“I am trying to,” Emilia confessed, “but I fear my heart will pound right out of my chest.”
Lord Cuttyngham paused, turning to face her. “Just try to remember that this is your night. Do try to enjoy yourself.”
“I will try.”
A look of understanding came to his eyes. “Before his death, Sir Charles told me about you and your circumstances. He was so very proud of you that you had found your own way after the death of your mother, and I know he deeply regretted not being a part of your life.”
“I wish he had been,” Emilia murmured.
Lord Cuttyngham placed a hand on her sleeve. “You are enough, and I hope you know that,” he said. “His absence in your life had nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.”
Emilia offered him a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“Have I offered you enough advice yet?” Lord Cuttyngham asked with a twinkle in his eyes. “After all, your guests are waiting for you.”
She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, mustering a façade of confidence. She could do this. “I am ready,” she announced.
As Lord Cuttyngham walked towards the ballroom, two impeccably dressed footmen moved to open the door, revealing the crowd of people within.
After she stepped through the doors, her gaze sought Fredrick amidst the crowd. They locked eyes and a reassuring smile played on his lips. A sense of calm washed over her, ensuring her that everything would be all right.
The soft glow of chandeliers cast a warm light over the ballroom as Lord Cuttyngham guided her towards the chalked dance floor. He came to a stop and asked, “How are you faring?”
“Quite well,” she replied, stealing a brief glance in Fredrick’s direction.
Lord Cuttyngham nodded approvingly. “Then let us dance,” he declared, extending his hands.
The enchanting melody of the orchestra filled the air, and Lord Cuttyngham led her into the dance. Her gaze remainedfixed on the marquess as she attempted to ignore the blatant stares of the other guests.
“You are doing remarkably well,” Lord Cuttyngham praised, his voice a soothing reassurance.
“That is only because you are such a fine dancer,” Emilia said.
Lord Cuttyngham grinned in response as they continued their dance, and Emilia found herself relaxing in his arms.
Once the music had died down, Lord Cuttyngham brought the dance to a close, dropping his arms with practiced elegance.
Emilia dropped into a low curtsy.
Turning towards the assembled crowd, Lord Cuttyngham, with a voice that carried authority and warmth, announced, “May I have the privilege of introducing the lovely Miss Emilia Sutherland.”
The room responded with polite applause and Emilia felt a sense of accomplishment wash over her. She had managed to get through the dance without embarrassing herself or Lord Cuttyngham.
After the applause died down, the marquess directed his attention towards her. “Well done,” he praised. “If you will excuse me, I am going to return to my wife’s side.”
“Thank you for what you did, my lord,” Emilia said, hoping her words conveyed her deep gratitude for his sacrifice.
“You are most welcome,” Lord Cuttyngham responded before departing from the dance floor.
Anette broke through the crowd and hurried over to her. “You were flawless,” she declared. “I challenge anyone to say otherwise.”
“It wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be,” Emilia admitted.
Lord Roswell joined them, standing next to his wife. “I must assume that my father departed to be with my mother.”
Emilia bobbed her head. “He did,” she confirmed. “You must thank him again for me. I know it couldn’t have been an easy decision for him to leave his wife.”
Lord Roswell’s eyes reflected a touch of sadness. “My father hardly leaves her side now. I know it has taken a great toll on him, but he doesn’t speak of it.”