How dare he pull her so close?
He’s taking liberties, with my Cecilia!
The entire dance was a struggle, and Alistair felt as though he was to explode with every movement to the music. At last, it came to an end.
“That was lovely indeed,” He forced a smile as he turned to Diana, but the words felt hollow in his throat. The music faded, and couples began to shift on the floor, but he remained rooted in place, a tempest of emotions swirling within him.
Diana, with her soft blonde curls cascading over her shoulders looked up at him expectantly. “Yes, it was. But you seem… distracted. I heard about your accident. Are you quite all right, Your Grace?” she observed, her brow furrowing slightly.
Alistair realized he had not once thought about the bandages still under his elaborate suit. His mind had been elsewhere since the start of the day.
He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. “I apologize, movement is difficult at the moment, yes,” he lied through his teeth, his voice strained.
After bowed slightly, the gesture feeling mechanical, he then excused himself from the dance floor, searching for a moment of solace with a glass of wine.
As he moved toward the refreshment table, his heart raced, each beat echoing the turmoil in his chest. The moment he turned, his heart plummeted.
Cecilia was still on the ballroom floor, her laughter ringing like a melody, dancing effortlessly with the gentleman who had stolen her attention. The sight made his hands tremble around the glass, the crystal threatening to slip from his grip.
Why does this enrage me so?
Alistair’s eyes narrowed, fixated on the pair. He felt like a hawk, sharp and predatory, and all he could see was the way she leaned into the man, her eyes sparkling as they moved. Panic surged through him, a visceral reaction he couldn’t comprehend.
“Alistair?” A familiar voice broke through his haze. It was his mother, the dowager duchess, gliding toward him with an air of elegance. “What do you think of Lady Diana?” she asked, her tone filled with eager anticipation.
He quickly set his glass down, forcing himself to appear composed. “She’s… just the kind of lady I was looking for,” he replied, the words feeling foreign as they left his lips.
He noticed his knuckles were white, gripping his glass. His mother’s keen eyes narrowed, and he cleared his throat, trying to mask the storm brewing inside him.
“Ah, splendid indeed! She has such talents, you know. A marvelous pianist, and her embroidery is exquisite, and so many more,” The dowager continued, her enthusiasm returning as she seemed to settle on not questioning. “I truly believe our search for a duchess has come to an end.”
Alistair nodded, but his mind was still on Cecilia, the image of her laughing with another man seared into his memory. Each word from his mother felt like a distant echo, lost amidst the chaos of his heart. He forced a stoic expression, but inside, hewas unraveling, torn between duty and an emotion he couldn’t name.
“Your Grace, you must pay attention. Lady Diana is truly a catch,” his mother insisted, her voice smooth yet persistent. The dowager duchess leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with ambition. “She has the grace of a swan and the intellect to match. I can already envision the two of you gracing the halls of our estate.”
He forced a tight curl of his lips, nodding absently as his mother continued to extol the woman’s virtues. Yet, as she spoke, his eyes drifted back to Cecilia, who stood across the room, her laughter mingling with the music.
The way her dark hair framed her face, cascading in soft waves as she bounced, made her seem almost ethereal. Her eyes, a vivid green, sparkled with mischief as she twirled with her partner, a look he wished she was giving him instead.
“Alistair? Are you listening?” his mother’s voice pierced through his reverie, and he blinked, shaking his head slightly to clear the fog. “I said, she would make an excellent duchess. Just think of the future.”
“Yes, mother,” he replied, but the words felt hollow. The thought of making Lady Diana his wife filled him with a sense of disappointment that he couldn’t quite articulate.
The image of Cecilia, carefree and radiant, lingered in his mind, and he felt a pang of panic.
How could you let yourself get this distracted? Pull yourself together!
“Alistair, dear, you must understand the importance of this match,” she pressed, her tone a mix of concern and impatience. “You need to think about your responsibilities.”
He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on his mother’s words, but they began to drone on, a monotonous hum in his ears. The more he tried to concentrate, the more his gaze drifted back to Cecilia.
He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of frustration. He couldn’t pursue her; she was nothing like the woman his mother envisioned for him. She was nothing like the woman he envisioned for himself as well.
She does not wish to marry either.
The recollection and realization struck him like a cold wave. A smile lifted his face admist the chaos. Perhaps the man that twirled her at the moment did not have a chance either.
Realizing his train of thought, Alistair’s heart raced with anxiety. He needed to stop these feelings before it spiraled out of control.
