— "You move as though the music follows you and not the other way around, Young Lord."
— "I assure you, I'm simply doing my best not to trip over my own feet."
Alex offered Lady Hamilton a charming smile. He had chosen her for his first dance of the evening — a choice that, unintentionally, stirred envy among his other admirers.
The Young Lord's beauty was the kind that slipped easily into memory. His golden hair was swept back into a modest ponytail with a few unruly strands softening the lines of his face with youthful charm. He wore a light blue suit with a waistcoat, tailored to enhance his figure. The white shirt beneath was immaculately pressed, and a pale silk cravat rested just below his chin, fastened with a discreet silver pin.
When the music ended, Alex pressed his lips gently to the hand of Lady Hamilton. Her cheeks turned rosy, perhaps from his gallantry, or merely the exertion of the waltz. With graceful ease, he made his way toward the refreshments table.
Before he could reach it, two young ladies intercepted him, eyes bright with hope that he might grant them the second or the third dance.
— "Young Lord, you dance with such lightness! One might think your partners could float off the ground with you."
He received the compliment with quiet grace and moved to speak, but noticed their gazes had drifted not at him, but past him. A hush fell across the crowd.
Alex turned to see what had caught everyone's attention. A solitary figure was descending the staircase.
The man who emerged was tall and striking. His skin bore a light sun-warmed glow, hinting at places far from England's grey skies. His dark hair was wind-tousled but somehow deliberate in its disarray. The dark blue suit, tailored to perfection, clung to his well-proportioned frame with effortless elegance — the cut alone betraying its undeniable expense. He walked with the unhurried ease of a man accustomed to being observed, approaching the gathering with languid grace.
The stranger's presence stirred the room into a subtle flutter of excitement. Guests leaned toward one another, whispering. Even the silhouette of Lady Carlston emerged from the throng to greet him.
— "Who might that be?" murmured one of the young women beside.
— "Do you know him, Young Lord?"
— "No," replied Alex, glancing at the stranger.
With measured steps, he made his way toward his mother, curiosity tugging at him.
The man bowed to Lady Carlston and kissed her hand not with the distant politeness of a stranger, but with the quiet warmth of an old acquaintance. Then, as his head lifted, his eyes caught Alex's.
Something unspoken passed between them. Brief, but strangely vivid. Unfamiliar green eyes landed on Alex with a boldness of someone unafraid to look too directly without hesitation. It unsettled Young Lord even more, stirring in him the sudden urge to look away.
— "It's a pleasure to see you in good health, Lady Carlston," the man said with a gracious smile.
— "Oh, Alex, come here," his mother called. "Surely you don't remember him, Your Grace, the two of you met only once or twice at most. This is my son, the future Lord Carlston."
The Young Lord stepped forward, masking his unease, and offered a slight bow. The stranger silently returned the gesture.
— "Don't keep us in suspense, Your Grace," someone chimed in.
— "Where have you been all these years? Did you ever reach China?"
— "Did you visit Russia?"
— "How long have you been back?"
The flood of questions seemed to catch the duke slightly off guard. For a moment, Alex wondered if the man was overwhelmed or simply pretended to be. His polite smile seemed carefully practiced. It felt artificial, almost like a performance to Alex. Without saying a word, he quietly moved away from the crowd.
The evening wore on. The Young Lord danced, laughed, and exchanged pleasantries. He did everything expected of a young nobleman. But questions itched beneath the surface.
Who is he? How does Mother know him? Why should he remember me or not? Why does everyone seem so taken with him?
Later, during a lull in the music, Alex finally made it to the refreshments.
— "He's a peculiar one, but terribly rich," someone whispered nearby.
— "I daresay that he is sharply handsome as well. I wonder who might be so kind as to favour us with a proper introduction."
— "I heard he didn't leave his estate for years."
— "They say he secretly married the Tsar's daughter."
— "Impossible! The political scandal alone would bar him from the House of Lords."
— "It's not as if he frequented it before."
— "My cousin in France told me someone saw the Duke at a ball, confessing he had massive gambling debts in England."
— "No wonder he left. But why come back?"
The entire ballroom buzzed with gossip. Everywhere Alex turned, it was Duke of Blackthorn this, Duke of Blackthorn that. The name echoed until it grated.
What is it they all see in him?
Several young women, ones who had previously shadowed Alex with unyielding devotion, now followed the duke with wide, hopeful eyes.
"So much the better," Alex thought grimly. "At least I won't feel guilty inevitably turning them away."
— "You seem tired tonight, Alex," his mother said gently as they settled into the carriage.
— "Where do you know that man from?"
— "The Duke?" She smiled faintly. "Charlotte, his mother, was a dear friend of mine. Both she and her husband died of consumption. Your father studied with William, the duke's father."
Alex's memory stirred.
— "You likely wouldn't remember him," Lady Carlston went on. "He was too old to play with you. But you visited the Cunninghams with me when you were a boy — just before his parents passed… I'm glad he returned. It seems the years abroad have done him good. He looks so dignified now, doesn't he?"
— "I wouldn't presume to judge." Young Lord's reply was clipped.
His mother gave him a knowing look, then turned her face to the window.
— "Why does everyone flock to him like bees to honey?"
— "Because he's handsome. And mysterious. You don't agree?" Her tone was teasing.
— "I wouldn't presume to judge, Mother" Alex pressed his lips together and said nothing more.
The next morning, Young Lord yawned over his breakfast, still drained from the night before.
— "You look worse than your mother, and I thought you came home together," Lord Carlston remarked, not without amusement.
— "Thank you, Father." Alex's tone made it clear he wasn't in the mood for jesting.
— "Did someone turn you down last night? Nothing to fret over. Builds character! And there are plenty more fish in the sea — not everyone fancies mysterious aristocrats."
Before Alex could shoot back a retort, the butler entered.
— "Pardon the interruption, my lord. A message has just arrived."
— "A letter? Hand it to Lady Carlston. I've misplaced my spectacles."
Lady Carlston raised a brow at the wax seal, opened the envelope, and read quickly.
— "What delightful news! The duke of Blackthorn is hosting a ball in two weeks to celebrate his return. I haven't visited their estate in years. So many memories! Henry, you must come — if only out of courtesy."
Alex felt something twist inside him but remained silent.
— "Oh, leave it, Mary. The boy shut himself away for a reason. It's been years — I doubt we'd have much to talk about. Besides, nothing sounds drearier than an evening of political small talk and waltzes or yet another round of sentiment about dear departed William."
Lady Carlston sighed and read the invitation again.
— "I'm done. Thank you." Alex rose from the table and left the room without another word.
— "I told you, Mary, we've spoiled him. One rival, and he sulks like a child. He's not ready for serious society. We shouldn't have pushed him out this season."
— "It's easy to say that when you don't know how lonely your son truly is"
— "Has he told you as much?"
— "Do you know any of his friends?"
Lord Carlston chuckled.
— "He plays cards at his club. Maybe that's enough for him."
— "If I hadn't done something, he might have withdrawn entirely. And who knows how that would have ended."
— "Ended with one more mysterious recluse — just poorer." He gave a smirk as he rose from the table. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my books await."
Lady Carlston frowned and followed him out, leaving her tea untouched.