He maintains eye contact like Ophel told him, or at least tries to. He dances with technical competence and as much feeling as he can. The elf must be watching.

"You- forgive me, Miss Featherington, but you seem nervous. I hope I did not offend you? I... seem to rather be making a habit of it." He smiles a little. 

Like they're made of spun glass. Gentle, gentle. 

She looks up at him, a little startled – she is so tiny, she barely reaches his chest – and she blushes at the intensity of his gaze. “No– no, not at all, I merely– I am unused to dancing so much. With– heroes, no less.” Handsome ones, incredibly handsome tall ones with deep voices. “Usually, I just… stick to one side. It has its benefits,” oh gods she’s rambling, “but no, Your Grace, I positively assure you, you have not offended me in the slightest.”

"I am glad to hear it." A slight pause as he structures a polite sentence. "And if I may say, I am surprised to hear that you dance little, as skilled as you are." That probably sounded wrong, but press on, that way they don't suspect anything. "So what are these benefits of keeping to one side? Given my record so far, perhaps I ought to avail myself of them."

“What?” He thinks I’m skilled? 

And then she realise what she’s said and how stupid she sounds and she scrambles to make amends before the Duke decides he doesn’t want to dance with her anymore.

”I- I only mean that– you have no record to worry about, as such, Your Grace.You have not been in the ton for so long, and, someone like you, you were… well, some might argue that you were born to be in the spotlight. Besides, I am entirely uncertain that you would even fit behind the lemonade stand–”

She missteps then, treading on his foot. A mortified expression comes over her soft features.

Yeah, he's seen this before. Nerves. Apparently it's about the same when ladies dance in high society as it is when you get farmhands going into battle the first time.

He catches her when she makes the misstep. Gently. 

"Miss Featherington. Do not fear. The gods know I have made far worse mistakes in dance." His eyes flicker lightning-fast to Ophel and back. "And I am loath to contradict you, but I have been among society for less than a week, and have already been threatened with a duel and personally rebuked by the Queen. I am truly not sure if anyone has ever had a worse record in that time."

Gods, she's tiny. He has to be careful not to knock her off balance. 

Well, there's only one way to snap them out of the nerves. 

"If I may make so bold, Miss Featherington, what is it that intimidates you so? If it is some quality of mine, I can only... reiterate my inexperience," he hasn't read books but he's listened a lot of nobs and how they talk, "and ask if you can explain it to me."

She swallows, her voice soft. “No. No quality of yours, Your Grace, only every quality of mine.”

Her gaze falls back to the left, landing wistfully on… something. Or someone.

Penelope sucks in a breath. “If– if I may speak so boldly, I am certain whatever missteps you might have made will soon be forgotten. The ton’s memory is fleeting, and– and you are doing well to remedy your previous actions.”

The song ends, and she hurries to curtsy.

He bows, again not quite right. 

"Thank you, Miss Featherington. I hope you are right. And-" he looks at her for a long moment. "It was a pleasure to dance with you. You speak far too harshly of yourself."

Speechless, she is left blinking at him with shining eyes as he departs the floor.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Right. One more to go. He'll leave the Viscount for the morning. 

Violet has calmed down slightly from the full-scale panic of the last few days. It had all happened so suddenly, her boys coming home from goodness knows what awful establishment at an entirely improper hour, and somehow getting into the most unseemly quarrel with the Duke, and then all this horrible business with Eloise, and talk of duels and the ruination of her poor daughter- 

Lady Danbury really had taken surprisingly kindly to being awakened so rudely, once the circumstances were explained to her. 

It's not as disastrous as it could have been. The Duke has not yet moved any of his own allies against them, nor breathed a word about Eloise.

But suffice to say, Violet is still very tense and still watching the floor with a very keen eye as she half-listens to Lady Danbury's story. When Benedict thinks he has successfully slipped away, she sees him exchange words with the Duke - oh, what fresh horror must this be - but manage not to come to blows. When he briefly addresses Eloise, she starts forwards in a rush before thinking better of it. 

She is getting through rather a lot of champagne. 

So when the Duke, apparently now somehow her family's enemy, bows oddly to dear Penelope and then turns straight towards her with a determined look in his steel-coloured eyes, she chokes and almost drops her glass. 

Oh, this is... worrying. 

She inclines her head a little towards Duke Voltur. Her assessment of him had been right, of course. But better not let Violet do something foolish like give him the cut direct. She knows too little of the new Duke to play against him; the more she hears him speak, the more she learns, the better. 

"Duke Voltur."

Gods above the woman's stare could etch glass. 

He bows. "Lady Danbury. Lady Bridgerton."

Oh dear what a mess. She smiles weakly. "Your Grace." 

Press on, press on, don't leave an opening, big words, talk like they're made of glass. 

"Lady Bridgerton - I already have a great deal to ask your forgiveness for, so I hope in the balance of things you will not be much further offended by my forwardness. I take full responsibility for the unpleasant events of that night. I can say only that I acted out of foolish ignorance, and did not understand the Viscount's anger - reasonable though I now perceive it to have been - and I am sorry. If your family will allow me, I wish to present a formal apology tomorrow morning, but your daughter seemed anxious that you should know - and in truth I wish to begin unravelling this mess before it may ravel any further. 

...

...Hmm. 

That is not what she expected. 

That is an awful lot more contrition than she would have expected. Not well-mannered, but certainly better than before. 

Another hand is at work, and she can guess whose. 

She is doubtful that this rather... direct approach of the Duke's will work. 

What does one even say to that?

She blinks, drains her glass. 

"I- am sure we should be happy to receive you in the morning, Duke Voltur," she says in a loud voice for the benefit of the crowd around them. Of course they are all friends, Whistledown writes scurrilous nonsense, there is no ill-will at all, no Bridgerton scandal this season. Heads turn. And then more normally, "I must admit, I am- surprised." More like absolutely flabbergasted, by this whole sorry affair and now this.

Finally, he looks up. He notices.

And before Voltur knows it, the Viscount Bridgerton has stormed over to the group they have formed, stepping protectively between that bastard and his mother.

Miss Edwina will have to wait.

“Duke Voltur,” he hisses, “I thought I made it perfectly clear that you were not to approach a member of my family ever again.”

How dare he?

Oh NO-

She stares bewildered after him. 

He consciously flexes his fingers to keep them from curling into fists. 

Very calm, very gentle, they're all made of glass, remember.

"Lord Bridgerton." Breathe in, breathe out, stay calm, he can do this, it's like how you keep from panicking in battle. He's drilled countless men on how to do this. "In fact there was very little clarity that night. I wish to apologise. To your family, and to you in particular. I hope to have the opportunity to make it clear that I did not at all comprehend the significance of my actions, nor the reason for your upset; the fault was mine. Your mother has been kind enough to invite me to present a formal apology tomorrow." He doesn't actually know how to formally apologise, but someone will.

“Then leave your empty words for tomorrow. Stay away for now. You are causing a scene.” He speaks through gritted teeth.

Bridgertons. Why is it always Bridgertons. 

"Lord Bridgerton," she says mildly, "many concerned and influential members of the ton have gone to some effort to prevent this unfortunate misunderstanding from escalating any further." Like getting up in the small hours to personally prevail upon Her Majesty. "Perhaps you can bring yourself to exchange pleasantries, for appearance's sake?"