My Wealthy Cousin Dared Me To Reject The Most Powerful Man In The Room — His Reaction Shocked Everyone

Part 1

Every single woman in that room was waiting for him to ask.

I was the only one who said no.

By the time the orchestra reached the third dance, the great gallery of Miller House smelled of beeswax and orange water.

I stood at the edge of that smell with a glass of barley water I did not intend to drink.

I had counted the small, careful breaths it took to study the tremor in my left hand whenever my cousin Brenda laughed too loudly at my elbow.

The dare had been made an hour before in a withdrawing room.

Brenda had said that no woman in England, given the chance, would refuse the Earl of Blackwood at a dance.

She said it as if it were a fact about weather, indisputable and slightly tiresome.

Five pounds says even you, Megan, would say yes, Brenda had said, the smile beneath it kind and not kind at once.

I had set down my glass on the table between us.

I had said I would not need five pounds.

I would refuse him for nothing.

It was a foolish thing to say.

I knew that even as the words left me.

Foolish because Brenda laughed too easily, and laughter in that house traveled like fire over dry grass.

Foolish because my mother had spent the last of our allowance on the silk of the dress I was wearing, and ruin traveled faster than laughter.

But the words had been said.

And so when the gallery quieted in that particular way a room quiets when something is about to walk into it, I did not turn my head.

He entered with one hand resting lightly inside the cuff of the other, as if holding himself in place.

He walked down the gallery without haste.

Because an Earl must dance at a ball if he wishes the ball to be remembered, he turned and his gaze moved along the wall of waiting women.

His gaze stopped at me.

I met his eyes because I had told Brenda I would refuse him.

His eyes were gray, not the warm gray of pigeons or pewter, but the cooler gray of slate after rain.

And what surprised me was not their color, but their stillness.

He crossed the floor.

The dancers seemed to part for him as water parts for a thrown stone.

Brenda’s hand tightened on my wrist.

A small sharp pressure that meant, smile, smile now, do not ruin this.

I did not smile.

He stopped before me at the precise distance etiquette required, and he bowed.

He looked at me as if I were the one detail in the room he had not yet accounted for.

May I have the honor, he said, of the next dance?

There was no question mark at the end of the sentence.

Behind me, Brenda made a sound that was almost a laugh and almost a gasp.

I curtsied.

I rose and I met his slate gray eyes again and I said in the clear low voice my grandmother had once told me no dress maker could improve.

Forgive me your grace.

I would rather not.

For a long moment, the gallery did nothing.

The candles, lit twice, burned on.

I did not look away.

I would not flush.

I would not stammer.

I had said no, and the no would stand by itself.

The Earl’s expression remained unchanged.

Only, and only for an instant, a very small alteration occurred in his eyes.

It was as if a shutter at the back of a long, dim room had opened a quarter of an inch and let in a thread of light.

Of course, he said, forgive my presumption.

He bowed again.

The second bow was no deeper than the first, yet it was different.

The first bow had been a mere courtesy paid to a stranger.

The second was a courtesy paid to someone he had truly noticed.

He turned and walked without haste to the far side of the gallery.

The next morning, I went down to the breakfast room.

My aunt was waiting for me there with a face that had been arranged at considerable effort to be serene.

Sit down, Megan, my aunt said, we must talk about your future.

I sat and poured a careful cup of tea.

The future, as it turned out, was a card on a silver salver brought in by the butler.

It bore in the center three words and a name.

His grace requests.

Beneath in a different hand, written in ink that was still faintly wet, were the words, the honor of calling upon Miss Hayes this afternoon at three if she is at home.

My aunt’s serenity broke into pieces on the breakfast table.

Brenda arrived in a wrapper and a cloud of injured perfume.

The card was passed from one to the other, as if it were a hot coal.

I looked at it properly for the first time in daylight, completely unprepared for what he was about to say next.