An Unexpected Proposal (St Daine Family 1)

L
ady Claire Leighton
peered covertly across the crowded ballroom from behind her mother's shoulder, almost wincing in despair at the crush. This early in the Season, the weather was still a bit chilly, but with so many people in attendance, the Kelsing's receiving room – an antechamber off the rather large ballroom where they waited – was already sweltering. That she was wearing several layers of clothing did not help. Her fingers gripped the ivory and lace fan suspended by a silken cord from her wrist and she toyed with it while waiting for her party to be announced.

The ballroom was gorgeous, done up with colorful streamers of crepe, statues and sculptures, and hundreds upon hundreds of brightly sparkling lights. A low dais had been erected in the center of the room for the musicians and of the hundred or so guests who had already gone through the receiving line, a score or more had paired off into couples and were enjoying a turn about the dance floor. At the far end of the ballroom, on the wall opposite the doors leading out to the gardens, a long table had been laid with a sumptuous buffet for tonight's guests.

Everything seemed so perfect, but then, no one expected anything less than perfection when a Kelsing presented one of their own to Society. Everyone knew the Locke, St. Daine, and deVere families were very close – so close it had been no surprise to Claire to learn that Lady Christina Locke and Lady Phoebe St. Daine would share the focus of attention at their first ball – which just happened to be the first ball of the Season. And it was to be a Kelsing ball, no less.

Bringing her gaze a bit closer to the area where she stood with her mother and father, the Earl and Countess of Sterne, Claire caught a glimpse of the receiving line. At the head stood the Duke of Kelsing and beside him, his mother, Lady Jocelyn, the current duchess. Next was his sister, Lady Christina Locke, who was making her debut tonight. Beside Christina was her older sister, Julia, and then the Duke of Rothwyn, who stood beside his grandmother, Lady Amelia, the dowager duchess. Next was Rothwyn's sister, Lady Phoebe St. Daine, who was also making her bow during tonight's festivities. She shared the end of the line with Lord Nicholas Locke.

The Duke of Ambray, Claire noted, was conspicuously absent, as expected, but it was the dukes who held Claire's concern, mainly because they were the chief reason for her attendance this evening. Well, the dukes and Melisande, she amended.

Her gaze flitted to her left where Lady Melisande Ruebrige, daughter and only offspring of the Marquess of Dunheath stood, her coppery tresses trickling down a vivid field of brighter than customary yellow and had to stifle a grin. Only Mel would dare attempt to wear such a bright pastel with that particular shade of hair color. But Claire considered her friend's sunny choice tonight to be a bit of a nod to the “old Mel” – the outspoken young lady who was often seen as unruly and considered far too brash by their peers.

Claire, too, was occasionally guilty of seeing her friend as somewhat scandalously ambitious, but tonight, she was happy to see the “old Mel” gone, having been replaced by a much more demure, composed, and mature young lady who was more than prepared and ready to become a duchess. In fact, to do so was her only goal.

Like Claire, this was Mel's third Season, her third attempt to snare a husband on London's marriage mart, and she meant to have no less than a duke. Granted, her aspirations had first been much higher – her first year out, she had had hopes of winning the promise of Prince Simeon of Kozla, but alas, the fellow's heart had been captured by Mel's best friend and confidant at the time – Lady Helena Blackthorpe, who soon became Her Royal Highness, Lady Helena Blackthorpe Pietroc, Princess of Kozla.

Losing the prince to her best friend had been quite a blow to Melisande's expectations. If put to the question, most of tonight's guests would likely concur that the prince's choosing another over her had affected nothing so much as it had dented Mel's ego, but Claire knew better and now, Melisande was determined if she could not have a prince, nothing less than a duke would do – and she was determined to secure a proposal of marriage by the end of the Season.

At first, Claire had found it amusing, Mel's misguided belief that the answer to her future happiness lay in becoming a duchess, but once she understood what drove the lovely, titian-haired beauty, she was not adverse to assisting her friend with finding said duke if it meant Melisande would be happy at last.

For herself, however, Claire would prefer to do anything
but
choose a husband, or have some man choose her to wife. A proposal of marriage was the last thing she wanted – for now.

Her gaze moved to her father's broad shoulders and immediately shuttered. Nay, she was not eager to bind herself to any man if they were of the same mind as her father – and her two previous Seasons had her convinced most of them were. Wives, men seemed to believe, were for the begetting of heirs, of property, or for display if they were particularly lovely. But rarely were they the object of a man's true affection. The gentler emotions were reserved for one's mistress, it seemed, and that was something Claire could not tolerate.

Her gaze slid to her mother and she felt a pang of pity, which she rapidly suppressed. Poor Mum. She spent so much of her days trying to gain Father's attention and affection, only to lose what meager notice she managed to gain the minute they returned to
Town
. Claire wondered, not for the first time, why her mother had not realized the earl kept a mistress. Not that she should know of such things, but it had been through no fault of her own that she had stumbled upon Father and Lady Somerton last May in the Bedderfelt's withdrawing room.

“Claire, are you quite certain I look presentable? My hair is not falling about my shoulders, is it?” Melisande fretted in a whisper, interrupting Claire's thoughts.

She cast a quick glance in Mel's direction and shook her head. “Your hair is fine, Mel, as is the rest of you.”

And it was true. Although the gown she had chosen might be a bit brighter than Claire would have wished for tonight's introduction to two of the three dukes Melisande had set her sights upon to marry, it did create the perfect compliment to her darker coloring. So, too, did the creamy smoothness of the pearls at her ears and neck. Melisande did not think so, but Mel often labored under the misguided notion that nothing she wore was complimentary, just as she believed no one ever really heard or noticed her, despite the fact her name was frequently on everyone's lips.

After what had seemed like hours, the group in front of them moved, at last, and Claire let her fan drop. Gathering her skirts in one hand, she whispered to Melisande, “Chin up, Mel. It is time to begin.”

M
elisande straightened
, pasting what she hoped resembled a polite smile on her lips, and started forward with the Leighton's to be introduced to two of this Season's most promising young ladies. Not that she was after an introduction to the girls. No, she was more interested in the gentlemen at their sides. “The Graces,” as she and Claire had subtly dubbed the dukes of Kelsing, Rothwyn, and Ambray, were her true targets – only it sounded so very crass to think of the trio of close friends as such, she thought.

She was not seriously singling either of them out, and none for nefarious purposes, she argued with her conscience. Nay, she was merely after a proposal. Nothing more, nothing less, and her plan to secure one was certainly no more wrong than the intentions of any of the gentlemen who had come here tonight to meet the newest debutantes making their way onto the marriage mart for the first time. Still, as she stepped forward to acknowledge the Duke of Kelsing, Melisande felt a moment of unease.

These men were not to be taken lightly.

As noble peers of the realm, they each were important personages, which had played a big part in the reason she had placed these two at the top of her list of dukes; they were both currently eligible and also acceptable choices for a husband.

There were actually
three
dukes at the top of her list but the Duke of Ambray had obviously elected to decline his invitation to tonight's affair. The man was both eccentric and reclusive, according to gossip, but that same gossip lauded him as being one of the most rakishly handsome men in all England. Melisande would not be opposed to wedding such a coveted man, she decided, provided her other requirements were equally well met, and so, she had added a third duke to her list of prospects.

Voices intruded upon her thoughts and she allowed her smile to widen. Just a touch, though. She would be especially careful to not appear overly impressed or eager. Not tonight. Tonight was for introductions only. Later, once it was acceptable to do so without gaining the censure of the
ton
, she would begin her campaign for a noble husband in earnest.

Claire's father, Lord Audrey, made the introduction to the Duke of Kelsing, and Mel held out her hand to the man while her eyes made a careful study of his physique from top to toe.

Sebastian Locke was a beautiful man, all golden-haired and blue eyed, tall and breathtakingly handsome in his evening wear. Any normal woman would become weak in the knees merely from looking at him, Melisande thought, and yet, she found the moment strangely disappointing.

A quick, desperate glance at Claire, who frowned and shook her head before moving ahead of her along the receiving line, warned her she was allowing her disappointment to show on her face. Forcing her features to smooth, she corrected her smile before stopping to say hello to the dowager duchess of Kelsing, Lady Jocelyn Locke, and then to congratulate her daughter, Lady Christina, on inspiring such a fine turn out. She could not resist an inquisitive peek back at the Duke of Kelsing, however, before she was ushered along to make the acquaintance of the next duke in the receiving line. She had felt nothing when he looked at her, yet she had been expecting...

The truth was, Melisande was not exactly sure
what
she had thought to feel, but she certainly had been looking forward to
something
. A twinge of interest, maybe, or even a lingering look? Helena, her oldest and dearest friend despite the fact she was now married to the prince Melisande had once thought to wed, swore there would be something—either in his eyes, in the way he looked at her, or in his voice that would help her to know he was the right duke for her. But with the Duke of Kelsing, Melisande felt nor saw neither of those things and she was certain the lack did not bode well for the evening, which was likely why her smile had begun to falter by the time she was introduced to the Duke of Rothwyn.

Sebastian's opposite in every way, Lucien St. Daine was dark. Dark hair, dark looks; of the two dukes present tonight, he was by far the most forbidding, though he smiled and politely murmured all the correct phrases to indicate it was his pleasure to meet her. Her eyes sought and met his and her spirits fell still more because the distraction she saw in his gaze was all too familiar. He looked at her, yes, but like her father, he did not really seem to
see
her.

By the time she had made her way through to the end of the receiving line, Melisande was convinced the plan she and Claire had carefully laid during the previous weeks was doomed to fail. Having met two of the three
Graces
, she was no longer sure either of them could help her with her problem. Grabbing Claire by the hand, she offered a hurried apology over her shoulder to Claire's mother while whisking Claire quickly away toward the ladies retiring room.

“
N
ow
there
is
one who quite catches both the eye and the imagination.”

The husky sound of a male voice washed over Claire like a current, making her footsteps falter and her body shiver in response. Not from a chill, but rather, the opposite. Turning slightly so as not to appear as if she were seeking out anyone in particular, she shook her hand free of Melisande's and lifted her head, her eyes climbing high along the rather tall frame of an elegantly dressed man.

Her gaze wandered along from his black Hessians, up along, muscular thighs to lean, tapered hips, across a white lawn covered abdomen encased by a beautifully embroidered vest, coat, and overcoat, and then higher still, past his perfectly drawn cravat to the shadow of a very strong jaw. Above this, a pair of soft lips, slightly curled in amusement twitched, causing her wandering eyes to snap upward to meet his gaze, to see if he had caught her staring at him unabashedly only to discover, mortified, the Duke of Rothwyn had obviously been watching her the entire time.

His hazel eyes lit with golden sparks of humor, giving his face an expression which bordered on mischief. Claire felt her breath catch and would have looked away, but he nodded in acknowledgment of her perusal and she found she could not do so. As if he realized her inability to break the sudden connection between them, his eyes darkened to a deeper shade of green and his lips curled upward ever more into one of the most rakish smiles she had ever seen.

“Though I daresay one might find conversation with her more than a mite lacking,” he finished unkindly, tilting his head toward Mel, and Claire started to offer a few words in retort, but recalling where she was—inside the Kelsing's lavish ballroom, surrounded by hundreds of their peers—she lifted her chin and turned away from the brilliant green of his eyes to wordlessly follow Melisande away from the receiving line.

“They hate me, Claire,” Mel whispered the moment she was sure they were alone. “The Duke of Kelsing listened attentively but did not
hear
me. The Duke of Rothwyn looked but did not
see
. What am I to do now?”

Claire's voice was reassuring. “Nonsense, Mel.
The Graces
have only just met you! There is a reason people say patience is a virtue, you know. We have several weeks ahead of us during which we will impress them with your suitability as a duchess, but until then, you simply must relax. You will cause your lovely face to wrinkle prematurely if you continue to frown so.”