Chapter 11 - Eleven
The carriage rattled to a stop on the gravel courtyard, the sound muffled by the distant orchestra music drifting from the grand mansion. Inside the plush cabin, Baroness Augusta turned her sharp gaze upon Delia. Delia was wearing one of Anne’s old gowns—a simple, dark blue velvet that, while still elegant, was years out of fashion. It was good enough, Augusta had declared, for her.
"Maintain decorum," Augusta warned, her voice low and cold. "Do not do anything embarrassing. You are representing this family tonight, whether you like it or not."
Delia met her stepmother’s gaze and offered a small, quiet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Of course, Baroness. I’ll be on my very best behavior."
The false smile Augusta gave in return was as thin as a razor’s edge. "Good." She then turned to Anne, her entire expression softening with adoration. Anne was sitting close to her, looking radiant. She was dressed in the magnificent sapphire silk gown, adorned with silver embroidery that sparkled with every slight movement. With her brown hair perfectly styled and a diamond necklace glittering at her throat, she truly looked like the season’s most prized diamond.
As they alighted from the carriage, the warm, golden light of the Carson mansion spilled out to greet them. Well dressed servants opened the massive doors, and the wave of music, chatter, and warmth washed over them. The ballroom was breathtaking, a sea of glittering jewels and rustling silks. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the frescoed ceiling, casting a thousand points of light on the dancers below.
Anne immediately went on high alert, her eyes scanning the crowd with a predator’s focus. "I don’t see him, Mama," she whispered, a hint of anxiousness in her voice.
"Patience, my dear," Augusta murmured back, patting her hand. "He is the guest of honor. He will make an appearance. Mingle. Be seen. We will find him."
Both girls started their mission, but their methods were entirely different. Anne flitted from one group to another, laughing and making conversation, but her eyes never stopped searching the room. Delia, however, felt a pull towards the edges of the grand affair. She knew a man like Duke Eric Carson, a man who traveled the world and ran a vast business, was unlikely to be found enjoying idle gossip in the center of a crowded room. After a polite, brief search of the main hall, she slipped through a set of open French doors that led out into the cool night air of the gardens.
The gardens were quieter. The moonlight cast the sculpted hedges and marble statues in silver and shadow. And there, standing on a stone terrace overlooking a labyrinth of roses, was a solitary figure. A small, glowing ember told her he was smoking. Delia’s heart began to beat a little faster. It was him.