Page 34

T he night of the ball had come too soon, Sera thought when she stared at her reflection in the mirror as her sister helped pin the last of the pearls in her hair.

Tonight, she wore a beautiful pale-blue gown that everyone believed marked her engagement.

Only she knew this gown was for Alex, also meant to break off the engagement that had weighed on her body and soul since she met the only man she would love in this lifetime.

“Done,” Isabella said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “You look… like a proper lady about to create the biggest scandal in all of London. No, England.”

Sera managed a weak smile, her fingers fidgeting with the lace of her gown. She certainly didn’t feel the part. Tonight was her engagement ball, but all she could think about was how she would meet Alex at midnight.

The thought of him sent a jolt of nerves through her.

How many days had it been since she last saw him? Would his eyes light up when he saw her? Would he still look at her the same way? Or—her stomach twisted—what if he didn’t come?

Isabella, oblivious to her turmoil, grinned. “I’m so very proud of you.”

Sera arched a brow. “For causing a scandal?”

“For defying the rules and fighting for what you want, silly.”

Sera glanced at her sister through the mirror. “Isabella, what flowers did the prince bring when he visited this morning?”

Her sister tilted her head, distracted as she reached for a strand of pearls to fasten around Sera’s neck. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Sera replied. She’d been too shocked to ask before. “Flowers have meaning.”

“Well, I can’t rightly recall. He took them with him when he left.”

“How odd.”

“Right? I guess he wanted to give them to you in person.” Isabella wrinkled her nose. “Who brings flowers just to leave with them again?”

Sera nodded, though the prince’s peculiar habits were the least of her concerns.

Her mind raced ahead to the evening’s true purpose: to end this engagement.

She would enter the ballroom with her parents and then find an excuse to slip away.

It shouldn’t be too hard to find a prince unless he didn’t want to be found.

A risk still lived and breathed. Breaking the engagement unilaterally would be one thing. But if he didn’t want her either, she’d be shunned. She would be the subject of the greatest scandal of the season.

What if Alex cared about her reputation after all?

Isabella quickly fastened the pearls at the back of her neck. “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” Sera echoed. “Hardly. What is there to be nervous about?” A bold lie. But she was also excited.

Tonight, she claimed her freedom.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Isabella said with a mischievous grin. “You look rather terrified to me. I would be too if I were the one going against Mama’s wishes.”

“That’s not what bothers me.” Her parents would be furious, but they would forgive her. Besides, with Isabella on her side—and being the daughter they doted on the most—Sera was confident in this.

“Well, all in all, if you ask me, you’re handling it all rather well,” Isabella said. “I’d be a trembling mess if I were in your shoes.”

Sera sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could trade places with you, just for a night. To be that age again.”

“Oh, please,” Isabella scoffed. “You’d have to listen to Mama lecture about posture and needlework.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Sera replied.

At that moment, the door creaked open, and her mother breezed into the room. Her eyes lit up when they fell on Sera. “You’re the most perfect blushing bride, dear.”

Sera stiffened, her knuckles whitening as her grip tightened on the edge of the vanity. Her breath caught as she glanced at her reflection, a face framed by curls, lips pressed so tightly together they barely looked like hers.

I’m really not a bride.

Behind her, her mother’s gentle humming filled the room, a familiar melody from Sera’s childhood that now carried an unbearable weight.

The rustle of fabric as her mother spread a gown across the bed sent a wave of unease prickling at the back of Sera’s neck.

She couldn’t bring herself to turn around, not when she felt the joy radiating from her mother like sunlight on a summer morning, because this was the day she’d disappoint her mother the most.

Once her mother stopped fussing over her dress, she tenderly wrapped a strand of Sera’s curls around her finger and sighed wistfully.

A knot twisted painfully in Sera’s stomach as she caught a glimpse of her mother’s smile reflected in the mirror.

It wasn’t fair.

None of this was fair.

Her hands trembled on the vanity, and she forced herself to steady them, pressing down harder until she felt the faint indent of the carved edges against her skin.

Her heart thudded, each beat heavier than the last. She couldn’t do it, not yet.

She couldn’t shatter the hope so clearly written in her mother’s expression without at least giving her time—time to adjust, time to understand.

Sera drew in a shallow breath, the faint scent of rose water drifting from the nearby pitcher. A scent she’d always found calming, but tonight, it only tightened the knot in her chest.

“Mama,” Sera said slowly. “I’m not marrying the prince.”

“What did you say?” her mother didn’t seem to understand the idea. “I’m so proud of you,” she said as if she’d overheard Sera’s impossible declaration. “My oldest daughter will be a princess. A princess bride.”

“No, I won’t.”

Her mother froze mid-step. “What are you talking about? That’s madness, dear. Nothing could be worse than you rejecting the prince!”

Sera said more forcibly, “Mama, I will be neither blushing nor beautiful for the prince. I don’t want to marry him.”

Her mother’s expression shattered into shock. “You cannot be serious!”

“I am very serious. I’m in love with another man.”

Her mother’s face darkened. “That’s preposterous! You don’t know any other men!”

“I do. And I want to be with him instead.”

The older woman grimaced as if she’d burned her mouth on hot tea, then put her hands on her hips. “Come again?”

“I don’t want to marry this prince. I don’t know him. Nobody ever asked me what I wanted.”

“So, before you ever met the prince, you wish to reject him? Honestly, Sera?”

“It’s not the life I want.” Sera remained firmed.

“The best kind of life? That of a princess, you mean?”

Sera cringed. Stupid, yes. But she was madly in love; what should she do?

A familiar tightness settled in her chest, the kind that always came when her mother’s doting words bore down like a weight from which she couldn’t escape. It wasn’t her mother’s happiness that made her shift uncomfortably; it was how completely assured she seemed of Sera’s.

“My dear sweet girl, it’s common to have cold feet,” her mother said, her voice lilting like she’d rehearsed the words.

The phrase prickled at the edge of Sera’s mind.

Cold feet?

Her mother continued, her enthusiasm rekindled, “But trust me, you’re well-prepared for this life as a princess. He will take you to Bran Castle for your honeymoon and you’ll see your—” she waved her hand with a theatrical flourish, “kingdom!”

The words grated against Sera’s thoughts.

It was all castles, kingdoms, princesses—the kind of fairy tale fragments that should have been thrilling.

But instead of wonder, she felt something much colder wrapping around her.

Her throat tightened. She stared hard at the mirror across the room, locking her gaze on her own strained reflection.

Then her mother’s tone softened, affectionate now, but somehow sharper for it. “My sweet girl. We have done everything to ensure you have the best possible life! A princess! That is what we made possible for you! And you’ll do well in this role, paving the way for Isabella, too.”

She cast her little sister a look, but Isabella pretended to be immersed in curling a strand of pearls around her index finger fully absorbed in the task. Smart girl.

“You’re going to accept the prince gracefully, become a princess, and that’s all,” her mother declared.

There it was—that word again.

Princess.

Spoken like a threat. Something that should make everything worth it, a sacrifice Sera wasn’t willing to offer.

A thousand tiny moments fell into place at once: her father’s scheming, her mother’s constant assurances, the pressure placed on her shoulders from the moment this match had been proposed all those years ago.

It hit her all at once, the truth behind it, a truth she couldn’t unsee no matter how hard she tried.

She straightened, the muscles in her back drawn tight like a string pulled to the breaking point.

The guilt that had held her hostage began to fray and dissolve, replaced by heat that crept up her neck and into her face.

Her mother’s words spun in her head, her voice soft but cutting, weaving something beautiful from what Sera knew was nothing but a gilded chain. But Sera no longer listened.

How could she not have seen it? How could Mother not understand? Sera turned, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

“You did this for me?” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice rising with disbelief. “How can you say that when it’s Papa who stands to benefit from this marriage?”

“You will be a princess!” her mother snapped, as though that settled the matter.

“I never wanted to be a princess!” She never wanted any of this! From the very beginning, she had never been given a chance. No one ever asked her what she wanted. No one had cared. They believed they were doing the right thing for their business, not for their daughter.

“So, you’ll ruin your sister’s chances for a good match too?”

“I don’t want to marry and move away like she will!” Isabella declared, stepping forward with a fiery defiance that matched Sera’s.

“See what you’ve done?” her mother exclaimed, pointing at Isabella. “You’ve corrupted your sister!”

“I am merely following my heart, Mama,” Sera countered. “Can you truly fault me for that?”

“Yes! It was never part of my plans.”

“Well, then blame me all you want because I cannot do as you wish.”

“Me too,” Isabella said, moving to stand beside her sister. “Sera didn’t corrupt me. I corrupted myself!”

Their mother’s face turned red. “Ungrateful, both of you! Wretched, selfish girls! How dare you do this to me?” She stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her, shouting for Father in the halls. Sera and Isabella remained in heavy silence.

Isabella crossed her arms, her chin held high. “Well, that went well.”

“It will get much worse,” Sera said.

Sera stared at the door, her heart in her throat. “Yes.”

This was only the beginning.

*

Seven o’clock at Cloverdale House

Alex stared at his reflection in the mirror while Charles adjusted the lapels of his freshly pressed coat.

That evening, he and Stan were getting ready for Lady Anna Ashford’s ball.

Thea had taken up residence with Lady Ashford in anticipation of her introduction to society, and it was supposed to be his engagement ball in the traditional Austrian way.

He was to present Miss Lyndon with a bouquet of red roses and then invite her to waltz. If she accepted, they’d be married.

Alex nearly convulsed at the thought.

He had only hours to stop the charade before he could find Sera at Vauxhall.

Five hours only. The man gazing back looked every bit the part of a respectable fiancé preparing for his engagement ball, except for the dark circles beginning to form under his eyes.

He sighed.

He was tired.

This situation with von List had remained unresolved and it bothered Alex more than he wanted to show that Stan had been injured. It meant von List was dangerous. And if he, Thea, and Stan had been in danger, then Sera might be, too.

He glanced at the flowers he forgot to leave at the Lyndon residence. Come what may, tonight was the night he would break it off with Miss Lyndon. He owed her that much, didn’t he? He wanted to follow his heart. And honesty, no matter how brutal, was better than a lie prolonged.

His sweet Sera.

The thought of her was both a balm and a torment.

He missed her so fiercely it was as though his heart had been carved from his chest. But alongside the ache came doubts.

What if she didn’t feel the same any longer?

What if absence hadn’t made the heart grow fonder but had instead extinguished the flame?

The valet cleared his throat, interrupting Alex’s spiraling thoughts. “You’ve been standing there like a statue, Your Highness. If you’re planning to look brooding all evening, you might frighten away your ladylove.”

Alex glanced at the man. “My ladylove?”

“The one you met in Cornwall.”

“You even know that much?”

“I know a lot more than you give me credit for, Your Highness.”

Alex nodded. He didn’t doubt that. “I’m meeting her at midnight at Vauxhall.”

The man paused. “I see.” Another pause. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“It’s a necessity.” And if he was brooding, he wouldn’t be brooding for much longer.

However, the thought of Vauxhall Gardens filled him with equal parts hope and dread.

He couldn’t not show up. The idea of disappointing Sera—or worse, never seeing her again—was unbearable.

But what if she didn’t come? What if he was clinging to a dream, a memory that had grown larger than life in her absence?

He glanced at the clock. How many minutes until midnight?

He tugged at his cravat.

“Where is my brother?” Alex asked Charles.

“He and your sister already left for the ball, Your Highness,” the man replied. “Does your family know about your midnight meeting?”

“They do not,” Alex said, giving the man a look. “I wish for it to stay that way.”

“I live for your discretion, Your Highness. If I may be so bold as to ask, does your ladylove have a name?”

Alex hesitated. The valet was more than just a servant; he was a confidant. Of sorts. “Sera,” he said softly. The name felt like a prayer on his lips.

“And does Miss Lyndon know about your Sera?”

“She doesn’t,” Alex admitted. “And she never will.”

“That’s probably wise,” the valet replied. “I hope she’s worth your effort.”

The man stole the words straight from Alex’s heart.

“Well, sir, if that’s the case, I’d say you’re braver than most. But bravery doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt.”

Alex shot the man an odd look. “Thanks for the depressing warning.” He slipped on his gloves and prepared to leave.

“Wish me luck,” he said as he reached for the door.

“Good luck, Your Highness.” The valet’s expression was uncharacteristically sincere. “You may need it.”

Let’s hope I don’t.

But midnight couldn’t come soon enough.