She tried her best to go through the motions, but her heart wasn't in it.
Her heart was firmly stuck at Greywood Manor with a man who didn't deserve it.
As the day turned to evening, the hastily prepared dance floor started to fill. It was far too cold to be dancing outside but this had been a village tradition since before Mariah's birth. Usually she didn't feel the cold, since she danced every dance. This evening, however, she refused to dance even one.
Mariah stood back and watched as children and adults alike danced and sang and had a marvellous time. She tried not to be bitter, but she envied them their cheerfulness. She wondered if she would ever feel happy again.
"I believe you promised me a dance."
Mariah gasped at the feel of a hand on her waist.
She knew it was him, of course.
Nobody else's voice set her pulse racing. Nobody else's scent set her heart hammering.
She turned and looked up into his eyes.
He looked so good she wanted to weep. There were circles under his eyes, as though he had been sleeping as badly as she, and he looked miserable, but she could only assume that this time of year was hard for him.
And in spite of what he'd said, her heart still ached for him, and she wanted to make it better.
"Where are your mother and Lottie?" she asked, hearing the wobble in her voice.
"They're ensconced with Mrs. Yates, meeting the villagers and hearing the list of Mrs. Callahan's maladies."
She tried to smile at his joke, she really did. But her mouth couldn't form a smile.
"Please dance with me," he whispered.
Mariah looked about and saw that they were drawing attention.
Soon people would come falling over themselves to be introduced to the new man in town.
So, nodding her consent, she allowed him to escort her onto the dance floor, all the while praying that she would have the strength not to cry.
The strains of a quadrille started and Mariah shivered as his hand snaked about her, gathering her close.
"You look beautiful," he said as they began to move.
Mariah held herself as stiffly as she could because she wanted more than anything to sink into him, to beg him to love her even half as much as she loved him. But her pride wouldn't allow it and her pride was the only thing she had left.
"You left," he said now, though there was no accusation in his tone, merely sadness.
"I did," was all she said.
An uncomfortable silence fell between them as they swept round the other couples. Mariah had never felt so alone in a crowd of people.
"Lottie told me what she said to you. What she heard. Mariah, I – please believe me when I say I did not—"
His words were cut off when Bobby Thornton, who had had far too much to drink, came stumbling into them trying his best to dance alone.
Brandon muttered a soft oath, dropping her hand and stepping away. "For God's sake, I cannot talk to you here. Will you come back to the manor house with me? Please?"
It was the plea that did it. In his words, in his voice, in his eyes. Mariah knew that she could not deny him anything.
Without waiting for her to answer, he clutched her arm and practically dragged her to his carriage which was, thankfully, the last in a long line surrounding the church.
Once inside, he placed a carriage run on her knees and then sat at the other side.
The silence was suffocating but Mariah made no attempt to break it.
What was she to say in any case?
She could rail at him for not loving her back, but that wasn't his fault.
She could beg him to consider her as a wife, but her pride wouldn't allow it.
She could pretend that everything was fine but her heart wouldn't allow that.
So, she said nothing and neither did he.
The carriage ride seemed interminable, but at last they rolled to a stop outside the manor.
The front of the house was ablaze with candles and it looked so welcoming, no longer unloved, that Mariah felt herself smile for the first time in days.
Brandon stepped out of the carriage then held out a hand to assist. But after she alighted, he held onto her hand, not letting her pull away. It was an exquisite type of torture.
As they stepped into the entrance hall, Brandon divested her of her cloak, gloves, and bonnet, explaining that the servants were all at the fete.
They were alone.
A thrill chased along Mariah's spine before she ruthlessly quashed it. What difference did it make?
"Would you care for a drink?" he asked, his voice echoing in the cavernous room.
"No, thank you," she squeaked, fairly shaking with nerves.
"I want to show you something," he said before taking her gently by the arm and leading her toward the library.
Mariah frowned. There was nothing he could show her in there that she hadn't already seen. She'd practically lived in the room for weeks.
He opened the door and allowed her to step in before him.