Page 34

T he final night of the house party had arrived, and as Daphne stood in front of the mirror in her room, she felt an overwhelming sense of bittersweetness.

The house party had been a mere week, but it had felt like an eternity—long enough to change everything, to upend the world she thought she knew so well.

As she stared into the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her gown, her reflection did nothing to reassure her. A mere seven days ago, she had arrived at the estate with one goal in mind—to secure a future with Richard. But now...everything had changed.

"Oh, you look beautiful," Joyce remarked as she walked up behind Daphne. "You look like a proper Lady in that gown. I am sure that Richard will not be able to stop staring."

Daphne forced a smile. "Yes, I hope that he likes it."

"And perhaps...." Joyce trailed off, "perhaps you might catch the attention of the Duke as well."

"Oh," Daphne nearly jumped at the mention, "do you know if he has returned? From wherever he had disappeared off to?"

"I did not see him again this afternoon," Joyce replied, "But I have to say, Daphne. I have been noticing that you tend to bring him up quite often. Almost as though it's him that you are interested in."

Daphne should have known better than to hide anything from her sister – she had the ability to read her like a book. "That's... not quite right."

"But it's not quite untrue either, is it?" Joyce pressed. "I have been noticing little things, here and there. And it worries me, because what if this means that you are not happy with your current match?"

Daphne wanted to weep. She was not happy with her current match. "Well, perhaps happiness is not the end goal of a marriage."

Joyce grabbed her sister by the hand, gently. "Daphne, what has gotten into you? I have never heard you be this cynical before. If there is something that you still wish to do, then tell me. You have not yet been proposed to, so it is not like you have already promised marriage to Lord Richard."

Daphne considered her sister's words. What could she do?

Even though she had grown feelings for the Duke, they did not amount to much as they were unrequited.

The Duke considered her nothing more than a mistake.

If it was the case that he felt something for her in return – then perhaps – something could be done.

But as it stood, she would be ruining her own prospects for someone who did not even see her that way.

"There is nothing to be done," Daphne sighed in resignation and stole a final glance in the mirror in front of her. "We should be heading down to the ballroom now. I believe it is about to begin."

Richard was waiting by the entrance for Daphne with his arm outstretched.

"Good evening, My Lady," he greeted with the same smile he always had. His eyes wandered to her gown – which was light blue and ruffled out in the sleeves. "You look lovely."

"Thank you, My Lord," she managed a small smile in return. The ballroom was already beginning to fill up with Lords and Ladies, all dressed to the nines. For a moment, Daphne noted Richard looking at one of the ladies that passed by them. But it did not faze her in the slightest.

In fact, she almost wondered if it would be better if the lady was on his arm instead of her. But she pushed the thought away.

"Can you believe that the week flew by so quickly, My Lord?" she started. "It seemed that it was only yesterday that I arrived here with my sister, Joyce."

Richard nodded, "Ah, yes. You know how it is with these things. Perhaps you just had excellent company with whom you lost track of time."

His voice had a flirtatious edge, and Daphne wondered if she was expected to say something sweet in return. But try as she might, she could only manage a faint smile.

"Ah... yes, it's been quite nice with Isadora and Violet," she muttered after a moment.

Richard looked at her, surprised for a moment. And then nearly broke into a fit of laughter.

What have I said that was so funny?

"Yes, that is exactly whom I meant by company," he replied, amused. "Isadora and Violet."

Even though Richard had taken her words in his stride, she knew her attempt at dodging his flirtation was rather obvious. If it was any other man, he would have taken quit the offense to it.

"Good to know that we share the same opinion, then," Daphne said.

As she glanced around the room, something—no, someone—caught her eye.

The doors to the ballroom swung open, and the Dowager entered with Ambrose by her side. The sight of him caused Daphne's breath to hitch.

He's here.

It had now been nearly two days since she had seen him last in the darkened corners of that library. She had to blink twice, just to assure herself that it truly was him that was standing beside his mother.

Overwhelmingly, the emotion that flooded her body upon seeing him was relief. Relief that he had returned, that he was okay and no harm had been done on him.

"Oh, mother and Ambrose have arrived," Richard's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Shall we go and greet them?" he suggested, already moving to pull her toward his brother and mother.

Her pulse quickened. "Now?"

Daphne forced herself to move, even though every step closer to Ambrose filled her with dread. What would she say? How could she look him in the eye after everything that had happened? The kiss, the tension, the strange pull between them that had only grown more complicated with time.

As they neared, Ambrose's gaze locked onto hers.

His face was unreadable, but his eyes... his eyes spoke volumes. He looked away quickly, focusing on some distant point in the room, but the momentary glance had set her heart racing.

"Mother, Ambrose," Richard greeted them warmly as they approached. "It seems the evening is off to a splendid start."

The Dowager smiled at her younger son, her eyes briefly flicking between Richard and Daphne, then to Ambrose, as if she were watching for some sign of... something.

Ambrose, however, remained silent, his attention firmly elsewhere.

"Yes, a splendid start," the Dowager agreed.

"Lady Daphne, you look lovely this evening. Doesn't she, Ambrose?"

Ambrose's jaw clenched slightly, but he nodded, his gaze meeting Daphne's for a split second before flicking away again. "Indeed, she does," he said, his voice tight, though polite.

Daphne's stomach flipped, her discomfort growing with every second. "Thank you, Your Grace," she managed to say.

"Well, no need to linger here. There are plenty of people to greet this evening," Richard said, "I shall be right back."

As Richard excused himself and made his way to some of the guests, Daphne was left standing with Ambrose and the Dowager. The air between them felt thick with tension, but the Dowager seemed completely oblivious—or perhaps she was simply playing her part too well.

"Ambrose, why don't you ask Lady Daphne for a dance?" the Dowager suggested smoothly, her eyes gleaming with something that made Daphne feel uneasy. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind, would you, my dear?"

Daphne's heart stuttered in her chest. She opened her mouth to protest, to politely refuse, but no words came out.

Beyond that, she was sure that Ambrose would refuse. Why would he wish to dance with me?

But when he finally spoke, his answer surprised her.

"Of course, if Lady Daphne is willing."

Daphne's breath caught. Her mind screamed at her to say no, to avoid this dance at all costs, but her heart had other plans. "I—I would be honored," she said.

Ambrose extended his hand, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, with a hesitance that bordered on reluctance, Daphne placed her hand in his. The contact sent a jolt of heat coursing through her, and she quickly looked away.

As they walked toward the dance floor, Daphne could feel the eyes of the room on them, especially Richard's, though she didn't dare look in his direction. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could only imagine what Ambrose must be thinking.

Neither of them spoke for the first few moments, just going through the motions of the dance as the music swelled around them. She could not see Richard any more, as they were surrounded by other couples, dancing as they were.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Ambrose spoke. "How have you been enjoying your time with Richard?"

Daphne blinked, caught off guard by the question. She glanced up at him, her brow furrowing. "It's been... pleasant," she replied.

Ambrose's grip tightened slightly on her waist, his expression unreadable. "Pleasant?"

"Yes," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Pleasant."

She was all too aware of the grip he had on her waist, unable to focus on anything else.

Ambrose's jaw clenched, and for a moment, she thought he might say something more, but he remained silent, his gaze distant as they continued to dance.

"Where had you gone?" Daphne asked, unable to stop herself. "I was..."

She wanted to tell him that she was worried, but stopped herself from doing so. Things between them were confusing enough already. "I thought that you would not return."

"Why would I not?" he replied, his voice devoid of emotion. She thought back to what the Dowager had told her, about how Ambrose rarely speaks about his feelings to anyone.

She wondered if something similar was going on now, about how he was deflecting once again.

"Why did you agree to dance with me?" her next question was laced with frustration. If he truly wished to put some distance between them, why was he here, with his hand firmly planted onto her waist?

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, but he quickly concealed it with his usual nonchalance. "It would be rude not to. I did not wish to go against mothers wishes."

Daphne felt herself deflate once more. Of course, it was not because he wanted to. Only because the Dowager had asked him.

"Are you going to dance with any of the other ladies tonight?"

Ambrose shot her a look. "Are you going to stop with your questioning?"