Desperate Dance with the Dashing Duke

A not so well-intentioned lady of high society in the Kingdom of Dorvoss once said that if you looked at a wall and then looked at Eloisa St. James, you would be hard pressed to find a difference. While Eloisa herself had never once thought she bore any resemblance to a wall, she could not deny that her shyness often led her to seek comfort in the sturdy outskirts of society’s teeming ballrooms. But not today. Today she would be bold. After all, this was her last chance.

Eloisa stood in front of the gilt mirrors of the lady’s washroom at the Royal Grand Ballroom and tried not to think about the way her heart was pounding in her ears or the painful way her stomach was twisting into knots. She let out a shaky breath and focused her eyes on her reflection. Her brown hair was done up in loose curls that framed her soft, round face, and hazel eyes that seemed to say, ‘I’d rather run away.’ Her small but full mouth was done with a light pink blush to favor her sky-blue dress that featured a lace collar and decolletage. Pale gloves reached up past her elbows, and a small fan hung loosely from her wrist, bumping against a dance card that was ominously absent of any names. Yes, she thought, tonight she’d managed to look as best as was feasible. Which was fortunate, because everything hinged on the success of this ball, and the stakes couldn’t be higher.

What was it that could compel Eloisa to venture forth from the barren corners of the party and make a play for society’s highest prize? Why, nothing less than her desire for freedom. Viscount St. James may have been a pillar of the Kingdom’s nobility, honored and admired by all, but as a father he spared only enough attention to garnish his daughters with riches and adornments to endear them to society. Well, his favored daughters that is. Eloisa, the youngest, fell woefully short in his eyes and those of the Viscountess, whose cutting remarks left scars as deep as any battle wound. 

Eloisa never knew why she was so different from her sisters, so different as to be unworthy of the love of a family, a love which most seemed to possess so easily, but which she had spent the 21 years of her life desperately coveting. But no longer. Armed with vital information obtained at a party `through the noble pursuit of eavesdropping, Eloisa was taking her fate into her own hands.

This season had been shaping up to be as tortuous as she had feared, but things took a turn thanks to a crucial conversation Eloisa overheard in the gardens of a party early in the season. After being subjected to nasty remarks made by society’s bejeweled tyrants, Eloisa had fled to the gardens to lose herself amongst the begonias. The plants and flowers at least, had nought to say if she chose to simply stand in silence and become one with the grassy path.

A trio of gossiping ladies had approached her as she was just about to make do on her threat to become one with nature. Forced into the shadow of some shrubbery, she awaited their passage.

From her hiding spot amongst the flora, she heard their voices twittering on in hushed tones. The subject of their furtive excitement? The heroic and feverishly handsome Duke of Castan, Declan Castan. Notoriously cold towards the women who coveted his hand in marriage and often absent from the Kingdom’s social scene, the Duke was the subject of much information trading between noble ladies over tea. Eloisa was not normally one to take much heed of society’s comings and goings, but upon hearing the conspirators’ voices pass by, she had cause to take heed; because from her leafy hideout, she had the great fortune to learn a closely kept society secret: that there was a clause in the Castan Duchy entitlement that required the heir to take a wife within three years of inheriting his title and stay married for three more to retain it.

With this information regarding the Duke’s circumstances, Eloisa realized there just might be a chance for her and her dreams of a different life. So, she gathered up all the courage she could muster and resolved herself to propose a radical contract with society’s most eligible bachelor.

Having steeled herself for the coming trial, Eloisa emerged from the washroom feeling as a general might on the precipice of battle and scanned the party. There he was! Standing off to the side, making conversation with a few other attendees, was the handsome Duke Declan Castan. And Eloisa had to admit that the society gossip had been right, he really was as attractive as described. Tall and broad shouldered, he cut an impressive figure even at this distance. Shining black hair that curled slightly around his ears, piercing blue eyes framed in lashes that had no business being wasted on man, and a jawline that any artisan would dream of sculpting into marble. 

The people around him began to disperse, and seeing her opportunity, she quickly downed a glass of liquid courage and strode toward him.

Declan Castan was bored. Truthfully, this was no special occurrence as he often found himself surrounded by a dampening fog of dullness whenever he was forced to sheath his sword and dismount his horse to attend these social functions. But tonight seemed especially suffocating, and even the myriad of bubbling drinks offered no respite from the droning on of the various nobility who sought his favor. He may need a wife this season, but he saw no reason why he should have to dance with whoever she might be before proposing. He was perfectly happy looking at portraits and picking the one who looked least likely to run at the first sign of the hardship that was inevitable in the cold northern reaches of his land. 

But the King had insisted, saying, “The Castan family is a pillar of this Kingdom, and as such we expect you to fulfill your noble obligation and present yourself accordingly.” Loyalty to the crown apparently meant repeatedly reminding everyone of the military honors recently garnered by his efforts at the border. Then there was the fuss about his marriage, and the constant fending off eligible maidens who inevitably swarmed him at these events. It’s not that he disliked women, but he now at the age of 28 and found little enjoyment in the conversational courtesies and courtships required of the social season. Making this whole ordeal feel like a waste of his time and sanity.

As the rabble around him began to break apart, he let his gaze wander about the room. Just then a flash of blue caught his eye. A petite young lady in a blue gown was making her way through the crowd. He wasn’t quite sure what made him stop his perusal of the room to watch her progress, but something about the way she seemed to be marching through enemy territory struck him as amusing. Her face was set in a determined expression that was at odds with her cherubic countenance and as she dodged and weaved through the sea of gowns, he was reminded of a small rabbit, hopping from one spot to the next. He wondered what goal she possessed that made her so intent on crossing the room to the exclusion of all else. 

He turned briefly away to avoid a server laden with drinks, only to turn back to find himself face to face with the little blue rabbit herself, gazing up at him with a look that seemed to say, “you’ve taken my carrots, you villain!” Indeed, at this distance he saw that her expression was not just determined, but slightly nervous and fearful, as if she was being present in front of a firing squad. 

The lady quickly curtsied and said in a soft, rushed voice that only slightly shook, “I greet Your Grace most humbly, I am Miss Eloisa St. James, daughter of Viscount St. James. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Declan saw a few eyebrows raise and fans fwick open nearby, no doubt reacting to the fact that she had introduced herself rather than waiting to be introduced by an acquainted party. Ordinarily he would have used this misstep in etiquette as an excuse to spurn her advance and make a clean getaway, but his curiosity at her strange behavior won over his instinct. 

“The pleasure is mine Miss St. James, I am Declan Castan, Duke of Castan.” He kept his words short, just because he was overlooking this irregularity didn’t mean he was going to rescue her from her actions. She’d started this, and he intended to make her go through with it.

Twisting her fan nervously, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Your Grace, pardon my boldness but I would like to ask you for a small favor.” More twisting of her fan, though she did not drop her gaze. “May I have your next dance?”

Declan raised an eyebrow, inwardly amused by her audacity. Requesting to have his next dance? Ladies never asked for dances, it was up to the gentleman to offer and place their name on the ladies’ dance cards, but it seemed as though she was reversing this turn of phrase to suit her purposes.

Although she had lowered her voice, a few around them let out shocked whispers and more fans opened to conceal scornful mouths, appalled by the impropriety on display. And toward the Duke no less! Had she no shame?!

Declan decided he might as well humor the poor rabbit, besides, hadn’t he just lamented how dull this whole affair was? One dance with this tiny transgressor could provide a more interesting diversion.

“It would be my honor to accept your offer, Miss St. James. Please allow me to escort you to the dance floor.” His voice and expression was cold, but polite. He was the firing squad after all, he’d better live up to her expectations. He held out his hand for her.

She barely contained her surprised intake of breath at his acceptance and placed her hand in his. Together they stepped onto the dance floor.

The next dance was a slow one, which was perfect for Eloisa who desired the noise of the music to drown out the sound of their conversation. Additionally, the dance’s sedate pace would keep them coupled long enough to make her case to the Duke. She couldn’t believe she’d made it this far; she’d thought for sure she’d faint when she’d looked up into his icy blue eyes. They’d looked down at her and she’d felt like prey caught in the trap of a predator who was weighing if it was worth the effort to snuff out her existence.  

His hand was large, and even through the gloves she could feel rough calluses, most likely from wielding a sword. As they turned toward one another, she had to stifle her gasp as his other hand swung around to rest at her back. She could feel his thumb through the sheer lace of her gown and felt herself flushing red at the contact.

As they began their dance the Duke kept his silence, it seemed he would not be throwing her a bone and asking why she had risked social ridicule to approach him.

“Your Grace, I’m sure you must be wondering why I asked for this dance.”

“The thought crossed my mind.” Cold and expressionless as ever.

She swallowed and continued, “My apologies, but I felt I must speak with you most urgently.”

Silence.

She braced herself and went for it, “Your Grace, I have a proposal that I believe will be of interest to you, if you allow me to continue, I believe you will find it most advantageous.”

More silence.

Taking that to mean she had permission to keep going she steeled herself to deliver the line she was most afraid would result in her facing his wrath, “I have become aware of Your Grace’s urgent need to marry this season. I-I myself find myself in a similar situation, um, that is, the need to marry with utmost haste!”

His gaze swung down to meet hers and she could see his eyes narrow, and his hand tighten around hers. He spoke in a low, ominous tone, “Now where did you hear such a thing, and what compels you to repeat such idle gossip to my face?”

Eep! No chance to back out now, better to barrel ahead! “I mean no disrespect Your Grace, I would not normally dare to trouble you but as I said I believe I may be of some assistance.”

He continued to face her with a cutting glare.

“I will get straight to the point then; you see, I desire a marriage in order to be granted freedom from my father’s house. However, a-as you might have seen I am unlikely to attract much in the way of viable suitors this season, and possibly in future seasons as well.” 

“And why pray tell, should I be at all interested in this discussion of your marital prospects?” 

She took a breath and forged ahead, “Ordinarily of course I’m sure you wouldn’t be, Your Grace. But if I may be even bolder, it is no secret that you disdain such functions as this, and it is not hard to guess that you would have little desire to engage in the practice of true courtship. That is where I come in.” She held her breath, wondering if he would leave her stranded on the dance floor as punishment for her nerve.

“…Go on.”

“Y-you see Your Grace, what I am proposing to you is an arrangement of mutual benefit. A contractual marriage if you will. After the required period of three years—”

His eyes flashed as she once again revealed information she shouldn’t possess.

“—a-after three years I would like a divorce. A divorce with a settlement with enough funds to live comfortably in the remote location of my choosing.” There she’d said it, now for last few details, “You would be fulfilling the requirements of maintaining your title, and after the contract is up you would be free to do as you please, for as long as you please without pressure from outside, erm, parties.”

Silence.

“Your Grace?”

His gaze was still stern, but he was no longer looking at her as though he could set her on fire with the force of his will. A small smile touched the corners of his lips as he let his eyes take her in, slowly from the top of her head to her shoes and back up again. She flushed scarlet at his inspection.

“Well, Miss St. James. It seems you have me at a disadvantage. You appear to be quite well informed as to the state of my affairs and yet I know nothing at all about you.” He continued, “I must say your proposal intrigues me. I’m inclined to accept; shall we meet at a more appropriate time and place to discuss the arrangement?”

She took a moment to take in his words, he said yes?? “O-of course Your Grace, you may send word at any time.”

“Very well.” The dance ended and he took her hand and planted a kiss upon her fingers, looking up into her eyes as he said, “Until next time, Miss St. James.”

Eloisa stood on her balcony by the window of her chambers at her home. She wrapped her arms around herself, unable to believe all that had transpired. She’d done it! He’d actually agreed to it! She was going to be free. She rested her elbows on the rail and looked up at the dark night sky, the stars winking back at her as if to say, we see you. The Duke had been terrifying to be sure, but all in all he hadn’t scorned her and had let her finish what she’d needed to say. Her faced burned red hot again as she suddenly remembered the feel of his hands and the brush of his lips. She rubbed her hand reflexively as if to remind herself that it was part of her body. Declan Castan, the dashing Duke… 

She’d fought against her natural inclinations to stand by him on the dance floor and taken her first step toward independence and a life all her own. She turned back towards her room thinking, I may have been but a formless shrub in the garden of society, but tonight even the stars can see me begin to take shape.

Declan Castan sat in his carriage on the way back to his capital residence, considering the events of the night. She had not disappointed him; the hope of a mere distraction had turned into an opportunity he was quite willing to take full advantage of. He looked out the window at the passing street, and the corners of his mouth lifted as he remembered the way her neck and cheeks had blushed red at his touch. 

His aide, Count Malcolm Finrell, rode opposite him in the carriage. His close advisor of many years, wore a frustrated expression on his face, having just been told about what had transpired during the Duke’s dance. 

“Your Grace, you can’t seriously be thinking of making that mousy wallflower your Duchess!” His aide exclaimed scornfully.

The Duke raised his hands to his lips, remembering the feel of the gloved hand he’d kissed. He smiled again and said, “Well Malcolm, a wallflower is, after all, still a flower.”

The carriage rode on in the night, the dashing Duke inside wondering what else would make the small rabbit Eloisa St. James blush from her head to her toes…