Dance?
Now?
Marquess of Canterbury turned to his younger brother, who was leaning against the wall with one leg casually crossed over the other.
"Play some music, Adrian."
Lord Locksworth shook his head with a smile and moved toward the piano.
His fingers danced across the keys, coaxing a light, melodious Mozart Minuet from the instrument.
Maggie, her hand resting gracefully in the Marquess's, found herself swept towards a clear space on the drawing room floor.
A nervous flutter rose in her stomach, and despite the warmth of the room, a prickle of sweat gathered on her palms. The Marquess's hand, placed with surprising gentleness at the small of her back, felt impossibly foreign. She couldn't help but stiffen, the practiced steps she'd memorized dissolving into a clumsy shuffle.
The Marquess, sensing her apprehension, stopped their twirl a beat early. His voice, a low rumble, reached her ear. "No need to be tense, Lady Blanchard," he murmured. "Think of it as a conversation, a silent understanding between us. Look at me, and let the music guide your steps."
Taking a deep breath, Maggie met his gaze. His green eyes held a reassuring calmness, ones that spoke of care and attention.
As the melody weaved itself around them, a tentative smile touched her lips.
She mirrored his graceful movements, their steps falling into a rhythm. It wasn't perfect, but with each passing measure, the tension eased, replaced by a growing sense of connection.
"There you go," the Marquess murmured, his gaze locking with Maggie's. "The dance, Lady Blanchard, is a conversation in itself. Far more honest, I daresay, than exchanging pleasantries about the weather."
A flicker of curiosity sparked in Maggie's eyes. "Do you find such common topics dull, Your Grace?" she ventured. "Unfortunately, men and women have a rather limited range of acceptable conversation starters."
"I find them pointless," the Marquess countered, a hint of cynicism tinging his voice. "Weather reports are hardly the stuff of captivating conversation. Everyone in London is constantly on display, donning their most charming facade, and flaunting their wealth, all in the hope of impressing others.
And in turn, we dissect each other, searching for the true person beneath the practiced smiles and graceful steps."
He paused, a shadow crossing his features. "Ultimately, it all feels rather preordained, doesn't it? Marriage, procreation, maintaining a certain societal image. A rather tedious cycle, I would say."
Maggie widened her eyes, her lips parting in surprise.
"Now, was there a need to be so brutally honest?" Lord Locksworth chimed in. "I for my part enjoy the show immensely. It is always fun having an ambitious Mama parade her daughters before me. They all look as cute as innocent as newborn lambs."
"Fit for the sacrificial altar?" The Marquess quipped with a sneer.
Both men laughed, leaving Maggie in a daze.
"Do you not wish to settle down eventually, my Lord?" She carefully asked.
After all, Marquess of Canterbury was already twenty-five years old, seven years older than her. Maggie knew young men her age who planned to get married in a year or two.
"I think it is not an option," the Marquess replied. "Whether or not I find it tedious is of little significance. Men are expected to secure their lineage through marriage and heirs, just as women are expected to find suitable matches that uphold their family's standing."
The music dipped, and the Marquess surprised her by drawing her closer. Their faces hovered a breath apart, his gaze intense. "A fortunate truth for men," he murmured, "we are said to improve with age, growing more and more desirable, much like a bottle of fine wine." He paused, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "Women, however, are not afforded such luxuries."
His voice turned coolly pragmatic. "Let us focus on securing your future, Lady Blanchard. Find a suitable match this season, and then, we can address the matter of the Earldom of Huntington."
A suitable match.
The music ended, and they bowed at each other before drifting apart.
Lord Locksworth quickly made himself scarce, not wanting to land another serving role at the behest of his elder brother.
Maggie made use of the opportunity to speak with the Marquess.
"Your Grace, may I please ask a question?"
Marquess of Canterbury arched a brow at her, curiosity apparent across his face.
"What is it?"
Maggie twiddled with her thumbs, trying her best to swallow her nervosity.
"You have been mostly kind to me, Your Grace. I cannot help but wonder if there is anything you require of me."
"And what, do you think, might I require of you?" the Marquess queried.
"I am not sure," Maggie answered in a straightforward manner. "Hence the question."
"I had some dealings with your late father, the Earl of Huntington, some months back," the Marquess began. "He was a man of impeccable honor and a well-respected member of his circle. As fate would have it, I was present during a moment of difficulty you encountered, my Lady. Rest assured, any acquaintance of your father's would have done the same in your time of need."
"Oh."
Maggie was hoping for something more.
Something related to her.
But then again, she was not acquainted with the Marquess of Canterbury until recently. Their first meeting was far from ideal, and their introduction happened at the Crown Office, where she behaved in the most unladylike manner, defying all expectations he might have had for a lady of her upbringing, if not her birth.
In other words, she might successfully tempt any other man but not the Marquess of Canterbury, who had seen her true face.
"I see," Maggie mumbled, powerless against the disappointment that coiled around her heart.
"Is that all?"
"Yes, thank you."
Maggie wasn't sure what she was thinking. She should not expect too much and just be grateful for what she had been offered. Otherwise, the debt she accumulated might just be too huge to pay off.
After scolding herself aplenty, the young lady quickly dismissed the sentimental notion and redirected her focus on the upcoming season.