"I did not see him again this afternoon," Joyce replied, "But I have to say, Daphne. I have been noticing that you tend to bring him up quite often. Almost as though it's him that you are interested in."
Daphne should have known better than to hide anything from her sister – she had the ability to read her like a book. "That's... not quite right."
"But it's not quite untrue either, is it?" Joyce pressed. "I have been noticing little things, here and there. And it worries me, because what if this means that you are not happy with your current match?"
Daphne wanted to weep.She was not happy with her current match."Well, perhaps happiness is not the end goal of a marriage."
Joyce grabbed her sister by the hand, gently. "Daphne, what has gotten into you? I have never heard you be this cynical before. If there is something that you still wish to do, then tell me. You have not yet been proposed to, so it is not like you have already promised marriage to Lord Richard."
Daphne considered her sister's words. What could she do? Even though she had grown feelings for the Duke, they did not amount to much as they were unrequited. The Duke considered her nothing more than a mistake. If it was the case that he felt something for her in return – then perhaps – something could be done.
But as it stood, she would be ruining her own prospects for someone who did not even see her that way.
"There is nothing to be done," Daphne sighed in resignation and stole a final glance in the mirror in front of her. "We should be heading down to the ballroom now. I believe it is about to begin."
Richard was waiting by the entrance for Daphne with his arm outstretched.
"Good evening, My Lady," he greeted with the same smile he always had. His eyes wandered to her gown – which was light blue and ruffled out in the sleeves. "You look lovely."
"Thank you, My Lord," she managed a small smile in return. The ballroom was already beginning to fill up with Lords and Ladies, all dressed to the nines. For a moment, Daphne noted Richard looking at one of the ladies that passed by them. But it did not faze her in the slightest.
In fact, she almost wondered if it would be better if the lady was on his arm instead of her. But she pushed the thought away.
"Can you believe that the week flew by so quickly, My Lord?" she started. "It seemed that it was only yesterday that I arrived here with my sister, Joyce."
Richard nodded, "Ah, yes. You know how it is with these things. Perhaps you just had excellent company with whom you lost track of time."
His voice had a flirtatious edge, and Daphne wondered if she was expected to say something sweet in return. But try as she might, she could only manage a faint smile.
"Ah... yes, it's been quite nice with Isadora and Violet," she muttered after a moment.
Richard looked at her, surprised for a moment. And then nearly broke into a fit of laughter.
What have I said that was so funny?
"Yes, that is exactly whom I meant by company," he replied, amused. "Isadora and Violet."
Even though Richard had taken her words in his stride, she knew her attempt at dodging his flirtation was rather obvious. If it was any other man, he would have taken quit the offense to it.
"Good to know that we share the same opinion, then," Daphne said.
As she glanced around the room, something—no, someone—caught her eye.
The doors to the ballroom swung open, and the Dowager entered with Ambrose by her side. The sight of him caused Daphne's breath to hitch.
He's here.
It had now been nearly two days since she had seen him last in the darkened corners of that library. She had to blink twice, just to assure herself that it truly was him that was standing beside his mother.
Overwhelmingly, the emotion that flooded her body upon seeing him was relief. Relief that he had returned, that he was okay and no harm had been done on him.
"Oh, mother and Ambrose have arrived," Richard's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "Shall we go and greet them?" he suggested, already moving to pull her toward his brother and mother.
Her pulse quickened. "Now?"
Daphne forced herself to move, even though every step closer to Ambrose filled her with dread. What would she say? How could she look him in the eye after everything that had happened? The kiss, the tension, the strange pull between them that had only grown more complicated with time.
As they neared, Ambrose's gaze locked onto hers.
