The palm extends towards his, Cullen stumbling to remember the next step. It is his duty to lead -- not only the young lady foisted upon him by a dance card extended out the door, but the entire ball. The estate. His family.
When did his life become upended in this never-ending traumatic squall?
She smiles with gritted teeth, trying to ignore his fumbles. The orchestra plays at half speed in deference to Cullen's game leg. He can barely scoot from one end to the other, but there is tradition to uphold and he is not allowed to say no. To his bliss, the other dancers shy away, revealing another song finished. He tips his head to her to disentangle, but she demures in a soft voice, "Thank you for this dance, Duke Rutherford."
"Um, yes, thank you as well, young...lady," Cullen fumbles shying away from the woman who's more gel than lady. They were all so young, fresh-faced and barely into the season, and all are placed upon him by his meddling sister.
Before another girl can sweep him away, or the orchestra doom him to his quicksand death, Cullen limps towards Lady Mia. She's in her usual resplendent gown, speaking to her gaggle of friends that all have titled husbands who are trying to hide on the other side of the ballroom. Her eyes drift to the oncoming storm and she slips a smile on. "Brother."
"Your Lordship," echoes from the flock, women curtsying and Cullen ignores it all.
Grabbing his sister by the arm, he says, "If you will excuse me, I need to confer with my loving sister in private." As the horde all thank him for the wonderful party, the food filling their bellies, and intrigue blackening their souls, Cullen guides Mia towards the back of the room.
"I dare say for being such short notice, this is going rather swimmingly," she says, her lips turned into a smile.
"Do not play coy, I know what you're doing," Cullen snarls, brandishing a finger at her as if she wasn't his elder sister.
"Trying to cajole my misanthropic brother to speak with another human being who doesn't work for him? Yes, I can see why you'd feel the need to drag me from my friends for such a slight."
"I am..." he thunders before catching the eyes of the other dancers. "I am being nice and social. That is not my concern."
"What then?"
"The dance card you filled out without my knowledge. It does not pass me by who is on it, every lady young enough to be a ward, and all without attachments." He played along with the first few dances, but as Cullen kept turning from one nineteen-year-old face to a twenty or even eighteen his stomach dropped.
Mia sighs, her piled coiff threatening to topple. "Is it so wrong of me to try and find a duchess for the duke?"
"Yes!" he shouts. His private life is thus, locked tight behind closed doors and never spoken of. Now Mia wishes to yank it before every eye in the county like a pair of dirty underthings. He wouldn't hear of it.
A hand cups to his arm, trying to calm the stewing in his breast. "Cullen," Mia's consoling eyes meet his. "I know this isn't what you wanted, what you planned in life, but..." She sighs, gazing out over the happy crowd. Soon they'd be gone, the ballroom covered in sheets for the winter. "Don't you hate how empty the estates are?"
Grief overwhelms him, Cullen taken aback as his mind drudged up the memory of reading the letter. First his father taken by an illness, then his sister-in-law, and finally the brother who should have usurped him. Branson was spared courtesy of a holiday with his favorite aunt. The large family that once had naught but sunny days was quickly cut in half, only shadows lingering where laughter had been.
"Mi, I understand your thought, but I am...I am not in a place to open my heart to anyone."
She stares up at him, the only female influence of clan Rutherford forced to guide not only her household but his as well. "You can't be alone forever, brother, but I will refrain from my matchmaking for the time being."
"Thank you."
Lifting the little book that should be in his hands, not hers, Mia inspects his line of purgatory. "What about one more dance?"
"Mia, my leg is..."
"Trust me, you'll want to take this one," his sister says. The music swells, ordering all dancers to their posts. Cullen pulls in a breath, prepared to plead with the young lady to let him walk the plank, when a hand crested in jewels grips to this shoulders.
A face he could never forget swept into his way, her blonde hair forming a halo around her head. "Good evening, my Lord," she says, dipping her patrician chin. "Shall we?"
"Caroline?" Cullen whispers, giving into the sway of the woman that nearly was his wife.