The Wedding Challenge. Candace Camp

but I am doomed to her lecturing me. She has been doing so all winter.”

      “Oh dear,” Francesca said sympathetically. “Perhaps you should come visit me. My butler has instructions to turn away all dull and stodgy men—or women, for that matter.”

      Callie laughed, opening her fan to hide her mouth as she murmured, “Do not let Grandmother hear that, or she will forbid me to call on you.”

      “Calandra, dear, there you are. Not dancing? And Lady Haughston. How lovely you look, as always.”

      “Thank you, Duchess,” Francesca replied, curtseying. “I must return the compliment, for you are in excellent looks tonight.”

      It was true, of course, for Callie’s grandmother, with her upsweep of snow-white hair and slim, ramrod-straight body, was still an arresting-looking woman. She had been, Callie knew, quite a beauty in her day, and Callie counted herself fortunate that at least the duchess had excellent taste in clothes and had never quibbled about Callie’s choice of wardrobe—aside from a time or two in Callie’s first Season when her grandmother had put her foot down firmly against a ball gown that was other than white.

      “Thank you, my dear.” The duchess smiled in a regal way, taking the compliment as her due. “You know the Honorable Alfred Carberry, do you not?” She turned toward the man at her side, unobtrusively maneuvering things so that the duchess stood facing Francesca and Mr. Carberry was closer to Callie.

      The duchess went on, introducing the women to Carberry. “Lady Haughston. My granddaughter, Lady Calandra. Tell me, Lady Haughston, how is your mother? We must have a nice coze together, for I dare swear I have not seen you since Lord Leighton’s wedding.”

      She laid a hand on Francesca’s arm and glanced over at Callie and Mr. Carberry, effectively separating the two couples. Smiling indulgently, she said, “No doubt you young people would rather not listen to us gossip. Why don’t you ask Lady Calandra to dance, Mr. Carberry, while Lady Haughston and I catch up with each other?”

      Francesca’s brows lifted slightly at being put in a group with the duchess while the honorable Alfred, at least seven or eight years older than she, was termed a young person. However, she knew when she had been outmaneuvered, and she could not help but admire the duchess’s expertise, so, casting a single sparkling glance at Callie, she let the duchess steer her aside.

      Callie, smiling somewhat stiffly, said, “Pray do not feel you must dance with me, sir, just because my grandmother—”

      “Nonsense, my girl,” Mr. Carberry said in the hearty jocular voice that he commonly adopted with his younger relatives. “’Twould be my honor to take a twirl about the floor with you. Enjoying yourself, eh?”

      Callie resigned herself to a dance with the man, reasoning that it would be easier to avoid conversation with him while they were dancing. She was pleased to find, when they took to the floor, that it was a sprightly country dance, which allowed little breath or time for talking, though it was unfortunately a good deal longer than a waltz. She found herself glancing around the floor as they went through the steps, looking for the curving plume of a Cavalier hat.

      Then she had time to do no more than smile and listen to his thanks for the dance before her hand was claimed by her next partner, Mr. Waters. She knew Mr. Waters only slightly, having met him once before, and she had the faint suspicion that the man was probably angling for a wealthy wife, but at least he was a witty conversationalist and a smooth dancer.

      When their dance ended, Mr. Waters suggested a stroll around the room, and Callie agreed. It was almost ten o’clock, which meant that the dancing would shortly cease and soon the guests would start making their way to the supper that would be laid out in the smaller ballroom across the hall. Callie feared that her grandmother would approach her with some “appropriate” escort to lead her in to supper, so she would just as soon stay out of the duchess’s sight for the next few moments.

      They started around the periphery of the room, with her escort making polite conversation about the grandness of the ball, the liveliness of the music and the warmth of the room after the dancing. He paused at one of the doors, open to the terrace to let in some of the refreshingly cold evening air.

      “Ah, that is much better, is it not?” he said. “One can grow quite heated dancing.”

      Callie nodded absently, thinking that perhaps Mr. Waters was not so interesting a conversationalist as she had thought. She glanced around the room and finally spotted her grandmother. The old lady was engaged in conversation with Lord Pomerance, and Callie stifled a groan. Surely her grandmother would not inflict that insufferable windbag upon her! He was younger than Mr. Carberry and less stodgy, but his sense of self-importance was overreaching, and he was certain that everyone around him was deeply interested in all the minute details of his existence.

      “Those two have the right idea,” Mr. Waters continued.

      “What?” Callie’s gaze was fixed on her grandmother.

      Her companion nodded toward the terrace beyond them. “Stepping outside for a bit of fresh air.”

      “Yes, I suppose.”

      The duchess turned her head, searching the room, and Callie knew that she was looking for her.

      Callie whipped around so that her back was to her grandmother. “Yes,” she said quickly. “You are right—a breath of fresh air.”

      She slipped out the door. Her surprised escort hesitated for a fraction of a second, then grinned and hurried out after her.

      Callie walked swiftly away from the ballroom toward the darker reaches of the terrace. The winter air was chilly against her bare arms and neck, but, warmed as she was from dancing in the stuffy room, it was at the moment quite welcome. She stopped when they reached the railing that marked the end of the upper terrace, well beyond where her grandmother might see if she looked out the door from the ballroom.

      “I am sorry,” she told her companion with a quick smile. “You must think me quite mad, rushing out here this way.”

      “Not mad. Impetuous, perhaps,” Waters replied with a smile and reached out to take her hand in both his. “I can only assume that you were as eager as I to be alone.”

      As Callie watched in stunned amazement, he raised her gloved hand to his lips and kissed it, then said, “I had not realized—I had hoped, but I did not dream that you might return my affection.”

      “What?” Callie tried to tug her hand from his, but Waters was holding on to it too tightly.

      She saw now the mistake she had made in her impulsive rush to escape her grandmother’s manipulations. With some other gentleman, one whom she knew better, it would have been all right. He would have laughed about her predicament with the duchess and promised to come to her aid. Mr. Waters, obviously, had jumped to the wrong conclusion…or perhaps he had simply seen a golden opportunity to advance his suit with her. Callie could not forget her suspicions that the man was an opportunist.

      She took a step back, but he followed her, still holding her hand and gazing down fervently into her face as he said, “You must know the depth of my feeling for you, the love that burns in my heart….”

      “No! Mr. Waters, I fear that you have misunderstood,” Callie replied firmly. “Pray, let go of my hand.”

      “Not until you have answered me. Lady Calandra, I beseech you, make my dreams come—”

      “Mr. Waters, stop!” With a heave, Callie tore her hand from his grasp. “I am sorry that I inadvertently gave you the wrong impression, but, please, let us put an end to this conversation.”

      She started to walk past him, but Waters grabbed her arms, holding her in place.

      “No, hear me out,” he said. “I love you, Calandra. My heart, my soul, burns for you. I beg you, say that you care for me, too, that there is in your heart a spark that—”

      “Stop this at once,” Callie commanded.