Jeremy was adjusting his suit in the opulent dressing room, his fingers deftly arranging the folds of his intricately tied cravat. The door swung open, and Gabriel entered without ceremony.
"Is knocking not common knowledge to you?" Jeremy inquired, his voice tinged with annoyance.
"Only when it comes to you, Jeremy," Gabriel replied, a wide grin spreading across his face as he leaned nonchalantly against the door frame.
"Quite a lot of people here tonight in honour of the dear duke," Gabriel continued, his tone casual as he surveyed the room.
Jeremy sighed miserably. "Hopefully, many people will leave early tonight. I want this over and done with." The thought of his mother's incessant matchmaking efforts threatened to ruin the evening for him. He had no aversion to gatherings per se, but the notion of potential betrothals weighed heavily on his mind.
"How welcoming," Gabriel remarked sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.
"Mother is waiting for you. She seems to be growing more annoyed by the minute," Gabriel added, his tone now more serious.
"Well, let us head off then," Jeremy said, passing Gabriel and striding through the doorway. As they descended the grand staircase, the imposing figure of their mother came into view.
"About time! We mustn't be late for your own welcome ball," Lady Morvall complained, her voice sharp with irritation.
"No, we mustn't," Jeremy agreed, offering his elbow to his mother. Lady Morvall took his arm, and together they strode towards the ballroom entrance.
"I know it has been a while since you have been here, but please do not do anything ridiculous," Lady Morvall said as they stood before the grand doors, waiting for their names to be announced.
"You still doubt my behaviour?" Jeremy asked teasingly, glancing at his mother.
"Well, should I?" Lady Morvall turned to her son, her expression serious.
"No, you shouldn't," Jeremy replied softly, placing his hand over his mother's, providing her with comfort and reassurance. The grand entrance began to open, and they took their first step into the ballroom as their arrival was announced.
"Duke of Darlington and Lady Morvall," the herald's voice echoed through the halls of the estate.
As Jeremy made his entrance, every eye in the room turned to him, captivated by his commanding presence. His coat, tailored to perfection in a deep navy adorned with intricate gold embroidery, emphasized his noble stature. He descended the marble staircase with an air of effortless grace.
The ladies, their hairstyles elaborate with feathers and jewels, watched in awe, their eyes sparkling with admiration. The gentlemen, resplendent in their frock coats and waistcoats, nodded in silent acknowledgment of his status.
The ballroom was a spectacle of opulence, with chandeliers casting a warm glow over the polished dance floor. A live orchestra, hidden in an alcove, filled the room with enchanting melodies that beckoned couples to take to the floor for waltzes and quadrilles.
"I must say, Mother, this ball looks divine," Jeremy complimented as they strolled through the crowd.
"Well, I do try my best when it comes to our events," Lady Morvall replied with a satisfied smile. Suddenly, she halted and turned Jeremy in the opposite direction.
"Jeremy, there is someone I want you to meet," Lady Morvall said, steering him towards a pair of blonde ladies who appeared to be mother and daughter.
Dread swept over Jeremy as he recognized the look of intention in his mother's eyes. The ladies curtseyed as he approached.
"Your Grace," the elder woman said.
"Son, this is Countess Marwood and her daughter, Jane Marwood," Lady Morvall introduced, tugging Jeremy's arm to bring him closer.
"Ladies, I hope you are enjoying yourselves tonight," Jeremy said politely.
"I should say the same to you; this ball is for you," Countess Marwood replied with a laugh. Jeremy noted that Jane Marwood avoided eye contact, her youthful features marked by shyness.
"Pardon us, but my mother and I have a private matter to discuss," Jeremy said abruptly, turning away with his mother's arm still linked in his.
Out of earshot, Jeremy turned to Lady Morvall, frustration evident. "Mother, what are you trying to accomplish?"
"I wanted to introduce you to Countess Marwood and her daughter," Lady Morvall replied, feigning innocence.
"What is your reasoning behind that?" Jeremy asked tensely.
"If you must know, I believe that Lady Jane is a suitable match," Lady Morvall said nonchalantly.
"She looks like a child," Jeremy protested.
"She is of debuting age. Seventeen, if you must know," Lady Morvall said defensively.
"Still far too young for me, being nearly thirty," Jeremy countered.
"Jeremy, you are only seven and twenty," Lady Morvall corrected.
"Still, I find her too young," Jeremy stated firmly.
"I would like to greet some old friends before I am faced with another one of your 'friends'," Jeremy said, excusing himself and moving towards a group of noble gentlemen.
As he mingled with his acquaintances, Jeremy's mind was elsewhere. He knew he must find a way to balance his duty to his family and his own desires, but for now, he would endure the evening with as much grace as he could muster.
Jeremy moved through the throng of guests, exchanging polite nods and greetings with those who sought his attention. The atmosphere was thick with the heady blend of perfumes and the hum of conversation. He finally spotted a group of his old friends, gathered near a grand marble column adorned with an extravagant floral arrangement.
"Jeremy! There you are," called out Sir Richard Worthington, a robust man with a hearty laugh. He clapped Jeremy on the back, his jovial nature infectious.
"Richard, it is good to see you," Jeremy replied with genuine warmth. "It has been far too long."
"Indeed, it has. We have all been eagerly awaiting your return," said Lord William Hastings, a slender gentleman with sharp features and a keen intellect. "How fares the estate?"
"Thriving, thanks to my capable stewards. I confess, I have missed the camaraderie of London," Jeremy admitted, casting a glance around the room.
"London has missed you too," remarked another familiar voice. Jeremy turned to see Edward Montgomery, a longtime friend and fellow member of the ton. "We were beginning to think you had forsaken us entirely."
"Never," Jeremy said with a laugh. "Though I must say, a quieter life has its appeals."
As the group continued their conversation, Jeremy's brother Gabriel approached, a new face in tow. Gabriel's eyes sparkled with the excitement of an introduction yet to be made.
"Jeremy, allow me to introduce Adrian Camden, the next Viscount," Gabriel announced with a flourish. "Adrian, this is my brother, Jeremy, Duke of Darlington."
Adrian Camden stepped forward, bowing slightly. He was a handsome young man, his dark hair neatly styled, and his demeanor exuding confidence. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Grace," Adrian said, his voice smooth and courteous.
"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Camden," Jeremy replied, extending his hand. "I understand congratulations are in order for your recent elevation."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Adrian said, shaking Jeremy's hand with a firm grip. "My father has entrusted me with greater responsibilities as of late. It is an honour, though a daunting one."
"You will manage well, I am certain," Jeremy said, noting the young man's composed demeanor. "Tell me, how do you find the responsibilities thus far?"
"Challenging, but rewarding," Adrian replied earnestly. "There is much to learn, but I am fortunate to have wise counsel. Your brother has been most kind in offering guidance."
Gabriel grinned. "Adrian and I have struck up quite the friendship. He has a keen mind for estate management and a genuine interest in the welfare of his tenants."
"That is commendable," Jeremy said approvingly. "A landlord who cares for his people is worth his weight in gold."
The group continued to converse, discussing the latest news from London, the prospects for the coming season, and the state of their various estates.
As Jeremy rejoined the throng in the ballroom, it wasn't long before he was once again surrounded by eager mothers and their marriageable daughters. The first to approach was Lady Harrington, who, with a determined smile, introduced her daughter, Miss Charlotte Harrington.
"Your Grace, may I present my daughter, Charlotte," Lady Harrington said, her eyes bright with hope.
"Miss Harrington," Jeremy greeted, bowing politely. "Would you do me the honour of this dance?"
Charlotte, a petite girl with a sweet disposition, blushed and accepted. As they took to the floor, Jeremy led her gracefully through the waltz, his mind partially engaged in the dance but wandering to the numerous similar introductions he knew would follow.
When the dance ended, he escorted Miss Harrington back to her mother, only to be immediately intercepted by Lady Fitzroy and her daughter, Miss Amelia Fitzroy. The process repeated itself: a polite introduction, a brief dance, and a courteous farewell.
This pattern continued with Lady Wellesley and Miss Sophia Wellesley, Lady Montrose and Miss Evelyn Montrose, and several others. Jeremy's patience was wearing thin, and his forced smiles were becoming increasingly strained. As he was about to lead Miss Harriet Pembroke onto the dance floor, a familiar, unpleasant sound reached his ears.
It was a laugh—rich, mocking, and unmistakably belonging to Earl Barrett. Accompanying the laugh was the simpering voice of his daughter, Fiona Barrett. The pair had once attempted to smear Jeremy's reputation, spreading malicious rumors in a futile effort to elevate their own standing. Thanks to Jeremy's and Gabriel's swift intervention, Lady Morvall had been kept blissfully unaware of the scandal.
The sight of Earl Barrett and Fiona standing near the refreshment table, speaking animatedly, filled Jeremy with a sudden, overwhelming urge to escape. His calm demeanor slipped momentarily, and he hastily excused himself from Miss Pembroke with a vague promise of a later dance.
Navigating through the crowded ballroom, Jeremy slipped out through a side door, making his way to the library—a sanctuary that had once been his late father's favorite retreat. The library was a grand room lined with mahogany bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. A large fireplace dominated one wall, flanked by comfortable armchairs that invited quiet contemplation.
Jeremy closed the door behind him, the noise of the ball muffled to a distant hum. He took a deep breath, the familiar scent of old books and polished wood calming his frayed nerves. He walked to the large desk at the center of the room, running his hand over its smooth surface, remembering the many evenings he had spent here with his father.
Sinking into one of the armchairs, Jeremy allowed himself a moment of respite. The flickering firelight cast a warm glow, and he leaned back, closing his eyes. The weight of his title, his mother's expectations, and the persistent social maneuvering at the ball seemed to lift slightly in this quiet refuge.
Unaware of a certain lady already seeking refuge in the same library.