Emily couldn’t recall the last time she saw their townhouse so busy. The persistent hum of activity echoed through every corridor in the Clifton townhouse. Servants rushed in and out of rooms, attending to one task or the other. The ballroom was festooned with a variety of fresh flowers, embellishing every mantelpiece and a few side stools. 

The butler was stationed by the large double doors, scanning the room and observing the preparations being done with a scrutinizing gaze. A small orchestra was setting up in one corner, chatting amongst themselves as they tuned their instruments. The sound was barely audible with the activity going on around. There were at least a hundred candles in the room, and one could already imagine how the ballroom would look when they were all lit.

A floor above the ballroom, in Charlotte’s bedchamber, her lady’s maid was lacing her stays. 

Tonight was Charlotte’s come-out ball and also the first ball of the Season. Richard had instructed that everything be perfect for the high-society guests that would be in attendance.

A warm smile etched on Charlotte’s face as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Emily’s face mirrored hers. The pink gown she wore was perfect for her, its flower designs following an elegant pattern.

“Mary, might I have my gloves laid out for me?” Charlotte said to her lady’s maid, her voice smooth. “Oh—and do pass the silk ribbons for my hair.”

“Of course, my lady. As soon as I’m finished with your dress,” Mary replied, curtseying slightly.

Emily, seated on a comfortable chair, observed as Mary helped her cousin get ready for tonight’s memorable occasion. Involuntarily, as she watched, her mind wandered back to six years ago, to a time when, just hours before her come-out ball, she was getting dressed. She could never forget the hope that grew inside her with each moment that passed. She had imagined all the dances she’d have with the fine gentlemen who asked her and had hounded her lady’s maid—bless her patient heart—with endless questions so she didn’t miss anything.

Her heart leapt every time she thought of her future and the love she and her husband would share. They’d have a townhouse and a house in the country to escape all the pressures of being in high society from time to time. She had dreamed of having kids, a home filled with laughter and stories to tell anyone who’d care to listen about how lucky she was. 

“What do you think, Emily?” 

Charlotte’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. Her focus returned to her cousin, who was now fully dressed. An excited squeal drew out of Charlotte, and she twirled around, showing off her finished ensemble.

Tears of mixed emotion threatened to fall from Emily’s eyes, but she fought them back. Her cousin was truly beautiful—without a doubt. She took pride in knowing Charlotte would do great on the marriage mart this Season. But despite the pride she felt, a dull ache throbbed in her heart. She wondered if she’d ever get a chance at love again or if she was really going to die a spinster, having lost the opportunities she had and now being stigmatized as ‘unlucky’.

A gentle smile spread across her lips.

“You look most charming, my dear,” she said. Rising to her feet, she walked over to where Charlotte stood with a beaming smile. Cupping one side of her face, she added, “Your beauty outshines us all tonight.”

“Thank you, Emily. Your words are most gracious and well appreciated,” Charlotte said, squeezing her hand. Words couldn’t express how grateful she was. Matter of fact, words couldn’t express how much she was looking forward to tonight’s festivities and possibilities.

Heaving a sigh, Emily took one more good look at her cousin. She resolved within her not to let her own disappointments in life affect her capacity to be a support for Charlotte. It was her night, and everything was going to be perfect.

“The ball starts in a few hours. Would you like to read something before then? Or perhaps some tea to calm any nerves?” Emily asked.

“Tea sounds great,” Charlotte replied. “Otherwise, I’m afraid my nerves would get the better of me.”

“Tea it is then.” Emily nodded curtly. She cast a look at Mary, who had been standing a few feet away, not needing to speak for her to get the message of what was required.

“I shall have some tea made for you, my lady,” Mary uttered, her gaze lowering as she curtsied, before excusing herself.

“You’ll be great tonight, my dear,” Emily said to Charlotte when they were alone. She had noticed how nervous she seemed and wanted to help in any way she could.

Not too long later, after going to get ready herself, Emily finally made her way down to the ballroom. The splendour and grandness of it left her in awe. The workers had done a phenomenal job indeed. 

The spacious ballroom glowed under the dim light of the candles standing on tall candelabras. Imposing windows draped in plush, velvet curtains surrounded the room. The curtains were held back to allow guests behold the night sky and moonlit gardens. The walls, adorned with exquisite plasterwork and delicate gilded accents, complemented the high ceiling painted with swirling clouds. Ornate chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, casting a warm glow over the polished marble floors. Emily could almost see her reflection in it.

“Oh my!” she gushed, reaching the end of the stairs where Richard stood with his hand out to her and a proud smile etched on his face. 

“Can you believe it, Richard? Look at this place!”

“The staff have done a fine job in preparing for this ball,” Richard said.

“Indeed, they have.”

She reached the end of the stairs and took Richard’s hand, muttering a ‘thank you’.

“You look exquisite tonight, my lady,” he told her, his smile reaching his eyes.

Emily curtsied. “Thank you, my lord. You look quite handsome tonight, yourself.”

Richard bowed slightly. “Thank you.” Gesturing in the direction of the large doors, he added, “The guests are arriving now. The ball is about to begin. Shall we?”

“We shall.” Emily smiled. 

They made their way towards the entrance, and the footmen standing on both sides pulled back the doors open for them. 

Here we go, Emily thought, plastering a polite smile on her face. 

Soon, the guests began to arrive, in singles, pairs and groups, each one wearing an elaborate outfit for tonight. The air was thick with excitement, and the ballroom started to fill gradually.

Emily stood beside her brother, Richard, as they received their esteemed guests of London society. The sound of the carriages pulling up to the house was constant at some point. 

“Lord Wesley. Lady Wesley.” Richard bowed at the Viscount and his wife while Emily curtsied. 

Viscount Wesley, a man in his sixties who looked anything but, was a bosom friend of the late Earl of Colenshire. Richard had kept the connection and relationship even after his father passed.

“Lord Clifton,” Lord Wesley began with a toothy smile. “Pleasure to see you this fine evening.”

“Likewise, my lord.”

“Lady Emily, you look very elegant tonight,” Lord Wesley said, offering Emily a wider smile. 

Emily smiled politely. “Thank you, Lord Wesley. We do hope you have a wonderful time tonight. “

“Oh, I have no doubt that I will,” Lord Wesley replied, taking a bow before leading his wife away.

The polite smile on Emily’s and Richard’s faces remained as they continued to welcome the other guests, engaging in small talk about the weather and the social Season. 

Soon, the ballroom swarmed with guests—ladies in jewel-adorned gowns of silk and satin, their fabrics rustling against the floors, and gentlemen in their artfully tailored coats moved about exchanging pleasantries. Gentle laughter and the soft murmur of conversation entwined with the music played by the orchestra. The air grew thicker with the fresh scents of blooms and delicate fragrances the guests wore. Elegance emanated from every corner.

The music calmed Emily’s nerves, but still, she couldn’t help but feel the judgmental looks and sniggers from a few ladies of the ton on her.

Even as the ball fully commenced, she and Richard took a turn about the room; the weight of the ton’s scrutiny and criticism rested on her. She avoided their gazes, only stopping to greet some.

“I wonder how she must feel,” one of the ladies, Lady Bennett, whispered to the trio of ladies standing beside her. Ladies Bennett and Worthington and their daughters were the bane of Emily’s existence. 

Lady Worthington sniggered. “She’s clearly ambitious. I mean, with her unlucky streak, you’d think she’d give up and accept her fate as a spinster. Except if some widowed gentleman with greying hair and wrinkles running across his face decides to pity her and put her out of her misery.”

“Even that would be a miracle, would it not?” Miss Bennett muttered, scoffing.

“Oh, the poor thing,” Lady Bennett added, her tone drenched in pity. “Agatha, we must do our best to ensure that our daughters never suffer such fate.”

“My dear Celia shall never suffer such fate,” Lady Agatha boasted. 

“Lord Clifton.” Lady Bennett acknowledged the Earl with such charm that one might not have ever thought she and Lady Agatha were just talking about his sister.

Richard was no simpleton. He understood that these matronly figures spoke of Emily in hushed tones to their daughters and to anyone willing to lend an ear, depicting her as a cautionary tale. The society matrons, like most others in high society, spoke of her in her absence—and sometimes, presence—with disdain, their looks a poignant mix of pity and curiosity. 

Such repulsive behaviour, Richard thought.

“Lady Bennett. Lady Worthington.” Richard bowed his head a slight, not even bothering to offer a polite smile. He inched closer to Emily, who silently curtsied next to him.

“It is such a splendid evening, is it not? We are most grateful for the invitation for tonight, my lord,” Lady Bennett said.

“Thank you for honouring our invitation. We are…privileged…that you could join us tonight,” Richard replied. 

“I presume this grand event means we shall see more of you this Season,” Lady Worthington put in, smiling tightly.

“Of course. I look forward to this year’s Season. After all, Emily and I here, have Charlotte who would be debuting this Season.” Richard smiled proudly.

“Ah, yes. The young Miss Clifton,” Lady Agatha enunciated. “A true delight to behold. I’m sure you have high hopes that she’d be lucky to find a suitable match in her first Season out. Unlike many others who aren’t as lucky.” She cast a brief glance at Emily, who hadn’t spoken a word yet.

Richard’s jaw ticked and he bit back the first words that came to his mind, opting for a more polite and respectful response. 

“I have every confidence that all shall be well for Charlotte. I intend to make sure of it.”

“Wonderful,” Lady Agatha replied.

“She must be thrilled to have you…and Lady Emily, I’m sure,” Lady Bennett said. She ran a quick look over the Earl’s appearance, holding back the smile that tugged on her lips. 

Lord Clifton may have been in his early thirties, and while there were signs of ageing present, it did nothing to dampen his distinguished looks. More than a foot taller than her, with a strong jawline and warm brown eyes, which she was certain her daughter would appreciate, Lord Clifton was indeed one of the finest men of high society. Rumours had circulated time and again about the suspected reasons why he wasn’t married yet, but Lady Bennett—a devoted rumour monger—knew better than to rely on rumours. 

“Say, Lord Clifton, you must join us at our country home for dinner sometime. We would be thrilled to spend the evening with you, and my husband would be delighted by your presence,” Lady Bennett proposed.

“I appreciate the invitation, Lady Bennett. Perhaps I would join you sometime when it is convenient for both of us.” He took another small bow. “If you’ll excuse us.”

It was only when they’d walked away that Emily released a breath that she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. All the while Ladies Bennett and Worthington had been addressing her brother, she had avoided their gazes, not wanting to see their judgment in their eyes. It would have been scandalous to throw a ball and not invite them, but a large part of Emily couldn’t care less if she tried. 

Their presence alone made her distressed from a distance, and much more when she was in close proximity with them. 

She hadn’t missed the advances Lady Bennett had made towards Richard, no doubt with an end-goal to matchmake him with her daughter.

Emily had nearly scoffed at her dinner invitation. Of course, she would invite him for dinner now. Where was her invitation when the earldom’s finances had experienced a nosedive years prior? She and her brother were hardly seen in functions like these because they had too many problems on their hands to be bothered by the ton’s parties.

“Smile, Emily,” Richard leaned in to say, relieving Emily of her unnerving thoughts. He took her hand in his and gave her a gentle squeeze. “Don’t let those mothers and their unbridled tongues bother you. Their words carry as much weight as you allow it. You may rely on my support, Emily,” he reassured her as they reached the refreshments table. 

As his words comfortingly took root in her heart, warmth unfolded in her chest. A soft smile of gratitude lifted the corners of her mouth slightly. The sincerity in Richard’s eyes expressed the trust they shared in each other. Her worries may have only merely taken the latter seat in her mind for the time being, but she chose not to think about them.

“Thank you, Richard.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. 

“Now, I believe I spotted Lord Wilbury and his wife somewhere in this room. Shall we find them?” He held a glass of lemonade to her, and she accepted it gracefully. 

They continued to mingle and interact with the guests, as good hosts should, but soon, Emily’s worries had taken root again. A number of eyes watched her, and some whispered while gazing upon her. She had never felt more like a doll on display. 

They probably wondered what good she was when the one value she had as a woman had yet to be given.

Focus, Emily, she internalized.

One would need to develop tougher will to be able to worry less about society matters such as how marriageable one was. Emily was in dire need of tougher will, and she could all but hope that the stigmatization she had experienced in that past six years would not affect  Charlotte’s prospects on the mart.

Meanwhile, across the room, at the ballroom’s entrance, Marcus and his mother, Lady Holbrooke, stood. The Cliftons’ butler announced their presence, drawing the eyes of everyone to them.

“His Grace, The Duke of Milwood, and Her Grace, The Dowager Duchess of Milwood.”

For a moment, the room went into a hush, and then gradually, as Marcus and his mother proceeded into the ballroom, the murmurs began. 

Marcus noticed several glances directed at him, and he swallowed, tugging slightly at his cravat. His lips pressed into a line as he weaved himself through the sea of guests. His face contrasted with the expression his mother wore. He didn’t know if she genuinely enjoyed these types of events or if she had attended so many that she had gained a practised mask to put on. 

The grand ballroom felt too small for him, and he almost felt like he couldn’t breathe in his attire. It wasn’t just the formality of it that unsettled him and caused him to feel restricted. It was the air of expectation and—yet again—scrutiny that was common at these types of events. He hated it.

His eyes scanned the room, his gaze narrowing as he noted the crowd of enthusiastic debutantes and their overbearing mothers. Gentlemen across the room busied themselves with polite conversation about matters he didn’t care to know about right now.

Right now, all he could think of was the solitude the home he’d left behind offered and how every single person here held the potential to be a threat to that solitude.

“You do not need to look so grim, Marcus,” Her Grace cautioned, the inviting smile on her face not faltering even as she spoke.

“I do not look grim,” Marcus defended himself, but his indifference grew. 

“Your Graces.”

Marcus and his mother turned at the masculine voice, and he steeled his shoulders. He was prepared to be greeted and to greet—formally, but when his eyes landed first on the petite lady, his breath caught.

She certainly isn’t the bearer of the voice, he thought, his brows knotting. 

For a moment, he was transfixed. As their eyes locked, he found himself intrigued by her warm brown eyes. There was something about them that he couldn’t describe in one word. Her eyes held a depth of emotion that he had never noticed in the eyes of any other person at functions like these.  It was not the superficial gaiety to which he was accustomed. No, her eyes were anything but that, and they somehow managed to hold his gaze longer than he intended. He expected her to avert her gaze or to have some shyness in her demeanour. However, she didn’t, intriguing him more. He studied her appearance, noting the lushness of her honey-blonde hair, and how it complemented her eyes.

It was only after that moment had passed that whatever spell held them bound was broken.

“Lord Clifton,” his mother addressed the man that stood next to the young woman. He suddenly realised why she felt oddly familiar to him. Even though he didn’t associate himself much with these events, he had heard of Lady Emily. She and her family certainly kept the gossip mill abuzz. As much as he stayed far away from gossip, it was hard to miss all the talk about the Cliftons’ past financial woes and Emily’s engagements that turned sour. 

He thought it admirable how Lord Clifton had managed to revive the state of his family’s affairs and their standing in society in the time he did. His shrewdness in rescuing the earldom his late father had left to him had proved him to be a truly resilient man.

“Lady Emily,” his mother said to the honey-blonde-haired woman with her smile widened. “What a lovely ball you have put together tonight. The decorations are quite impeccable. Impressive taste you have got.”

Lady Emily curtsied, a graceful smile lining her lips. Lord Clifton bowed his head.

“Thank you, Your Grace. We are most grateful for your uplifting sentiments,” Richard said, smiling proudly. 

“With the start of the Season, you surely have set a high standard tonight. I’m sure the duke would agree.”

Richard and Emily turned to the duke with anticipation.

Marcus might have disliked the need for his presence tonight, but he couldn’t deny the tastefulness the ballroom had.

“Lord Clifton. Lady Emily. I wholeheartedly agree with my mother. You outdid yourself tonight. Thank you for having us,” he said.

Emily clamped her smile down. Her eyes met the duke’s, and she bit her lip. His Grace wasn’t someone anyone got to see often as he didn’t attend social functions quite often. His presence was rather scarce even in these sorts of gatherings. She had heard of him several times but hadn’t laid eyes on him in years. Seeing him now, she would be a liar to say he was anything but handsome. Devastatingly handsome even. 

His tall, lean figure that stood in front of her captivated her in ways she was surprised by. He had this irrefutable charm and striking countenance that weakened her in the knees. His strong jawline and broad shoulders were accentuated by the distinguished velvet evening coat he wore. His dark brown mane covered every corner of his head that it should, gleaming in the light of the candle. His features were so perfectly proportioned that Emily fancied he had been fashioned on a day of leisure when the artisans were at their finest.

 Emily held her breath. The duke was certainly a vision of delight. She could only imagine how much the mothers of the ton wished he could be their son-in-law. The young ladies of the ton would fall over themselves for his attention, no doubt. For some reason, she didn’t think His Grace to be a man who’d enjoy such attention.

Suddenly, an unbecoming thought entered her mind and rather than shoo it away, she nursed it. Her eyes darted to his arm, noticing how the fabric of his coat stretched against his upper arm. She imagined her arm on it, and wondered what life might be like to have her arm on the arm of a such a gentleman as the duke. Certainly, that would silence those judgmental ladies of the ton for good. Lady Worthington and Lady Bennett, together with their daughters, would contrive some frivolous gossip about her, snorting and sniggering in their corners. Yet, she was well aware that, beneath their mirth, they would undoubtedly be lamenting the lack of opportunity for their own daughters to enjoy such esteemed access to the duke.

Emily was tempted to smile. The thought pleased her indeed. But the savoury moments of it were soon snatched away by reality and she felt a drop in her chest, shame washing over her.

There was no way her imagination could ever come into fruition. Not with the reputation she currently had. The duke probably didn’t remember her name or her family until this moment. There was no point daydreaming when to her, he’d never see her as anything other than what society already deemed her. No one would see her as anything more than a scandalous spinster.

By the time she got out of her reverie, His Grace was already speaking to her brother about politics or something of the sort. The dowager duchess had been joined by Lady Martin, and they were conversing about social gossip. 

She cast her gaze elsewhere, silently wondering how much longer until Charlotte revealed herself. At least, that afforded something else to think about. 

“The estate is doing much better now, and I’m just thrilled that all the hard work put in is finally paying off,” her brother, Richard, said to the duke, who offered kind words about how resilient Richard was.

Marcus was delighted that he wasn’t engaged in some baseless conversation with some blithering gentleman. He had learned in the last few minutes that Richard Clifton was indeed great company to have. The man was intelligent and spoke confidently. But still, he found himself wishing he could think up an excuse to escape to one quiet corner of the ballroom where he could see everyone, but they would not be able to see him. Especially not the excited young ladies and their mothers who had kept stealing glances at him like he was a forbidden fruit. Too sweet to touch and eat, but too sweet to ignore entirely.

He groaned internally. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t as bad as he had anticipated. Surely, he had to engage in conversation with others as he couldn’t keep Lord Clifton to himself. His mother had gone off to join some ladies and he occasionally spotted her here and there. 

It was going to be a long night.

In spite of how he felt, the ballroom was alive with the soft hum of conversation and music; one could feel the anticipation that hung in the air, all on expectation for Charlotte’s grand entrance. His eyes roamed the arena, seeking anything of interest other than the hunting topic that was being discussed amongst the men he stood with.

His eyes found Lady Emily and he narrowed his gaze at her. She was speaking to one of the ladies, smiling as she spoke. He watched as she moved towards the grand staircase, stopping at the foot of it. Her palms smoothened over her gown, and she glanced at the top of the stairs.

She was completely oblivious to him, and for some reason, he couldn’t stop staring at her.

While waiting for Charlotte’s entrance, Emily felt a swell in her heart, one mixed with pride and nostalgia. In a matter of moments, Charlotte would make her debut into society. Years ago, at this very spot, she had stood during her own debut. It was a bittersweet memory now. Emily sighed. It was pointless dwelling on it now. She was here for Charlotte.

“Well, you sure make a phenomenal hostess.”

The familiar voice pulled Emily’s attention and she inclined her head to the right to see her friend, Miss Louisa Everton, approaching her with her mother in tow. A bright smile crossed Emily’s face.

“Louisa!” she chirped, embracing her friend once they were close enough.

A comforting sense of warmth enveloped Emily, dousing the anxiety in her chest. Louisa’s presence always did that to her, and she was ever grateful for it. 

Louisa and Emily had been friends since childhood. Like Emily, she was a spinster as well, slightly older in her late twenties. Emily always considered herself blessed to have a kind-hearted friend like Louisa.

Louisa chuckled, wrapping her arms around her friend briefly.

“Lady Everton.” Emily acknowledged the older woman in their midst with a curtsey. She had always been intrigued by how much Louisa resembled her mother. Lady Everton was no doubt a perfect image of what Louisa would look like when she was older; she was the spitting image of her mother. 

Over the years, as they grew into adulthood, Emily and Louisa’s friendship deepened as they bonded over their shared experiences. They had supported each other through one disappointment after the other, and their seemingly inability to meet society’s expectations. 

“Emily, dear, you have done a wonderful job tonight, I must say,” Lady Everton expressed, with a smile that reached her eyes. “Everything looks rather tasteful.”

“You should host balls more often,” Louisa chipped in.

Emily smiled her gratitude. “You both are too kind to me with your words. Thank you.” Her smile widened as she glanced around briefly, pride spreading within her chest. “Although, I cannot take all the praise. Richard was a great deal of help, and he wanted this ball to be nothing short of spectacular.”

“Then, I’m sure he must be proud too,” Louisa said.

“I would like to think he is. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have had such a wide smile all evening,” Emily replied.

The three women chuckled. 

Suddenly, all the chattering and music stopped at once, and the room fell silent. Emily’s gaze followed the intrigued eyes of the guests and halted at the top of the staircase, watching as Charlotte appeared at the top in her pink gown looking ever so delightful. 

For a moment, Emily could sense her cousin’s nervousness, standing as the object of every single person’s attention. Charlotte’s eyes scanned the ballroom, a knot tightening in her stomach. As soon as her eyes met Emily’s, she felt that knot loosen slowly and a gentle smile crept up her face, mirroring Emily’s. She had been prepared for tonight and with Emily and Richard present, she knew she had nothing to worry for. 

After the moment passed, Richard came to stand next to her, offering her his hand. Emily’s gaze trained on them as she watched her cousin’s descent. Soft music had started playing again and hushed whispers moved about the room. A lump formed in Emily’s throat, and she held her breath. She knew how important this was for Charlotte. It was her official entrance into society. She knew, despite the smile on her cousin’s face, and the awestricken looks on some of the young men, that it would take more than beauty to secure a good match. Everything had to work out perfectly. Charlotte couldn’t end up like her.

“Charlotte looks absolutely ravishing, dear friend,” Louisa leaned in to whisper, her gaze not faltering from the star of the evening. “You really outdid yourself, Em. The girl is more than lucky to have you. I assume she must no doubt be nervous. But seeing you here will offer her the comfort she needs. Well done.”

Emily’s genuine smile could not be mistaken. “Thank you, Louisa.”

With Charlotte present now, the ball was set to begin in earnest. She made her way to the dance floor with Richard, ready to take her first dance. Silently, she prayed she would not forget any steps or trip over Richard’s toe.

“Breathe, my dear,” Richard told her, his voice soothing. “You’re doing wonderful so far.”

“Thank you. I’m really a ball of nerves inside, but your words are most appreciated,” Charlotte said. 

Just then, the orchestra stroke up a lively tune. Emily’s eyes followed as Richard guided their cousin through the dance steps. She observed as Charlotte eased into it gracefully, as she’d been taught. A bittersweet smile tugged on the corners of her mouth, the memory of her own first dance rushing into her. She could never possibly forget the excitement she felt in that moment, with a mix of nerves of course. Richard, bless his heart, had done his best to help those nerves, engaging her in conversation about the ton. She remembered how he’d made jokes about Lord Houghton’s attire and the fact that it seemed his entire family took after him. Even now, as she saw Charlotte occasionally laugh and giggle, she knew he was doing the same thing to help her.

Emily forced the bittersweet memory aside, focusing on the radiant smile Charlotte donned. There were several approving nods from the guests, and even a few jealous looks from ambitious mamas and their daughters. A smirk outlined her lips. She basked in the triumph she felt. Mentally, she gave herself a pat on the back for her success so far with Charlotte.

“Oh, Emily, I cannot thank you enough!” Charlotte gushed a few dance sets later. She had joined her cousin, Louisa, and Lady Everton by the refreshment table. Excitement pumped through her; her nerves long forgotten. “How did I do? Did I miss any of the steps?”

Emily laughed. She handed her a glass of lemonade, and said, “You must be parched.”

Charlotte muttered a ‘thank you’ as she accepted it.

“At this rate, you’d be parched more times than one before the end of the night,” Louisa joked.

“You were great, Charlotte. I’m not even certain I can dance like that anymore,” Emily told her cousin. “At least now we’ve given Lady Worthington and the frequenters of her gossip mill something else to talk about.”

Lady Everton snorted lightly. “With the start of the Season, I’m sure she’d find other matters of interest to keep her lips and ears busy. Lord knows how she does it.”

“I’m more concerned about how well she’s trained Lady Celia in her footsteps,” Emily chimed in.

“Family legacy, I suppose,” Louisa added dryly, sipping from her glass.

The four women stifled their laughter, each one trying harder than the other. 

“What do you think about Lord Barley?” Charlotte asked, noticing the Earl had been stealing a couple of glances at her from across the room.

“The Earl?” Emily asked, finding the subject in question with her eyes. He was, in fact, staring at Charlotte, and removed his gaze in record time just as he was joined by his brother. Emily didn’t miss the look of admiration in his eyes.

“Wasn’t he engaged to Lady Preston’s daughter last Season?” inquired Emily. “I heard their engagement fell through.” A hint of pity for the young Miss Preston laced her voice. Thankfully, she had gotten engaged towards the end of last Season and was now married, saving herself from the ton’s harsh judgment. Emily knew all too well how that could impact one’s mental and emotional state.

“I believe there were complications with his family at the time,” Lady Everton offered. “Theirs wasn’t a love match so Miss Preston must have thought it best to dissolve the engagement. However, he seems quite eager this Season.”

“He seems to have taken a liking to our dear Charlotte,” Louisa said. 

“Well, he’ll surely have to do more than stealing glances from a distance if he wants to stand a chance,” Charlotte added. She hadn’t heard much about the Earl, but she was sure Richard would be able to provide any information she required. At least, he was pleasing to the eyes.

Emily was about to make another comment when she noticed Richard approaching. Her eyes shifted to the tall, handsome gentleman that accompanied him. He seemed familiar but she couldn’t decide where she knew him from. 

“Ladies.” Richard’s voice stopped the women mid-conversation and they all turned to him with anticipation. “May I introduce Viscount of Langford, Lord Aidan Langford.”

“Ladies,” Lord Langford said, with a graceful bow. His gaze swept over the quartet of women, but it lingered on Charlotte.

The women curtsied in respect, offering polite smiles.

Suddenly, Emily recalled that she had heard her father speak with and about Lord Langford’s father—rest his soul—when he was alive. The late Viscount and the late Earl had some shared business interests back then. 

“Lord Langford’s father was a business acquaintance of our father,” Richard said, glancing at Emily. She gave a curt nod, not missing the hint of approval that laced her brother’s tone. “Lord Langford has just returned from his tour around the continent. Just in time for the Season.” He turned to Charlotte with one corner of his mouth lifted. 

“We’re glad to have you with us tonight, Lord Langford,” Emily said, “I hope the evening has been pleasing to you.”

Lord Langford smiled. “Indeed, it has, Lady Emily. Thank you for having me tonight.”

 “He has been lavishing praises upon the evening’s ball. I daresay he is exceedingly pleased,” Richard remarked.

“I’m sure Charlotte here would love to hear some stories about your travels, my lord.” Emily’s tone was suggestive as she cast a brief glance at her cousin.

The Viscount turned to Charlotte, just as the orchestra was about to begin playing and a charming smile formed on his lips. His eyes sparkled when her gaze reached his, and his heart swelled with expectation.

“Miss Clifton.” He held a hand to her, his smile widening slightly. “Would you do me the honour of sharing a dance with me?”

Charlotte’s cheeks flushed, her eyes glittering, as she placed her delicate hand in his. “I would love to.”