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She shook her head, "Not if I can help it, Your Grace. I have been... this has all been very confusing for me," she finally admitted. "What happened between us... that night.."

His hand tightened on her waist again, cutting her off. "It shouldn't have happened," he said quickly, his voice low and urgent. "I was out of line."

Daphne's heart sank at his words, though she wasn't sure what she had been expecting. An apology? An explanation? Instead, she was left with nothing but a hollow ache in her chest.

"It was a mistake," Ambrose continued, his voice cool, though his grip on her waist betrayed the intensity of his emotions. "It won't happen again."

Daphne's throat tightened, tears pricking in her eyes. She wanted to ask him why—why had he kissed her if it meant nothing? Why did he hold her like this, so tightly, if it was all a mistake?

But the words wouldn't come. Instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, her voice barely audible. "I see."

The music began to wind down, and Ambrose loosened his hold on her, stepping back slightly. His expression was unreadable, his eyes guarded as he looked down at her.

"We won't be seeing each other after the wedding," he said quietly, his voice clipped. "It's better this way."

"I thought..." Daphne was on the brink of tears now, though she did not wish to cry in front of him. "I thought that we would...I..."

"I told you," he pressed his lips together, "I will stay out of the affairs of you and my brother from now onwards. It is for the best."

Daphne felt as though she had been betrayed. Not that Ambrose owed her anything, but to remove himself entirely from her life felt cruel and her mind refused to accept it.

"Is that what you truly want?" she asked.

Their gaze locked together. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Richard's voice interrupted them.

"Daphne! There is someone I'd like for you to meet."

Ambrose stood at the edge of the ballroom as he watched Daphne walk back toward Richard.

It broke his heart to watch her go, knowing that he had no one to blame for this but himself. He had danced with her, held her close for those fleeting moments, but instead of offering her the truth, he had chosen to be cold, distant.

His chest tightened painfully. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

He had resolved, earlier that evening, that he would tell her.

He would be honest about his feelings, no matter how complicated or dangerous they might be.

He had convinced himself that he would take the risk, that she was worth whatever turmoil might follow.

But when the time had come—when she had looked up at him, her eyes searching his with questions he wasn't ready to answer—he had faltered.

The words he had prepared had stuck in his throat, and instead, he had offered her nothing. His heart had been screaming for him to tell her the truth, but his mind had silenced the words before they could escape.

Now, as he watched her rejoin Richard, his stomach churned with the weight of his own cowardice.

Dancing with her had been a strange, exhilarating torment. The warmth of her hand in his, the way her body moved with his, the scent of her perfume—everything about her had awoken feelings inside him that he had never wanted to acknowledge.

What he felt for her was too strong, too all-consuming. He had spent weeks telling himself that this was a passing fancy, something he could push aside, but the truth was far more damning.

Let her marry Richard. Let her have the life she was meant to have—a life that didn't include him. He would stay out of their affairs. He would keep his distance, guard his heart, and eventually, he would forget about her.

But even as he thought it, he knew it was a lie. He could never truly forget her. The way she had looked at him tonight, the hurt in her eyes —they would haunt him for years to come. He would carry the memory of this night, of this dance, like a wound that would never fully heal.

"I... I need to a moment to myself, my lord."

Daphne tore herself away from Richard, barely registering his confusion.

Her chest felt tight. After her dance with Ambrose, the ballroom had become suffocating.

She hurried out of the room, her heels clicking rapidly against the polished floors as she sought refuge in one of the estate's more secluded powder rooms.

Tears welled in her eyes before she could even think to stop them. Her vision blurred as she made her way to the mirror, gripping the edge of the vanity to steady herself.

Oh, this night was turning out to be one of the worst of her life.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and Daphne barely registered the sound until she heard a familiar voice.

"Daphne?" Isadora's voice was laced with concern as she stepped into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw her friend standing by the mirror, clearly distraught. "Oh, Daphne, what's wrong?"

Daphne shook her head, unable to speak, the tears still streaming down her face. She turned away from Isadora, attempting to wipe her eyes with trembling hands, but it was no use. The tears kept coming, her heartbreak too overwhelming to contain.

Isadora rushed to her side, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Shh, it's alright," she whispered gently. "You don't have to explain if you're not ready."

A moment later, the door opened again, and Violet entered, her expression turning from curious to concerned the moment she saw Daphne's tear-streaked face.

"What's happened?" she asked, rushing to join Isadora at Daphne's side. "Daphne, are you alright?"

Daphne sniffled, shaking her head again as she tried to speak, but the words lodged themselves in her throat. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sound of her crying, but it was no use.

Violet exchanged a worried glance with Isadora, then placed a gentle hand on Daphne's arm. "We're here, Daphne. You don't have to go through this alone."

Isadora guided Daphne to a nearby chair, coaxing her to sit down as she continued to cry. The two friends crouched down beside her, offering whatever comfort they could.

"What could have happened?" Isadora murmured quietly, almost to herself, as she handed Daphne a handkerchief. "She was fine earlier..."

Violet's eyes narrowed slightly as she thought back over the events of the evening. "It's not Richard, is it?" she asked, her tone tentative, as if not wanting to pry too deeply. "I did not see the both of them arguing. Do you think he might have said something to her?"

"No, no. I do not believe so. He is far too polite for it."

"Did she have a squabble with Joyce then?"

"No, they get along brilliantly. I do not see why they would fight over anything."

Daphne's sobs quieted slightly, but she didn't respond, her shoulders still shaking with the force of her emotions. She took the handkerchief from Isadora with a shaking hand, dabbing at her eyes, but the tears kept coming.

Isadora's brow furrowed in thought, and she gently pressed on. "Is it... the Duke?"

At the mention of Ambrose, Daphne let out another sob, her hands tightening around the handkerchief. Isadora's and Violet's suspicions were confirmed in an instant.

"Oh, Daphne," Isadora whispered, her voice filled with understanding. She leaned in closer, her arm still around her friend's shoulders. "Is it something he said? Did something happen between you two?"

Daphne shook her head once more, unable to find the words to explain the chaos of emotions swirling inside her. How could she begin to describe what had happened?

Violet sighed softly, her hand resting on Daphne's arm as she watched her friend's tears continue to fall. "It's him, isn't it?" she asked quietly. "He's the reason you're so upset."

Isadora glanced at Violet again, worry etched across her face. "Whatever it is, Daphne, you don't have to face it alone," she whispered.

Violet nodded in agreement. "It's clear that something happened between you and Ambrose, but you don't have to explain right now. We just want you to know we're here."

Daphne took a shaky breath, grateful for their support.

"I... I don't know what to do," Daphne whispered shakily. Her gaze dropped to her lap, tears still glistening in her eyes. "Everything feels so..."

"So overwhelming," Isadora finished for her, understanding clear in her tone.

Daphne nodded, more tears threatening to spill over. "I can't... I don't know what I'm supposed to do anymore."

"You don't have to have all the answers right now," Violet said softly, her hand giving Daphne's arm a reassuring squeeze. "Just take it one step at a time."

Isadora handed Daphne another handkerchief, her expression kind but determined. "You don't have to decide anything tonight. Just breathe, Daphne."

Daphne could no longer fight the sinking feeling that had taken root inside of her.

"Where are you going?" Isadora asked, chasing after Daphne as she exited the restroom in a rush.

"Please, I need to do this on my own," Daphne retorted, looking back at her friend over her shoulder.

Worry lines etched across her friend's face and she opened her mouth to speak, but then backed away. "I trust you to make the right decision for yourself. Stay safe, Daphne."

"Have you seen the Duke?" Daphne asked her sister, who was by the refreshments table.

"I believe I saw him go outside," she replied, and then raised an eyebrow. " Why? "

"I have no time to explain right now," Daphne brushed past her sister with a determined look on her face. She barely heard Joyce's response as she picked up her skirts and rushed out of the ballroom.

There was a sense of urgency propelling her forward. She couldn't let things remain unresolved between them. Not after everything that had happened.