The reluctant cavalier by Karen Harbaugh Page A

for at least three months." Her mother rubbed her hands, as if they still pained her. "Do you wish me to bring you some ointment, Mama? You know it helps with the ache in your hands."
    "Yes, please," replied Lady Smith, and patted Annabella's cheek. She watched her daughter leave the room, and close the door gently. She sighed deeply, and it echoed in the large drawing room, now seeming less bright and more empty once Annabella had quit it. The month had already turned; Annabella did not have three months until she must give her answer to the duke, but two and a half instead. Her daughter seemed not to want to acknowledge the passage of time, and Lady Smith feared that Annabella would refuse the duke.
    For the first time, Lady Smith wished her husband was not so set on the marriage. It would be a triumph indeed for their daughter to marry the duke. But she was the last to wish Annabella to marry unwillingly. What was there to object to in the duke? Nothing, really.
    A twinge of pain made her rub the back of her hand, and she thought of a few unpleasant rumors about the duke she had just heard a few days ago. No doubt they were told her out of jealousy that Annabella had attracted such a great matrimonial prize. It was also rumored that he was a very persistent man. If that were so, then surely Annabella would be convinced to accept his suit. Such flattering attentions from a distinguished man could not fail to make any lady think kindly of him.
    And yet, as she watched Annabella enter the drawing room again with the ointment, Lady Smith could not rid herself of a growing sense of uneasiness. Despite the obvious falsity of the rumors about the duke, and his otherwise sterling reputation, she could not like him. His demeanor was cool, and she sensed little warmth in him.
    Annabella smiled at her, and smoothed the ointment on her mother's hands, rubbing the ache away. Lady Smith smiled in return. Her daughter was like a bright sun to her, warming the room with her very presence. Lady Smith knew it was necessary one day for Annabella to marry and leave her home. And yet, she could not help wondering if the duke's coolness would somehow dim her daughter's warmth. She hoped it would not be so.
    Annabella ceased her rubbing, and held her mother's hands, heating them with her own. No, thought Lady Smith, no, surely her daughter's spirit could never be doused, but warm whatever came close to her.
    She smiled. The duke would come to love her—who would not?—and Annabella would have a happy life. She was a silly woman to worry so, to be sure.

Chapter 6
     
    Parsifal drew in his breath and let it out again as he stared into the mirror. He did not look at all bad in the Cavalier costume, he admitted to himself. Perhaps Miss Smith would recognize him—that is, recognize his costume—and agree to dance with him again. He had just been on the verge of asking Caroline to invite Miss Smith to the ball when he had spied the invitation, thank God. The last thing he wanted were weeks of Caroline's teasing. He well knew that there were other, more eligible suitors for Miss Smith's hand, and he did not need to be reminded of it over and over again.
    He dismissed his valet and descended the stairs, frowning. Caroline and his mother had also invited the Duke of Stratton, for he was a neighbor, but Parsifal could not feel easy about it. He shrugged. To be honest, could he really say he was unbiased in his opinion of the man? No, he could not. It was better not to think of the duke, but to enjoy what he could of the evening.
    The music and laughter that burst in Parsifal's face when he opened the door to the ballroom made him pause. He liked music, but not the noise and the closed-in feeling that came over him whenever he entered a crowded ballroom. But he opened the door wider and stepped in.
    The ballroom was crowded indeed, the air thick with heat and excitement. Hundreds of candles shimmered and sparkled through newly polished chandeliers upon