For a heartbeat longer, the room remained silent.
Then someone began to clap.
A single pair of hands somewhere near the back of the ballroom.
Another joined. And another.
Within seconds, the applause spread through the crowd until it swelled into a warm, unexpected wave that filled the room.
Fiona looked around in astonishment. People were smiling. Some dabbed discreetly at their eyes. A few of the older matrons still looked scandalised—but even they seemed grudgingly impressed.
“Well,” Lady Ashworth’s voice cut through the noise, dry and amused. “That was certainly dramatic.”
“Aunt.” Christian sounded faintly dazed. “Did we just—”
“You have just given the ton a love story they will be discussing for decades.” Lady Ashworth smiled with quiet satisfaction. “Well done, nephew. I always suspected you had it in you.”
The orchestra struck up a waltz—a real one this time, and couples began cautiously to take the floor.
The crowd slowly dispersed, though many still cast curious glances toward the extraordinary pair standing in the centre of the room.
Christian looked down at Fiona.
“We survived,” he said, as though he scarcely believed it.
“We did.” She smiled up at him. “And you were magnificent.”
“I was terrified.”
“I know. That is what made it magnificent.”
He drew her a little closer—properly, carefully—his hand settling at her waist as decorum required.
“Dance with me,” he murmured.
“I would be delighted.”
He led her onto the floor, and they waltzed together, moving in perfect harmony, oblivious to the whispers that followed them. Fiona rested her hand lightly on his shoulder and listened to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath the music, thinking she had never been happier.
They had done it. They had faced the ton together and declared their intentions before the world.
Tomorrow, there would be gossip. There would be scandal. A hundred complications to navigate and a thousand opinions to ignore.
But tonight, they danced.
And for Fiona, it felt very much like a beginning.
***
Later—much later—they stood upon the terrace outside the ballroom, looking up at the stars.
The music continued inside, but they had slipped away for a moment of quiet after the tumult of the evening. The night air cooled Fiona’s flushed cheeks, and Christian’s arm about her waist felt warm and certain—exactly where it belonged.
“I can scarcely believe we did that,” he said.
“Which part?” she asked.
“All of it. I keep expecting to wake and discover it was all a dream.”
