Felicity laughed joyously at the not-particularly-funny comment Baron Grenville made, tapped him flirtatiously on the arm with her fan, then sent a quick look in the Duke of Greystone’s direction.
Good. He was looking at her. He would see that she had completely forgotten about their time together and had not given him a second thought since he walked out of her life. She did not remember the flowers he had sent her, the ones she had pressed so lovingly between the pages of her poetry books, intending to keep forever, but instead had thrown out the moment the season was over. She had not kept his gifts, either, but had passed them on to the happy servants, who were pleased to receive such expensive jewellery. Her only stipulation for them accepting the gifts was they were never to wear the brooches, cameos or pendants in her presence.
She had even burnt the miniature of him he had given her. The one she was supposed to place in her silver locket so he would always be close to her heart. As if she’d want that man anywhere near her heart ever again.
Despite herself, she flickered another look in his direction. He was leading Lady Margaret Smythe out onto the floor. She looked so delighted to be on the arm of the handsome, eligible duke. Felicity was tempted to rush across the room and inform Lady Margaret that yes, he was handsome, with those deep brown eyes, that curly black hair and that strong jawline, but it meant nothing when his heart was as dark as his eyes.
‘Lady Felicity,’ Baron Grenville interrupted her thoughts.
She smiled at him and hoped she was not being rude.
‘You promised me the quadrille.’
‘Of course I did. I’ve been looking forward to dancing with you all evening.’
This assuaged the baron’s feelings and he led her across the floor to join one of the sets of four couples. Felicity’s body went stiff. She nearly tripped over her silk ballroom slippers. The baron was leading her straight to the group that included the Duke of Greystone and Lady Margaret.
‘Are you all right, my dear?’ Baron Grenville asked. ‘You’ve gone rather pale.’
She attempted a small laugh. ‘I’m quite all right, I assure you,’ she lied.
She could not dance with that man, she simply could not. She looked over her shoulder. Would it be deemed appalling behaviour if she ran from the ballroom, out onto the street, and hailed a hansom cab to take her home?
Of course it would. She was trapped and had to go through with this dance.
She placed her hand on her stomach and fought to calm herself with slow, deep breaths.
This is all for the best, she told herself. Now that he was back in the country, it was certain their paths would eventually cross. She could get their first meeting over and done with, then forget about it.
When the time came, she would dance with the duke. He would have no effect on her whatsoever and she would prove to him and herself that even if they had once talked of love, she for one had never thought it meant a thing, and like him, had forgotten all those precious moments as if they had never happened.
With that she raised her head high and put her nose in the air, determined that nothing or no one could undermine her determination to have the best season possible.
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