allow them to move completely out of sight. As he passed clusters of people, he nodded his acknowledgment halfheartedly, attempting to move slowly enough not to spark curiosity but quickly enough to keep up with the swirling dancers.
“Lord Ralston, it is such a pleasure to see you in attendance this evening,” purred the Countess of Marsden as he pushed past her.
He stopped, unable to be rude despite the woman’s predatory look. Ralston wouldn’t have been surprised to see her dart her tongue across her rouged lips salaciously. “Lady Marsden,” he said, affecting a bored tone that he knew would irritate the countess, “I am happy to have been able to oblige. I should very much like to pay my respects to your husband,” he said, pointedly. “Is he here?”
The countess’s gaze narrowed on him, and he knew his aim had struck true. “No. He isn’t.”
“Ah,” he said, already moving away, distracted. “A pity. Do give him my regards.”
He looked back at the dancers to find Juliana laughing up at Rivington as he whirled her across the ballroom, showing all of London that, half sister or no, foreign or no, Juliana Fiori was as fine a dance partner as any in the room. A burst of emotion flared in Ralston’s chest as he watched his new sister—who had so quickly found a way into his heart—smile up at the duke as though it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be dancing with one of the most revered members of the aristocracy. The ton would be hard-pressed to find fault with the girl, although it would try its very best to do so. Between him and Nick and the Rivington and Allendale families, however, Juliana would be protected—as much as she could be. Forming an alliance with Callie had been one of the best decisions he could have made to ensure Juliana’s acceptance into society.
Callie.
She was remarkable. Even as she had pushed and prodded and refused him, she had delivered on every one of her promises, turning Juliana into a debutante that would make any brother proud. Lord knew he couldn’t have done it on his own, not even with his newly honorable intentions. It was only because of Callie that Juliana was here tonight. She was a vital part of Juliana’s success. And, somehow, she had become a vital part of his life.
The thought spurred him on; all of a sudden, he knew he had to get Callie alone once more. It was no longer that he had to marry her out of respect for propriety and responsibility. It was that he wanted to marry her. Perversely, it seemed that the more she denied him, the more he wanted to marry her, infuriating though she was. Now he just had to convince her that she wanted it, also.
He scanned the crowd, frustrated, searching the writhing mass of bodies for her—eager for a glimpse of blue satin, eager for the dance to be over so that he could steal her away for a private conversation.
The music came to a swirling crescendo, and the couples whirled to a stop. Ralston watched as they began to promenade from the floor as the orchestra paused in its playing. He saw Juliana and Rivington find Mariana and Nick and resume their earlier conversatio
n, but there was no sign of Oxford and Callie.
Where the hell had they gone?
After their waltz, Oxford guided Callie to a small, private antechamber off a long, dark corridor beyond the Salisbury House ballroom. The doors to the hallway had been left open to increase the flow of air into the stifling ballroom and Oxford led her into the secluded area after their waltz, insisting they enjoy a quiet moment together.
Eyeing the doorway, left barely open, Callie offered Oxford a wavering smile. “Thank you, my lord, for your escort,” she said, graciously. “I forget how very cloying balls can be.”
Oxford took a step closer. “Please, do not think of it.”
Callie inched away as he closed the distance between them. “I find I am rather parched, my lord. Perhaps we could return to the ball and find the refreshment room?”
“Or, perhaps, we could distract ourselves from thirst with…other pursuits?” He paused. “Darling.”
Callie’s brows rose at the endearment. “My lord,” she said in protest as he stepped closer, forcing her up against the wall next to the door to the hallway. Nervousness coursed through her. “Baron Oxford!” she exclaimed, uncertain of his motives.
He leaned in, closer. “Rupert,” he corrected, “I think it is time we dispense with formalities. Don’t you?”
“Baron Oxford,” she said firmly, “I should like to return. Now. This is highly inappropriate.”
“You won’t think so when you hear what I have to say,” he replied. “You see…” he stopped on a long, lingering pause. “I’m offering you the chance to be my baroness.”
Callie’s eyebrows shot up at his words.
He noted her surprise and tried again, this time speaking to her as though she were a child. “You have the opportunity to marry. Me.”
Dear Lord, was there not a single man in London in possession of an ounce of romance when it came to marriage proposals?