Chapter 1

Lady Catherine Stanhope looked like a vision of grace and refinement at the opulent ballroom of Lord and Lady Chatham's lavish residence, but she certainly didn't feel like it. In fact, she felt exactly the opposite, as if every single lady present knew how to behave in polite society, but her.

That had a little to do with her being just a mere debutante, newly out in society, and a lot to do with her simply being herself, a shy little wallflower. The fact that her brother, Lord Reginald Stanhope, the Earl of Somerset, was by her side, seemed to help a little, but she knew that she could not very well remain his shadow for the entire duration of the evening's festivities.

Catherine believed she was ready for this. She had repeated that statement several times in the sanctity of her bedchamber as she stared at her reflection in the looking glass, but the hurried beating of her heart assured her that she was not. All that assurance in front of the looking glass, all that repetition of how do you do's and other meaningless niceties people were forced to exchange on such occasions, did not help either.

The grandeur of this occasion seemed to overwhelm her, her demure features adorned with a rosy blush as she navigated through the thick ocean of elegantly clad guests, who were all beaming with pride and importance at being there.

For a moment, she contemplated excusing herself with a headache or any such other frivolous excuse ladies tend to resort to and simply ending the evening's torture right then and there. But she had promised her brother she would endure the entire evening, and it was a promise she intended to keep.

Determined to at least alleviate her unease, her brother Reginald, a stately figure in his own right, leaned closer to her, whispering in her ear.

"See that gentleman over there with the impeccably waxed moustache?" he asked softly, and she nodded in response, looking in the direction of the aforementioned gentleman, who would absent-mindedly rub the edges of his moustache with his fingers as he spoke. "Rumor has it he practices his bowing techniques in front of the mirror every morning. Quite the dedication to elegance, I must say."

Catherine could understand that feeling very well. She also couldn't help but chuckle so loudly that a nearby group of young ladies turned to her with a look of disapproval. Catherine immediately turned grave. She had forgotten one of the most important rules of being a prim and proper lady.

She was never to laugh so openly as to show too much of her teeth or to be overheard by those not intended to listen. That was her first faux pas of the evening, and she was certain that there would be many more to come.

Although she herself was dressed impeccably in a resplendent gown of silk and lace, and her auburn curls were delicately arranged, secured with a pearl-encrusted comb, Catherine couldn't help but feel somewhat inadequate to them, almost as if there was no room for her in their world. Truth be told, it was not a world she wanted to be a part of, anyway.

"Pay no heed, Cate," Reginald gently tugged her by the elbow, making her focus on him once again. As always, he could easily sense her discomfort, and he always knew the cause of it. "Those ladies live for drama. Floral drama."

"Floral drama?" Catherine wondered, already on the verge of another chuckle, which she managed to suppress this time.

"Mhm," Reginald nodded importantly, taking a sip from his glass, only to continue a moment later. "They spend hours discussing the language of flowers and its intricate nuances. I once overheard them debating the symbolism of a daisy versus a tulip, and neither could be convinced of the supremacy of the other."

Catherine giggled softly as the tension in her shoulders eased. That did sound like a silly thing to argue about indeed. "A secret society of petal enthusiasts. Your insights really make this ball far more interesting, dear Reggie."

And far less intimidating, but she kept this part to herself.

"Oh, but I'm not done," Reginald replied, looking around in search for his next verbal victim. "How about the afficionados of cucumber sandwiches over there?"

"The what?" Catherine almost released a chuckle through her nose, a crime punishable by yet another scornful look. Fortunately, she remained a lady in every sense of the word, dictated by the ton, and the chuckle died inside of her. She wondered how many of those little glimmers of joy died inside of her, never to see the light of day just because the ton deemed them inappropriate. It seemed like a downright shame, in her humble opinion.

"You heard me right," Reginald nodded importantly. "I've heard that they formed a clandestine society dedicated to the delicate art of sandwich critique. One bite, and they can discern the quality of the entire soiree."

Strangely enough, he was right. Two gentlemen were nibbling on cucumber sandwiches, frowning, then nodding, as they exchanged notes. It was possible that they weren't talking about cucumbers or sandwiches at all, but Catherine found that believing that made her feel even more comfortable at the ball, where she felt she didn't belong.

"And her?" She dared to point barely noticeably at a lady with an extravagant feathered hat. To be quite honest, she was certain that she was not the only one asking about her. Reginald quickly looked in that direction and his eyes widened with mischief, seeing an opportunity to hone his skills.

"Now, that hat is a masterpiece in avian architecture."

"Quite so," Catherine was unable to suppress her chuckle, but she turned towards Reginald, focusing on him, while he himself cast casual glances behind her, taking a closer, more introspective look at the lady in question.

"The birds in the garden must have been exchanging fashion tips with her. Quite the trendsetter, isn't she?" he pointed out, lifting his eyebrow amusedly as he spoke.

Catherine couldn't help but feel grateful to her brother, not only for being there, but also for his witty observations, which seemed to transform the ball into a delightful spectacle that they could share together. She could always rely on him to make any occasion more bearable.

In fact, she could rely on him for anything she needed. He was her brother, her friend, her confidant, but most importantly, he was the only family she had, the only one she could turn to in an hour of need, knowing that he would be there for her no matter what. That feeling always eased her mind, especially in situations such as that one.

As Catherine was slowly starting to find her place in this hustle and bustle, Lady Chatham, their gracious host, approached them with a warm smile and outstretched arms.

"Lady Catherine, Lord Reginald," she greeted them, touching both their shoulders as she stopped before them. "It is such a pleasure to have you in our midst this evening. I trust the evening finds you well?"

Despite the woman's considerable frame, she somehow managed to carry herself with regal grace, the soft curves of her figure hinting at a life well-enjoyed. The sound of her laughter, rich and infectious, always made her a welcome guest at any ball and in any home.

This evening, she was adorned in a glorious gown that shimmered with opulent fabrics and intricate lace. Her bejeweled fingers and neck sparkled in the light, each gem a testament to her station in society.

Catherine offered a polite curtsy, her shy smile illuminated by the glow of the chandeliers above. "Thank you, Lady Chatham. The ball is truly enchanting, and your hospitality is beyond reproach, as always."

"You are most kind to say so, my dear," Lady Chatham chirped in response, a host who loved to hear that her guests were enjoying themselves. "And how is your esteemed uncle, Lord Pembroke?"

Reginald responded with a measured politeness. "He is quite well. Thank you for inquiring. He is currently attending some business matters out of London and sends both his regards, as well as his regret that he was not able to attend your annual ball this evening, which he was really looking forward to."

"Why, that is why it is an annual affair, my dear," Lady Chatham chuckled at her own words, gesturing busily with her hands as she spoke. "There is always next year!"

Both Catherine and Reginald smiled out of sheer politeness. Something told Catherine that Reginald, just like her, might find a clever excuse the following year, just like their uncle did, and skip this artificial smile festival.

"Well, I apologize, but I do have to greet other guests as well, I wouldn't want anyone to feel left out," Lady Chatham excused herself, drifting away to attend to other guests, leaving Catherine and Reginald with a sigh of relief. Although she meant well, sometimes, she was a bit overwhelming in Catherine's opinion, especially when she felt that she could help someone in need, someone who didn't really need help.

The Stanhope siblings were well-off, living off the estate left by their deceased parents. It was a sad topic for everyone involved, as their mother died shortly after the birth of her daughter, who was the younger child, and their father seemed to die of a broken heart several years later.

Those were indeed challenging times for both Catherine and Reginald, who were eventually looked after by a distant yet benevolent uncle.

While the man made sure that the children were never in need of anything, he omitted to provide the most important thing a child needed, and that was the love of a caring parent. It was simply a void that could not be filled by any amount of wealth. As a result, Catherine and Reginald found solace in each other's company, forming a very deep bond.

Catherine tried not to dwell on the past, especially not at a moment like this, when the present required her full focus. Her eyes surveyed the lively scene, observing the ladies as well as gentlemen, when unexpectedly, her gaze unintentionally locked with that of a gentleman standing right across the room. In that single second, she was able to observe everything about him and lock it inside her mind.

There was something about him that instantly set him apart in the glittering assembly of all the other gentlemen. Tall and impeccably attired in a well-tailored coat that accentuated his broad shoulders and muscled arms, he stood there with a self-assured grace that turned heads.

Indeed, her attention was not the only one he had managed to catch. A nearby assembly of ladies was whispering something in a hushed manner, occasionally glancing at him, and Catherine knew they could only be talking about him.

His dark, wavy hair framed a strong jawline and only seemed to make his features even more striking. The subtle hint of a well-groomed beard added a touch of rugged, almost careless elegance to his appearance. She could not see the shade of his eyes from so far away, but whatever color they were, they held a magnetic intensity she could not deny.

"… and I thought that was hilarious, don't you agree?" Reginald spoke, drawing Catherine back to the present moment. She reluctantly pulled away from the mysterious stranger, turning to Reginald, blinking heavily. "Cate? Cate, are you even listening to me?"

Caught off guard, Catherine blinked heavily, revealing a flicker of surprise in her gaze. "Yes? Oh, yes indeed… quite hilarious. I definitely agree, Reggie."

That was when she realized that she was a bit too assertive in her comments, as Reginald tilted his head a little, amused. "What is?"

"What is what?" she asked, clearing her throat, realizing that she had been caught. She was not listening to a single word he had just said, and he knew it. He could always just take one look at her and know whatever it was she was endeavoring to hide.

"What is hilarious?" he repeated the question, crossing his arms in the level of his chest, almost like a governess waiting to catch a naughty child in a lie, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the child betrayed its own self.

"Well… that… what you just said," Catherine mumbled, gesturing with her hands for support, much to her brother's delight.

"You are a dreadful liar, Cate," he chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her in for an affectionate embrace. "Always have been. What has caught your attention so much that you forgot all about your dear old brother telling you a rather funny story?"

Catherine hesitated for a moment, refusing to allow her eyes to wander toward the other end of the room and expose her. "Oh, nothing worth mentioning, I assure you."

"So, you are that bored that you have to imagine being elsewhere?" he continued to tease good-humoredly, which he was always wont to do.

"Well, you don't seem to be having a lot of fun either," she replied playfully, deciding that turning the tables on him would be the safest option to play this game.

"Au contraire, my dear sister," Reginald spoke theatrically, as usual. "I am bored now, yes. But someone's arrival will change that, I assure you."

"Whose arrival?" she wondered curiously, although she could venture a good guess.

"Why, Annabel's, of course," he clarified, then seemed to change the topic hastily, afraid that someone might overhear them. "Now, have you tried the petits fours? Lady Chatham's catering never disappoints."

Reginald took her by the hand and led her to the table laden with all sorts of delicacies. Catherine could almost feel the scorching gaze of the stranger, burning a hole in the back of her head, yet she dared not turn around. Acknowledging him in any manner would mean putting herself in the spotlight, and that was the last place she wanted to be.

No. She would simply remain the wallflower she always had been, endure this ball and retire to the safety and comfort of her own four walls, with the company of her books and flowers being more than enough.