Chapter One
“Smile, Lydia, it is not suitable for a Lady of your status to be all moody. What will the ton think?” Baroness Joana Bennet, Lydia’s mother, sat on the opposite side of the carriage. It had been the fourth complaint since the start of the travel and Lydia was confident it wouldn’t be the last.
“We are escaping scandal, Mama,” Lydia started, sarcasm filling her voice.
Mother kept her large hat on, even inside the carriage. She claimed ‘leaving the home you’ve always known’ was a grand occasion, so she needed to look her best and mourn in her own way. It didn’t make much sense to Lydia, who was the one to insist they don’t leave. As much as her family claimed it didn’t bother them, she could tell how much it really did. Her mother was the worst affected, evident from the dark bags under her green eyes and the wrinkles that had made their way onto her skin.
Daphne, her sister, was sleeping next to her. She never confessed how much she would miss her friends back home, but Lydia could only imagine.
“Think of the upside, both of you,” the Baroness declared, looking at Lydia’s sister, Daphne, who hadn’t said a word since the start of the trip. “The gossipers and the trouble doers won’t follow us anymore, right? There’ll be nothing to worry about. Unless Lydia messes up again, that is.”
The Baroness pushed her head upwards, peering out of the window.
“I’ve already told you so many times, it wasn’t my fault! Why won’t you believe me?” Lydia couldn’t stop herself from raising her voice, which seemed to wake Daphne from her slumber.
“We are leaving because we decided to. Everything else is secondary.” Daphne laid back down in her seat, staring out of the window herself.
Hopefully, this will be the last of it.
The cart shook in rhythmic movements, rocking Lydia left and right in soothing motions. The sound was enough to push away her mother’s words and replace them with dreams of a normal, quiet life. As she always desired.
After a few more minutes, the carriage reached London. They were still far from their new home, but Lydia couldn’t help herself from wanting to walk out there and explore every single valley and shop. It was all so different from her old city back in Wales.
The buildings stood taller and steadier, the people dressed fancier, and even the trees seemed more vibrant than back home. Despite it all, the ambiance felt faintly aloof, and it wasn’t just the rainy weather.
“Let’s make a stop,” the Baroness said, knocking on the carriage window to attract the driver’s attention. After a short while, the carriage halted.
Daphne was the first to open the door, the cool breeze brushing against Lydia’s face and providing her some comfort. She hadn’t realized just how humid it was inside, although she wasn’t entirely convinced the conversation from before didn’t contribute to that.
“Stop it, get off me!” Lydia screamed at the figure in the dark.
She quickly shook her head, strolling outside. Her long dress touched the dirtied pavement, but it was all right for once. Mama would be furious if she witnessed this on any other occasion, but the circumstances called for it.
“Janette spoke of a French modiste residing by main street. The best one in London, in fact. And Daphne, your debut ball is coming soon. Scandal or no scandal, you must look your best.” The Baroness walked further ahead, signaling the two sisters to follow behind.
“Let’s get out of here while we have time,” said Daphne.
“Without saying anything?” Lydia glanced left and right, unsure of what her sister was implying.
“She hasn’t let you breathe ever since the incident. Let us go, and we can deal with the consequences later. You deserve some fresh air. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
The two sisters giggled as their mother walked further on, unaware of them falling behind. Without any warning, they ran to the side, finding themselves in a valley that led them to another street further on.
It wasn’t as clean as Wales, Lydia could tell this much; the valleys smelled of sewage and rotten food, while the skies, now a near-black tint, threatened to break open and flood the place.
What shocked Lydia the most, however, was the sight of two women in pants. A knee-length skirt laid on top of their ankle-length pantaloons; it was scandalous! She had heard of a famous newspaper encourage it before, but she never thought she would see it in person. Most people paid no mind to the two women, while many men stared as if they had seen the rarest diamonds in the world.
Relief washed over her when she realized she was just another strange face. There was no disdain in people’s curiosity, and they certainly didn’t care for who she was. Despite that, her heart beat faster, and her hands still trembled. Scandal had followed her for far too long.
Cheerful screams could be heard in the distance, attracting both the sister’s attention.
“Look at the crowd, can you see it? Who is it?” Daphne asked. Lydia shrugged, unsure of what to reply as she hadn’t the slightest idea herself.
Daphne grabbed Lydia’s hand, guiding her toward the large crowd of at least one hundred people, who all surrounded a royal carriage. The authorities stood by the side, watching the scene unfold diligently in case they were required to step in. Journalists and reporters pushed ahead, struggling to get a better view.
“Your Grace, are you planning on staying in London? Have you any plans for another departure?” one of the reporters yelled out.
“It’s the Duke of Whitehaven! He’s really here!”
Lydia bit her bottom lip, her curiosity getting the better of her. She was never interested in royal affairs; still, she couldn’t help but wonder who exactly he was.
“There’s an opening, let’s go.” Daphne pulled Lydia forward through a small break in the crowd, guiding them to the first row of people. That was when she was able to see the man the people swooned over.
His raven black hair, freshly cut, stood out the most and decorated his well-structured face. Unlike most royals, his beard was grown out but trimmed carefully, giving him a rugged look and making him appear older than he was. He must have been five and twenty at most. His physique was out of this world. Never in her life had Lydia seen a man so tall and muscular as him. Her eyes traveled from his biceps to his face, trying to take everything in.
You can’t think of a man that way, Lydia.
His brown eyes met hers, and it felt as if the world stopped. But she quickly looked away, too ashamed to face him.
“I need to know who he is, now,” said Daphne.
“Asher Graydent, the Duke of Whitehaven,” a woman said from next to them.
Lydia stared back in his direction, her eyes open wide in wonder, trying to study him. She wasn’t going to see him again, but it felt nice to engage in things of this manner, no matter how childish.
He looked at her once more, but this time she refused to look away. She could feel his gaze penetrating her being. She could never imagine herself staring at a man like that back home, but the lack of freedom she left behind granted her some courage.
The carriage door from behind him opened, revealing another mysterious figure. His leather boots brushed against the ground, and all it took was one look for Lydia to lose her balance.
She knew him. He was Jackson Powell, the man who ruined her life. The unknown man that her family had gone to extreme lengths to get away from. And the man who was now standing in front of her.
Her feet carried her away from the crowd.
“Lydia, come back!” Daphne’s voice disappeared into the distance. Lydia’s tear-stained eyes blocked her view, but she didn’t care.
She needed to get away, somewhere he would never find her again.
Chapter Two
“What happened out there?” Lydia’s mother asked Daphne.
They were inside the manor now and Lydia refused to come out of her room, her loud sobs filling the whole house. After Daphne had found her crawled in the corner of the street, she helped her back to the carriage, and without much reprimanding needed from mother –who was more than furious–, they rode home.
Lydia couldn’t utter a word since she saw him. All she could focus on were the scenes replaying in her mind, one after the other. She thought she had escaped her old life; she thought she would finally get a new beginning!
You idiot girl.
“She saw someone, but I didn’t have time to see who because I ran after her. She looked rather scared, though. Please, let us leave her alone to calm down,” said Daphne.
“All right, you can take your time. But in two hours, a visitor will be coming, so you better look your best. Your Lady’s maid will be here soon. There’s no time for nonsense,” mother said to Lydia.
Mother’s gracious steps could be heard moving further away, relieving Lydia for a second. She couldn’t bring herself to tell them. They didn’t know the truth about Jackson, and they could never find out.
“Pay no mind to her, she doesn’t know any better. Are you all right?” Daphne asked from outside the room.
Lydia nodded before remembering her sister couldn’t see her. “Y-yes… I need to stay alone for a while. Can you go away, please?”
Daphne lingered for a few seconds before she moved away, leaving Lydia to her solitude.
She stood up, walking in front of the mirror and staring at her face. Her once lively green eyes now appeared dull and lifeless, the color a tad darker than they used to be. Her luscious lips were dry as she licked them to bring some moisture back to them. She let her hair loose, watching as her brown locks fell down her waist. There was a reason she was nicknamed ‘the spoiled wallflower’. She had learned to accept it, but her family was highly offended by it. They were always the most protective.
A knock at the door caught her attention.
“My Lady, may I please enter?” Lydia didn’t recognize the voice, but she assumed it was her new maid.
“Yes, you may.”
The older woman walked inside, her figure frail yet somehow holding a strong aura at the same time. She had a few patches of greying hair and she was far shorter than the average person. Her eyes were an icy blue color and they held stories inside of them, ones Lydia was already curious to learn more of. Her nose was flat, with a bump at the top, far different than the average English woman. Lydia couldn’t tell much more from her appearance, but the woman’s bright smile brought her some ease.
“Madam requested me to come. I’m sorry to distu—”
“No, it’s okay. You can come in, please, don’t worry.” Lydia pointed at her bed, smiling past her tears.
“I’ll help you undress, My Lady,” said the woman.
“Thank you. What is your name?”
“Minerva.”
Minerva walked up to Lydia, being as gentle as possible as she slowly removed the upper layer of the clothing that restricted Lydia’s form. She continued by unlacing Lydia’s corset. Lydia stopped her mid-way, holding a hand over her stomach. Although the woman was here to do the job, Lydia didn’t feel comfortable revealing her bare form in such a way, even to an older woman, not with the scar tainting her stomach’s clear skin.
She had earned that one back home, although it wasn’t as bad as the scars in her heart and mind. Lydia was glad when Minerva didn’t push it any further. Instead, she turned around, giving Lydia some privacy as she removed her undergarments herself.
“Your bath is ready, I made sure of it from before. You can go in now.”
Lydia nodded, making her way to the bath and sinking her body in. She closed her eyes as the hot water soothed her figure, and all she wanted to do at that moment was sleep. The memories had disappeared, reminding her of life before the incident.
A time where she and Daphne would go out together to tea parties, to the dance hall, and all sorts of events, meeting with different gentlemen of higher status. These had all disappeared and were replaced with a persistent, negative feeling.
After a while, Lydia walked out of the bath and dried herself. Minerva helped her dress up. The Baroness had brought in a gown, far too yellow and cheerful for Lydia’s liking; it was the color of the sun, with oversized, puffy sleeves and a train similar to a wedding dress. She had little choice but to wear it.
They now sat in front of the dresser as Minerva brushed her hair in gentle motions.
“Are you okay, My Lady?” asked Minerva. “Your eyes keep tearing up…”
Lydia quickly wiped her tears away once more, shaking her head. She didn’t know Minerva at all, but she didn’t want to be perceived as a weak royal woman who hated her life.
“Are you from here? Do you know who the Duke of Whitehaven is?” Lydia couldn’t help but ask. For a moment, she felt like a young girl again; when she would daydream about an imaginary Prince who would come and save her. Except the Duke was real and possibly someone she wouldn’t want to be close to.
“Not from London. I am from an orphanage up North, but I’ve been here half my life,” Minerva continued. “As for the Duke you speak of, yes, I’ve heard of him. All of London has. They say he returned from the Far East after a year, so the papers are all inquiring and writing about him.”
Lydia intertwined her fingers, moving her thumbs in circular motions. That didn’t tell her much about who he was, but at least it gave her something. Perhaps the more she knew about him, the less she would spend her time being intrigued by him.
She hated thinking of men. She hated being around men. The last time it happened in Wales, she found herself crying to sleep for endless nights with Daphne helping her. And now, for the second time, Jack was involved.
“Did you grow up in an orphanage?” Lydia asked.
“Yes, My Lady. My parents died in a fire when I was a babe, so I had to go. I met most of my friends there.” Minerva smiled and looked at Lydia through the mirror.
“Please, tell me more.”
“Well, I have a sister I never met,” Minerva paused. “I found out she’s in London, so now I’m searching for her. I don’t know if it’s for sure so I’m taking a risk. Family is worth that much, after all.”
Lydia’s sympathy grew and she was about to respond to her, but a loud knock on the door interrupted them.
“Our visitor is here,” the Baroness said from outside the door. She entered the room. “You look splendid! I’m sure that’ll do it.”
Lydia wanted to ask what she meant, but she knew how dismissive her mother could be. Instead, she put on a smile, unsurprised at how the Baroness ignored the tears that threatened to spill once more.
“Wipe your tears, we don’t want him to think you’re one of those Ladies, do we? They need to think you’re well-mannered, a ray of sunshine and anything positive.” Lydia hadn’t the slightest idea what mother was implying, but it wasn’t impossible to guess what she wanted. She had already received warnings possible suitors would soon arrive; she only hoped it wouldn’t be this soon.
Lydia was always stubborn and refused to tackle her duties as a woman, but her mind was made up after what occurred. She would never marry. Lydia was even willing to let the ton believe she liked the companionship of women more than men, even if it would ruin her life.
She hummed a familiar melody as they made their way to the guest room, hoping the time would pass slower.
Although Father, the Baron of Netrehame, had purchased this place, Mother was responsible for the décor and everything secondary, which was evident from how everything appeared. Paintings, many of them far too expensive for Lydia’s tastes, decorated the walls, giving the otherwise dull interior some life. A few counters, all with statues and vases on top, lined up to the end of the hall, where the stairs began. It didn’t remind Lydia of home but of the elaborate museums and art exhibits they would occasionally visit.
After what felt like hours, they reached the bottom of the seemingly endless staircase and walked into the guest room. It was painted a bland white. Only a few flowerpots livened up the room, but the feeling of emptiness and unfamiliarity was still present.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Your Grace.” The Baroness curtseyed, her voice softer than before. “You know how a woman can be when she desires to look her best.”
Lydia was able to take a look at the visitors standing in front of them. An older man, his hair grey and his face wrinkly, grinned as she stared at him, searching for answers. Next to him, another woman, far younger than he was, sat straight up with a bright smile and a kind, compassionate face. Her gown was bright red, bringing out the light, hazel color of her eyes. She was beautiful.
“I understand, perfectly, do not let it fester,” the younger woman said. “And is this the beautiful lady, Lydia?”
“Nice to meet you, Your Grace,” Lydia said, not wanting to seem ill-mannered. Her voice came out softer than she wanted.
“This is His Grace, Benjamin, the Duke of Leosted, and Her Grace, Rosaline, the Duchess. We highly appreciate your visit here today,” Lady Joana declared, nudging Lydia in an effort to communicate the prominence of the two people before them. Lydia forced a smile over her face to hide the lack of energy present in herself. The Baroness sat down on the blue couch near the couple.
“And will Lord Henry be joining us this fine evening? It is all right if he is unable, I know how busy he can be after all, particularly after moving,” Duke Benjamin said.
“I’m afraid not, Your Grace, as he had to meet up with a possible merchant, and it ruined the schedule. He promised he will make up for it next time,” said the Baroness.
“Oh, no, it’s all right! If this lovely lady can be here, then it’s enough for us,” Rosaline exclaimed.
“Lydia.” Duke Benjamin turned his body toward her, now facing her.
She nodded.
“I’d like to know something about you, enlighten us. It’s always interesting hearing about people’s interests.”
Lydia hesitated the urge to roll her eyes at the attempt of small talk. But she pushed her negative thoughts aside.
“I, uh, like to read a lot. I have a collection of astrology books I read as often as I can when I’m not indulging in my duties as a Lady.”
“Hmm, interesting.” His face had quickly transformed into a frown, but impressing him was the last thing Lydia cared about right now. “My nephew is not exactly fond of that, but it is no problem. That’s not why we’re here, after all.”
“Pardon me, Your Grace,” Lydia started, “but what is the meaning of this visit? I’m not enlightened on the reason.”
“He’s the—”
“It’s all right, I can explain,” the Duke said. “I’m here for my nephew, your husband to be.”
“You are to marry our nephew, the Duke of Whitehaven,” the Duchess said with a smile.
Lydia stood frozen in her seat, clenching the arms of the chair tighter as she felt her breath turning hazier and hazier by the second.
The voices rang in her ears.
I am to marry the Duke of Whitehaven…
Chapter Three
One Week Later
Asher dreaded but loved crowds all the same. And now, he was stuck at a ball, instructed to meet a woman he had to marry, but knew he would never love. After he inherited his father’s debt, alongside his fame, his only solution was to marry rich. And thanks to his uncle’s arrangements, marrying a young, rich virgin happened to be the most convenient solution.
His problem was that he hated women like that with a passion. Most of them put on a charade in front of him, acting flirty with an eye to seducing him for his status, and he was sure she would be the same. He didn’t want her, but there wasn’t much of a choice. There were rumors circulating about her, but he paid no mind to them this time around. He would rather be the judge of her himself.
The room was bland, matching his lack of intrigue toward the Lady he was to meet. The light-colored gowns the women dressed in almost matched the white color of the wall, while the black coats of the men in attendance contrasted with the rest of the hall. The color combination fitted the dull and gray atmosphere perfectly. A table of food and punch had remained untouched by the attendees, perhaps as many of them were too afraid of blemishing the lavish image they were trying to uphold. There must have been at most fifty people present, far fewer than the typical balls he was forced to attend.
“Why’re you standing in the middle of the room for? Come on, let’s go to the back, the others are waiting,” Jack called out to Asher as he gestured for him to move faster. Lydia and her family hadn’t arrived yet, so he was stuck waiting.
“Playing billiards again?” Asher smirked.
Jack nodded as Asher made his way to the back where the rest of the unmarried men would usually situate themselves. The room smelled of cigars and alcohol, combined with the fresh scent of rain from the open window. It wasn’t nearly as crowded as usual.
“Asher!” One of his friends, William, called out. Unlike most people, societal norms didn’t apply to them. Addressing each other on a first-name basis when no one was around was nothing out of the ordinary.
“I was wondering when you’d show your face. You look like a mess though, what’s with the beard? Did traveling to a savage land change your sense of style as well?” William teased as he took a seat. Asher didn’t usually take kindly to words of this manner. He was the inquisitive kind, with a great sense of curiosity toward other cultures. However, he chose not to address that comment this time; it seemed everyone was sick of hearing it.
“Where are the decorations? And where’s Philip? This isn’t exactly the welcoming party I was promised,” Asher said with a sly smile as he stood leaning against the door frame, tapping his foot.
“The guy for that is out there trying to find a suitor, as per usual,” said William, as he finally came in for a long-lasting embrace.
“Any luck with your plans?” Asher asked. William had written him a few times, narrating stories of his desire to travel to other lands, which his family forbade him from. Asher couldn’t imagine.
“Nothing,” William paused. “Earl or no Earl, it’s always been a great aspiration for me to travel, yet there’s never any time. At least that’s what my wife and the family claim; that a man’s heart is where his blood is and not in foreign lands.”
“He’s been pestering all of us since you’ve been gone. ‘I want to go to the Far East, to the Americas, to Greece’. Only alcohol seems to ease him,” said Jack as he walked by Asher to join in the revelries with the rest. He poured a glass of gin for William, smiling.
“Did you manage to find what you were looking for? A year is a long time…” William needn’t say more, as Asher was already prepared to respond.
“It was a false lead; he wasn’t the man. As unethical as it was, I followed him around, questioned him, but… It wasn’t him; it couldn’t be. The events don’t add up, nothing does. Whoever it is, either they never left London, or they managed to get away with it for good.” A frown found its way to his face.
“London is big, my friend,” Jack said. “You’re young, you’re going to be married soon, and you have a life ahead of you. Mourn them, cry over them, but don’t let this eat at you.”
“Marriage? Since when?” William stared up from his drink, but Asher didn’t miss the dread in his eyes.
“Oh, didn’t you hear? Asher is to marry a daughter of a Baron from Wales. Rich one, isn’t she?” Jack’s voice had grown lower as he spoke.
The opening of the door interrupted the friends’ conversation as a footman walked further inside and toward the three friends.
“Your Grace. My Lords,” the man said. He turned to face Asher. “They are requesting your presence at the ballroom.”
Asher nodded, gesturing for him to go away. He already knew who it was, so he sighed, letting some air out his lungs.
“Is it your betrothed?” asked Jack.
“Yes,” Asher replied. “I better get going then. I’ll try to make it quick this time.”
After a few more words with his friends, Asher walked out the room and into the ballroom, where the guests awaited him. His uncle was there alongside his wife. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him dressed in such formal attire. Asher already wanted to escape the situation. But he was the one who requested the marriage; he was the one who needed it, so he ought to try.
“Good evening,” Asher greeted the family. Two young sisters stood alongside the parents. One looked uncomfortable, with her head held low while the other stared at him intently, making him grow uncomfortable too. The shy woman was unusually charming, and her silver gown brought out the shimmer of her skin. He stared away, not intending to look improper or even remotely interested.
“Your Grace! We’re so glad to finally meet you in person,” the Baron said. Asher bowed in return, smiling.
“This might seem a bit sudden and untraditional, but I say we let the two of them dance before we engage in our talk. Let them get to know each other,” Uncle Benjamin suggested.
“I agree, wonderful idea! Lydia, my dear, go to him.”
The woman named Lydia nodded, reluctantly walking up to the Duke. As he assumed, the shy one was his betrothed. He couldn’t see her face properly, but he could easily recall the curves of her body through her silver dress. She was thin, taller than average, and unbelievably beautiful. Her pale skin was unblemished, only a few beauty spots tainting it but adding to her charm.
He requested for her hand, and she took it as they walked up to the center of the ballroom while soft music played behind them. One hand held her waist, while Lydia’s hand held his shoulder. People stared with awe at the couple, envious of their deceptive intimacy. Asher couldn’t remember the last time he had danced with a woman, and now that he was back from the Far East, Lydia was the first to have the honor.
“I’m not doing this with the intention of love,” Asher muttered. Lydia finally raised her head, staring at him, revealing her wide innocent eyes which glimmered in the bright light, just as he feared.
“I’m not doing this out of will,” she sassed back, surprising him. Her voice was loud and clear, something he didn’t expect.
He didn’t know what he was expecting for an answer, but certainly not that.
“Why are you here then? You have to consent as much as the man, so declining the betrothal wouldn’t be much of a feat,” he noted. He pulled her slightly closer to him as the music picked up its pace.
“The same reason you are. There’s no other choice. You’re desperate, my parents are desperate, so this is the reason we are stuck in this predicament.” He expected her to be quiet and shy, so every word that escaped out of her mouth was more unexpected than the last.
“I wouldn’t call it a predicament so soon, at least not before we get to know each other. You know more about me than I know about you. So go on, intrigue me.”
“It’s not my job to intrigue you,” Lydia sassed once more. “But if you must, then I will. I was nicknamed the ‘spoiled wallflower’ back home.”
“That is intriguing. May I ask why?” he asked.
“No, you may not.” Her full lips spread into a smile, and he fought every urge to stare at them intently. He already disliked her, but every word that escaped her lips made him more and more inquisitive. Somehow. “But I can tell you one more thing. I hate men. Including you.”
“Harsh, don’t you think? As you said, it is desperation that brought us here, so there’s no need for such strong feelings so soon,” Asher said. He thought she was exaggerating at first, but the fire in her eyes suggested otherwise.
“It might be so, but that is life after all. Tell me something about you, then. Maybe this dance will pass by quicker,” Lydia said, pretending to yawn.
“I’m in the papers. You might have seen me, ‘the return of the Duke of Whitehaven.” She nodded but seemed bored. “I was in India for a year, so my return seems to have caused an uproar.”
“Why did you go there?” They waltzed to the soothing music as they held each other. He noticed she was staring at her feet every few seconds as if she was unsure what she was doing.
“Interested now, are we?” Asher couldn’t help but tease her, something pushing him to. She acted differently than what she looked and what she should have been like. “I was looking for the man who killed my parents.”
“Oh…” The arrogant smile left her face, replaced by what he only assumed was shock.
“It was a false lead, so now I’m back. I inherited debt from the death of my parents, so my uncle is pressuring me to marry a Lady of status, which just so happens to be you,” Asher said as he laid all of his cards on the table. His hopes were to discourage her from seeking love further on into their marriage. The more he spoke, the more discouraged he hoped she would get.
“I’m not wealthy; my family is. And there are others of higher status, wealthier, and who don’t hate men. Choose them instead and turn me down.”
“That’s not you,” Asher said. “You’re acting.”
***
Lydia tilted her head, staring at him with curiosity. Her insides were burning hot, the shakiness in her arms returning. She couldn’t believe she had lasted this long, so close to him.
What is he talking about?
“Are you acting right now, Lydia?” He whispered her name, sending shivers up and down her spine. Her breath hitched in her throat, freezing her for a moment.
Yes, as a matter of fact, she was. It was the only way she would manage to endure through this dance and the time she spent together with him. He was handsome, intriguing, mysterious, and everything good at once, but she hated him with an untold passion. She hated him because he was friends with a monster; she hated him because he was probably a monster himself.
“I, uh…” She tried clearing her throat but to no avail. She stood frozen, uncomfortable. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I didn’t come here to calm a spitfire, uncle made sure of that. He noted your modesty, he noted your scandalous past, he noted everything. So, are you acting right now?” he asked.
Lydia shook her head, feeling her face redden. The tightness in her throat restricted her breathing, and images of back home returned to her. She didn’t know how she would explain this to anyone; a woman like her, so terrified of touching men, was enchanted by the Duke of Whitehaven yet resented him all the same. She put on a façade, desiring to fool herself and him, desiring to survive, but it was now tearing apart piece by piece.
“I… told you, I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Lydia.
“It’s all right, I do.” Asher’s eyes met hers, his gaze piercing through her being, studying her. She clenched her fist, feeling violated and confused at the hot feeling in her stomach.
The music ceased, and they walked back to their family who was waiting. Lydia’s legs felt wobbly and unstable, but she put on a smile for her parents, desiring to keep them happy. Daphne understood something wasn’t quite right.
“That was splendid,” Asher’s uncle exclaimed. “Excuse my unorthodox ways, but I always judge a couple by the way they dance to see if they are ideal for marriage.”
“Agreed, My Lord. They are a perfect match,” Father said.
“They were perfectly frozen in place for half the dance,” Daphne muttered beneath the commotion of the crowd as she received a customary nudge from mother.
Lydia gritted her teeth, pressing her nails into her palms.
“It is decided then?”
“Yes, it certainly is.”
“I guess we are stuck together now, like it or not,” Asher whispered in her ear.
