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“ W ell, someone looks like the duchess who got everything she ever dreamed of,” a voice said, greeting Teresa’s ears above the chatter of the seemingly endless guests and the beautiful music of the exquisite orchestra.

Teresa whirled around, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, my dearest Bea, is it truly possible to be so happy?”

“I believe it is, for good people like you,” Beatrice replied, weaving her arm through Teresa’s. “I always said you were destined for greatness, Tess. Tonight, you are practically royalty. You do realize that society will be talking of this ball for years to come, do you not?”

Teresa chuckled. “Goodness, I hope not, or they might expect another and I do not think I can bear the stress of it.” She peered up at her friend.

“Although, none of this would have been possible without you. I do not know how you managed it. I was panicked enough, and I was barely involved in the organization.”

“It is a gift,” Beatrice replied with a wink.

At long last, after eight-and-twenty years, there was a ball at Darnley Castle again.

The majority of the eager, awestruck guests could not remember those former days of festivity, but every time Teresa passed someone older, who was reminiscing about the balls and gatherings of Cyrus’ mother’s ingenuity, it made Teresa’s heart swell with pride.

“You ought to offer your services to society,” Teresa said, meaning it. “You could make a fortune, planning events for the rich but incapable ladies of society, who do not have your gift for organization and creativity.”

Beatrice laughed. “I have been considering it.”

“What you have done—it is extraordinary,” Teresa enthused, gesturing outward.

The entire castle had been transformed into a fantastical realm, bordering on the otherworldly: servants dressed as sylphs in floaty garments and others dressed as woodland elves, mingling with the guests who had all been told to wear bold costumes and masks to match.

The bailey was now an outside ballroom, the gardens glowing with thousands of lanterns, floating candles, and torches.

There were costumed guides who took groups through the gardens, telling wondrous fairytales and daring stories of love and adventure.

Meanwhile, the main ballroom and old feasting hall inside the castle had been turned into an ancient world of knights and damsels, where guests were expected to celebrate as if it were the 16 th century.

There had even been a jousting tournament on one of the grassy sections between the castle wall and the curtain wall, which had thrilled the ladies, and ignited an argument between the gentlemen, who thought they could do it better.

“It was nothing for my dearest friend,” Beatrice said. “Indeed, promise you will not forget me, now that you are the happiest woman in all of Christendom?”

Teresa turned and pulled her friend into a tight hug. “Dearest Bea, I could never forget you. Nothing shall change; I promise. Why, I mean to visit you, and have you visit so often that my darling husband will count you as one of my sisters.”

“I could not have relinquished you to anyone who did not adore you with all their heart,” Beatrice said softly. “I am delighted that one found you in the end, though it was worrisome for a while.”

Teresa nodded, smiling. “He is everything I dreamed of and more.”

“Yes, well, the same cannot be said for his friends,” Beatrice said with a glint in her eye. “That Anthony fellow keeps hounding me, though I cannot tell if he merely enjoys the challenge of my friendship, or if he shall be disappointed by falling hopelessly in love with me.”

Teresa tilted her head to one side. “He is not to your liking?”

“Tess, I am happy that you are happy. I am overjoyed that you are utterly in love with your husband, and he feels the same. But I am the last person anyone should matchmake, as you well know,” Beatrice replied, chuckling. “Anthony shall make a fine friend.”

“Are my ears burning?” The man himself appeared, brandishing two glasses of punch. “I knew you would not be able to resist discussing me.”

Anthony handed the glasses to the ladies. Teresa accepted with a smile, while Beatrice did not reach for hers.

“I do not trust any man to fetch a drink for me,” Beatrice said. “It is nothing personal.”

Anthony shrugged. “More for me.” He smirked and took a sip. “Now, Duchess, where is that husband of yours?”

“Dancing,” Teresa replied, gesturing to the bailey, where Cyrus was whirling around with Prudence. “She insisted. Said she would not forgive him for his past wrongdoings if he did not dance with her.”

Anthony laughed heartily. “Quite a lady. Have you truly forgiven my friend, then?”

“I have.” Teresa smiled, watching her husband trying to control his frustration as Prudence stepped on his toes and all but dragged him around the floor. Even wearing a filigree mask, Teresa could see his exasperation in the grim set of his mouth and the stiffness of his posture.

I shall kiss it away, my love.

“Would you consider partaking in a dance, Miss Johnson?” Anthony asked, pulling a face as he took another sip of the punch.

“Not with you,” Beatrice replied with a wink.

Anthony chuckled, shaking his head. “You are a fascinating woman, Miss Johnson. I do not know whether to propose immediately or walk away, muttering rude things under my breath.”

“Surely, there is something in-between?” Beatrice said, her eyes glittering with mirth.

“Tessie, please tell me why you have allowed our youngest sister to take to the dance floor?” Vincent’s voice suddenly interrupted, as he came blustering into the conversation. “She has not debuted! She is not ready for this, and… people are whispering.”

Beatrice produced a dramatic gasp. “Oh no, not whispering! How will she possibly survive it?” She rolled her eyes.

“Let the girl enjoy a dance. We are all supposed to be celebrating; I realize that is a foreign concept to you, but do try to smile at least, so people think the great Lord Grayling is having a pleasant time.”

“I beg your pardon?” Vincent growled, as Teresa stepped in, not wanting another quarrel on what was such a lovely evening.

“Enough!” she urged. “Why, I am almost inclined to make the two of you dance, so you can take your squabbles elsewhere. Prudence is causing no harm, and this is a family occasion, so do let her have some fun, just this once.”

Vincent flashed a glare at Beatrice, sniffing as he turned his attention to the dance floor. “ Who organized all of this, Tessie? I cannot decide if it is the most ostentatious, gaudy thing I have ever seen in my life, or the most exceptional. There is a thin line between the two, I expect.”

“It is called ‘imagination’, Lord Grayling,” Beatrice replied tersely. “You might attempt it sometime; it shall change your life.”

Teresa cleared her throat. “Beatrice arranged it all, Vincent, with great effort. And I can confirm that it is the most exceptional thing I have ever beheld.”

Vincent blinked, keeping his gaze fixed on Cyrus and Prudence. “Ah… well… it will certainly serve you well, Tessie. Everyone seems to be having a grand time.”

“Except you,” Beatrice muttered.

“I did not say I was not enjoying myself,” Vincent retorted. “The jousting was excellent. I am certain I could have been a very accomplished jouster.”

Beatrice smirked. “There are still two tournaments left before the ball is over. Perhaps, you should enter your name. I could certainly facilitate that .”

“I think not,” Vincent muttered. “I would hate to injure another gentleman on a night that is so important to my sister.”

Beatrice cackled. “A pity you did not feel that way when His Grace came to apologize to Tess. You know how our dear Tess feels about romance, and you nearly ruined the most romantic moment of her life.”

“I was—” Before Vincent could protest or explain, the music came to a gentle close for the last set, and Prudence came bounding off the dance floor.

She lifted her mask, beaming from ear to ear. “Did you see?”

“We saw,” Teresa replied warmly, grateful for the intervention. “You danced so well, Pru!”

Cyrus caught his wife’s eye, flashing a pointed look that brought Teresa’s hand to her mouth, swallowing down the laugh that wanted to escape. It had been a wondrous discovery, finding out that her husband had a sharp sense of humor that only seemed to blossom with the passing weeks.

“Indeed,” Cyrus said, “I doubt I have ever experienced such a dance before. I shall not forget it in a hurry.”

Prudence threw her giddy arms around Teresa, hugging her tight. “Thank you for lending him to me,” she said. “But do you have to go away? Can you not have your honeymoon here, with all of us? I do not know how I am supposed to fare without you for months.”

“It will pass by more quickly than you think,” Teresa promised, her heart leaping at the thought of the adventures ahead.

It had been rather a surprise when Cyrus had come to her, with that shy look upon his face, and informed her that they would be spending the next few months exploring Tuscany, Venice, Naples, Sicily, the Papal States.

For, indeed, when she had asked for a honeymoon, she had also expected that they would remain in England. The seaside, perhaps.

“Indeed, we cannot keep her all to ourselves anymore,” Isolde’s voice interjected, as she joined the group, looking as resplendent as a queen in a dramatic gown of dark red.

She held a little knight on her hip, who seemed to be fast asleep, her husband a bigger version at her side.

“Oh dear,” Beatrice said softly. “It appears the party has been too much for one valiant knight.”

Isolde laughed. “I promised I would wake him for the next joust.”

“And you must, for I am trying to convince your brother to partake,” Beatrice replied. “He said he would be quite proficient, so I thought it might be interesting for him to prove it.”

Isolde, however, looked quite horrified. “Oh, Vincent, no. You cannot partake in a joust. You will hurt yourself terribly, and I do not want Joseph to see that.”

“I thought I might participate,” Isolde’s husband, Edmund, chimed in. “Would you be too worried?”

Isolde smiled up at him. “Mercy, no. I know you would unseat anyone you rode against, my love.”

“I beg your pardon.” Vincent’s eyes flashed, clearly dumbfounded that everyone thought he would end up hurt.

As the group began to quarrel among themselves, Teresa felt Cyrus’s hand in hers, a faint tug pulling her away from the mild argument.

No one noticed as the happy couple slipped away, weaving through the guests in their masks, hiding in plain sight.

Cyrus did not let go of her hand as he guided her through the exquisite, fairy realm of the gardens, past the groups that were listening intently to the storytellers, and on to the greenhouses.

He paused outside the door, producing a key. Turning it in the lock, he ushered his wife into the greenhouse, where they could be alone, and quite concealed, behind the wildly growing plants and flowers that filled the balmy space.

“Peace at last,” Cyrus said, lifting his mask.

Teresa lifted her own, laughing. “Your feelings toward social events have not changed?”

“A little.” He moved closer, his arms slipping around her waist. “I do not mind any ball where you are there.”

“Then, we shall have to have many here,” she teased, chuckling as he grimaced.

“I do not know about that.” He began to sway with her. “But some dances of our own—now, I would not mind that at all.”

She rested her palms on his chest, smiling up at him, wondering how she had gotten so lucky. “I cannot wait to begin our adventures, my love.”

“Ah, but our adventures have already begun,” he said. “They began the moment we met, and have not yet ceased.”

She smoothed her hands up his chest and over his shoulders, looping her arms around his neck. “I pray they never do.” She gazed into his dark blue eyes. “I love you.”

“As I love you,” he replied thickly, bending his head to catch her mouth in a slow, longing kiss.

She kissed him back in kind, as they moved to the distant music of the ball, dancing out of sight of society: two hermits who had found one another, bringing each other out of their respective shells, making daydreams a reality.

Because of him, Teresa had finally found the answer to the question Beatrice had asked her at that fateful ball, what seemed like forever ago: the real thing was always better than the fiction.

Indeed, who needs a Captain when I have my Duke?

The End?