“Yes,” he says, a bitter edge in the word. “Born into a life that’s been defined on my behalf.”
I blink up at him. “Does it have to be that way?”
A sour expression flickers across his face before he allows himself a resigned sigh. “It was my idea to go to the city for education, as I’ve mentioned. My father wasn’t easily swayed. Why would I go to London if we had private tutors at our beck and call? If I was around, he could mold me into the person he wanted me to be. But I managed a compromise. One year in London, then I’m to take over managing the estates—though I’m finding it not nearly long enough. It’s why I wished for more time.”
“And what if you didn’t do that?” I press. “Take over for him, I mean.”
“Straighten your shoulders. There you go. Good.” This time, I match his step with one-tenth less ineptitude. “To answer your question, I would fail my mother and sister. When my father dies, I am to become the sole provider. For them, for my future wife. It’s what’s expected. Our laws favor male inheritance, and as he has no brothers, this falls on me. Marrying, passing on our title—all of this is my responsibility. What I want matters little in his eyes.”
The burden of expectation must weigh on him. Even though he’s grown up with attendants and staff and enough money to live comfortably, he still has unfulfilled personal desires that may never come to fruition. No wonder he’d said he could see himself here.
“What does Caroline want?”
“Well, I suppose if you’d ask my father, he’d say she wants to find someone suitable for marriage,” he goes on. “She’s to enter her third Season. Our father prefers her future husband to be someoneof high rank, though I’m not sure she sees the importance of it. She would much prefer seeing the world, I think, rather than the adventures love offers. We often talked about traveling together when we were young. The older we get, the more it seems as though it’s a wasted dream.”
I consider telling him he’s the reason Ivernia exists at all, that he’s gone on to squeeze everything he’s wanted out of life, but Sumner’s warning rings through my head. The risk of changing the outcome feels dangerous.
“You’ve found a way to London,” I say instead. “Maybe there’s a way to have both. To take care of your family and achieve everything you’ve dreamed of doing.”
I’m very aware of the sturdy press of his palm against my back as he pulls us a hair closer. “If my predicament is permanent, I believe I could be happy existing here with you.”
A fumbling in my chest causes me to temporarily lose count, and I step too soon. He foresees this mistake and gives me space, avoiding a small collision of our torsos.
“You’re overthinking,” he says plainly.
“Do I do that?” I’m suddenly self-conscious. “Overthink?”
“At times,” he admits, and now I know he’s telling the truth. “I sense you’re in your head a lot. This? It’s just dancing. Not solving an anomaly in space-time.”
The corners of my lips hitch into a smile. “One of those is my preferred comfort zone.”
“Then we shall change that.” He squeezes my right hand.“Tighten your grip—there you are—don’t tense up. Trust me for a moment.”
I do as he says, and he maneuvers his hand to the small of my back before swooping me into a low dip that takes me by surprise. My heartbeat thuds fitfully as his gaze latches on mine, so tender I’m afraid it might obliterate me from the inside out. Amber eyes as warm as embers. Soft, open, like the heart he wears on his sleeve. That’s bravery, I realize. Going after what you want. Speaking your mind, saying how you feel. I’ve never mastered it, only watched it unfold for everyone else.
He brings me back to my feet, smoothly spins me in a delicate twirl, and then repositions his hand on my back. Now I truly understand the meaning ofbreathless. My stomach flips. It’s like my brain transforms into a shimmering pool of glitter when I’m in his presence.
“Well done,” he breathes.
I place my hand on his shoulder. “I’m not sure I did much.”
But he only shrugs. “I disagree.”
We walk through the steps in silence, and it’s as though the world around me comes back to life. The squeal of sneakers against the hardwood floor mingling with rumbling conversation. The delicate string quartet playing from the sound system and an occasional “Nicely done” from Mrs.Sorrentino.
“Tell me,” William says, “if this is not the type of usual activity that leads to courtship in this era, then how does one find love?”
A blush spreads across my face as I consider this. “Well, dancing still exists, it just looks like—” My hands free from his and I start gyrating, hips swinging, head thrashing. William barks out a laugh.
Mrs.Vidar-Tett’s voice interrupts my display. “Delaney, please.”
William catches my hand in his, bringing me back into our timed step. “Forgive me, but that was atrocious.”
“I don’t deny it.” I adjust my hand on his shoulder. “The talking part hasn’t changed much, other than it’s mostly done on a phone or over text.”
“I see,” he says. “Crafting texts is similar to penning romantic letters, though I do prefer in-person company.”
My mind leaps to our walks. “I’m also a fan.”
