IT HAD BEEN TWO days since Clara returned to the manor with Adrian, and in all that time, she had not seen him once. At first, she thought little of it — perhaps he was simply occupied with matters of importance — but as the hours turned into days, and the days into four, a quiet unease began to settle in her chest.
She tried to push it aside, convincing herself it was relief she felt. Relief that she could move about freely without his unsettling gaze upon her, without the strange tension that always lingered between them. Yet, every time she caught herself listening for footsteps in the hall or glancing toward the door in expectation, she knew her heart betrayed her reasoning.
When Adeline brought her breakfast that morning, Clara finally gathered the courage to ask. "Adeline, have you seen the duke?" she had asked, trying to sound casual, though the question came out softer than she intended.
Adeline had paused in setting down the tray. "His Grace has travelled, my lady. He departed early the next morning after you both returned."
Something inside Clara eased at that. The uncertainty dissolved, though she could not explain why a peculiar sense of disappointment followed in its wake.
The morning passed in quiet solitude. Clara had taken to reading one of the books Adeline had brought her — a small comfort in the long, silent hours. She was halfway through a chapter when a sudden knock interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she called, marking her place with a finger as she straightened on the bed.
The door opened slowly. Adeline entered first, followed by several unfamiliar women dressed in modest gowns of soft cream and blue. Clara blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sudden crowd in the chamber.
The women curtsied gracefully. "My lady," they greeted in unison.
Clara inclined her head automatically, though her confusion was plain. "Good morning," she murmured, her voice uncertain. Her gaze turned to Adeline, silently seeking an explanation.
Adeline stepped forward, her tone respectful. "My lady, these are the attendants His Grace has arranged to help you prepare."
Clara's brows knitted together. Prepare? Her heart gave a small flutter of unease. "Prepare me for what?" she asked, trying to keep her tone even.
"The ball, my lady," Adeline replied softly. "The King is hosting a grand celebration at the palace tonight — for his birthday."
For a moment, Clara could only stare at her. A ball? No one had said a word to her about it — not Adrian, not anyone. Was she truly meant to attend such an affair? The thought of facing the king, nobles, and strangers in glittering halls made her stomach tighten.
But she quickly schooled her expression, recalling what she'd read in etiquette books. A lady does not display confusion, only composure. So she nodded lightly, pretending she had known all along. "I see," she said, her voice calm though her fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket. "Very well."
At her approval, Adeline gestured for the women to begin.
Clara sat quietly as they worked — brushing out her hair, selecting gowns of satin and lace, and murmuring to one another about colours and jewels. She watched them through the mirror's reflection, her mind adrift.
'Why would Adrian arrange all this without a word?' she wondered. 'Does he expect her to appear at his side?' The thought alone made her panic. She would definitely make mockery of herself because she had never been to a grand ball before.
As the maids pinned her hair and brushed powder onto her skin, Clara's heart beat steadily louder. For all her calm appearance, a thousand thoughts moved beneath the surface — thoughts of the grandeur awaiting her, and of the fake role she was meant to play in it all.
*****
The ballroom was awash with golden light and the low hum of conversation. Crystal chandeliers hung above like frozen constellations, scattering their glow upon silken gowns and polished boots. Adrian stood among the gathered guests beside Cedric, a glass of wine untouched in his hand.
His attire was immaculate — a dark tuxedo of fine cut, his hair neatly slicked back. There was an elegance about him tonight, though he hardly gave it much thought. Still, he could not help but notice the frequent glances that drifted his way — admiring, assessing, even longing. Women whispered behind their fans, eyes following the measured line of his jaw or the quiet strength in his stance.
He felt them watching but paid it little mind. 'If he were them,' he thought with a faint, wry amusement, 'he suppose he'd stare too.'
"Adrian!" Cedric's voice broke through his reverie.
He blinked and turned, caught slightly off guard. "Yes? You were saying?"
Cedric raised an accusing brow, though there was good humour in his tone. "Lately, you seem rather distracted. What's going on with you, my friend?"
Adrian exhaled softly, his gaze flickering once more toward the grand entrance. It was a fleeting glance — one Cedric, unfortunately, did not miss. "Nothing," He replied, forcing a faint smile. "I'm fine."
Cedric tilted his head, unconvinced. "You say you're fine, yet you've looked at that door no less than five times since we arrived."
Adrian shrugged lightly, as though the answer were obvious. "That's because I'm waiting for my wife."
Cedric's brow arched, a teasing glint in his eye. "Your wife, you say? My, how domestic you sound all of a sudden."
Adrian frowned slightly, unsure what Cedric found so amusing. "What?" he began — but whatever Cedric might have said next was lost to him.
Because at that very moment, the doors opened — and there she was.
Evelina.
The chatter of the room seemed to fade into a distant murmur. She stood at the threshold, radiant under the golden light. Her gown was a deep crimson, the fabric cascading like liquid fire, each movement catching the glimmer of the chandelier above. Silver stones traced delicate patterns across her bodice and sleeves, and for a breathless instant, Adrian forgot the air in his lungs.
Good Lord…
His gaze caught upon the gentle curve of her neckline, the soft rise and fall of her breath. The gown was daring, perhaps more than he would have liked, and his jaw tightened slightly. 'What in heaven's name was the seamstress thinking?' he thought, though the rest of him — the foolish, human part — was utterly captivated.
He barely registered Cedric's knowing smirk as he began to move toward her. Conversations paused as he passed; a few ladies blushed behind their fans, but Adrian noticed none of them. His attention belonged entirely to the woman standing across the room.
When he reached her, Evelina turned — her lips curving into a small, nervous smile that carried both shyness and relief. The sight of it softened something in him.
"Good evening, Adrian," she said gently, her voice quiet yet clear above the music.
"Good evening, Eve," he replied, his smile faint but warm. He met her gaze, doing his best not to let his eyes wander where propriety forbade. "I trust the ride here was not too tiresome?"
She shook her head. "No, not at all."
He nodded once, then extended his hand toward her. "Come — let me take you to meet the King and Queen."
She hesitated, her gloved hands twisting for the briefest moment. Adrian caught it immediately and softened his tone. "You needn't worry," he said quietly. "I'll be there with you."
That seemed to reassure her. She placed her hand in his, her touch light but steady. As he led her through the glittering crowd, Adrian could feel every pair of eyes turn toward them — not toward him, but toward her.
And though he should have felt pride, or at least satisfaction, what he felt instead was an unfamiliar stirring in his chest — something protective, possessive, and wholly disarming.
'What was she doing to him?' he thought, stealing one last glance at her as they approached the royal dais.