Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Spring Masquerade Ball 1818

London

Lady Cordelia Harrington stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, her gloved hands clasped lightly in front of her as she surveyed the glittering sea of masked faces.

The opulent lights cast a golden glow over the dancers, illuminating the elegantly dressed guests who swayed and laughed with abandon. It was the start of the London Season, and the masquerade ball was the event that would set it all in motion.

Her sister, Lady Felicity Harrington, was a vision, twirling across the dance floor in a gown of vibrant blue, her laughter ringing like a bell as she moved from partner to partner, enjoying every moment of socializing, just as she always did.

Cordelia envied that.

She was never as comfortable as that in a place like this.

She might have been two years older than eighteen-year-old Felicity, but in places like this, she felt like she was the inexperienced one.

Their mother, Lady Amelia Harrington, stood nearby, her eyes alight with pride and hope as she watched Felicity, probably silently choosing which man she preferred for her youngest girl.

Their father, Lord Henry Harrington, the Earl of Westfield, was engaged in conversation with other noblemen. He might have seemed outwardly less interested in what Felicity was doing, but Cordelia did not doubt that he had one eye on her at all times.

Cordelia, as always, lingered on the fringes. Though suitable for such an occasion, her gown was of a more subdued hue. An elegant shade of lavender that was almost plain compared to the vibrant colours and extravagant designs worn by many other ladies.

Her mask, too, was simple, adorned with only a few delicate pearls. She preferred it that way. The simplicity suited her, and she felt more at ease without the pressure of standing out in the crowd.

Maybe others referred to her as a ‘wallflower,' but she did not care.

Her parents might have wanted more for her, but Cordelia was content. Happier when she could read or study at home. When she did not have to worry about the eyes of the ton upon her.

"Cordelia, my dear." Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice. "Why do you stand here all alone?"

Cordelia smiled softly. "I am merely enjoying the view, Mother. It is a beautiful event."

Lady Amelia gave her a knowing look. "You should join the festivities, darling. It is the start of the Season, after all. Who knows what opportunities may arise?"

Cordelia nodded, though she remained unconvinced. "Perhaps in a little while."

Her mother sighed but did not press further. Thankfully, Cordelia had made it obvious over the years that if anyone pushed her too hard, she would retreat immediately.

She moved at her own pace and could not see anything wrong with that.

"Very well," her mother continued. "But do remember, you are just as deserving of joy and excitement as Felicity."

With that, Lady Amelia moved away, her refined gown quickly enveloped by the throng of guests. Cordelia let out a small sigh, her gaze drifting back to the dance floor.

She appreciated her mother's sentiments but could not shake the feeling that her place was here, at the periphery, watching over her family and ensuring their well-being.

It was then that she felt a presence beside her. One that she did not immediately recognize, which had a chill tearing down her spine.

Turning slightly, she spotted a tall figure dressed in black right beside her, his mask intricate and sombre just like the aura shrouding him. His dark hair fell in waves over his forehead, partially obscuring his eyes. He inclined his head towards her in greeting.

"Good evening, My Lady," he said, his voice smooth yet carrying a hint of aloofness. "May I have the pleasure of this dance?"

Cordelia hesitated, taken aback by the directness of his request. She had not noticed him before, and his sudden appearance felt almost like a ghostly apparition. Nevertheless, she could not find a polite reason to decline.

Plus, her mother's eyes were likely still upon her, and she did not wish to suffer yet another lecture for rejecting a poor gentleman who had offered her a chance to have fun.

Even if none of this was fun to Cordelia.

"Of course," she replied, offering her hand.

Cordelia felt a flutter of nerves as she allowed the mysterious man to lead her onto the dance floor. The music swelled around them, a waltz that set her heart racing in time with the rhythm. Her gloved hand rested lightly in his, the other on his shoulder, as they began to move harmoniously with the music.

The sensation of his hand at her waist was steady and reassuring, yet she could not shake the sense of unease that his presence brought. As they glided across the floor, Cordelia dared to glance up at his face, obscured by the intricate mask. His eyes, dark and intense, met hers, and for a moment, she felt a connection that was both unsettling and intriguing.

As they danced, the silence stretched on, a stark contrast to the lively chatter and laughter that filled the ballroom. Cordelia felt the weight of the unspoken words between them, unsettling her. She had always believed that a dance was an opportunity for light conversation, a chance to learn a bit about one's partner. Yet this man, with his dark, enigmatic presence, seemed content to maintain an air of aloofness.

But what could she say?

She racked her brains but could not think of a thing.

Again, she was envious of how easily this seemed to come to Felicity. Why had she not been born with any of her sister's grace and enthusiasm for getting to know new people?

Why did an intense shyness overcome her as soon as she was faced with a situation like this?

Finally, much to her relief, he was the one who broke the silence.

Although as soon as he spoke, the warm relief Cordelia had been feeling ebbed away.

"Why do you not convene with the other ladies to judge and giggle at others?"

His tone was measured, but an edge to his words made Cordelia's brow furrow.

She was taken aback by the question and the underlying accusation it seemed to carry.

"Such a question is inappropriate, sir," she replied, a hint of indignation in her voice. "I do not believe that ladies are judging others. We are here to enjoy the evening and the company."

He tilted his head slightly, studying her as if trying to decipher a complex puzzle. "Forgive me, My Lady," he said after a moment, though his apology lacked sincerity. "I have observed that many find amusement in the missteps of others at such gatherings."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed slightly behind her mask. "Perhaps some do, but I find no pleasure in such pettiness. I prefer to engage in meaningful conversation and genuine connections."

A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "And yet, here you are, alone on the periphery of the festivities. One might assume that you find the company of your own thoughts more agreeable than that of others."

Cordelia felt a flush rise to her cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. "I choose to observe, sir, because I value understanding those around me before engaging. It is not out of disdain but rather a preference for thoughtful interaction."

He nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer, and they continued to dance silently for a few more moments. Before, unfortunately, he spoke again.

"You are naive if you believe people are not judged cruelly for their appearance. Society is merciless towards those who do not fit its narrow standards of beauty."

Cordelia's initial shock at the harshness of his words quickly gave way to a calm resolve. "I do not place such importance on looks," she replied firmly. "I find society's judgements to be not only tiring but also shallow. True worth lies in one's character and actions, not in their appearance. I am sure that I am not the only person to think so."

The man seemed to bristle at her words. "It is easy for you to say, hidden behind a mask and a life of privilege. Have you ever been on the receiving end of such cruelty? Have you ever seen how people are treated when they do not meet society's expectations?"

His agitation was palpable, and Cordelia could sense that this conversation was deeply personal for him. She met his gaze steadily. "I may not have experienced it myself, but that does not mean I am blind to it. I understand that society can be harsh and unkind. But I believe it is all the more important to challenge those superficial judgements, to rise above them."

He scoffed, though there was a hint of desperation in his voice. "You speak of challenging judgements as if it is an easy task. But the reality is far different. Society does not change easily, and those who do not conform suffer greatly."

Cordelia's expression softened, recognizing the pain behind his words. She wished she could understand why this man had chosen her to rant at, but instead of tugging at that thread, she chose kindness instead.

"I never said it was easy. Change is often difficult and slow, but it starts with individuals refusing to accept the status quo. I choose to believe that kindness and understanding can make a difference, even if it is only in small ways."

The man's eyes flashed with frustration and admiration. "You are an idealist, My Lady. But perhaps the world needs more people like you, even if I doubt your optimism will prevail against the cruelty of reality."

Cordelia cocked her head to one side, her voice earnest. "I may be an idealist, but I am also determined. Each of us can influence the world around us, show compassion where there is none, and stand against injustice. Even if the change is slow, it is worth striving for."

He looked as if he might argue further for a moment, but then he sighed, a weariness settling over him. "You are determined, indeed. Perhaps there is hope in that, though I remain sceptical." He stepped back, bowing slightly. "I appreciate your perspective, Lady Cordelia. You have given me much to ponder."

As the music drew to a close, Cordelia's partner released her hand without a word, offering only a curt bow before turning on his heel and walking away. Cordelia stood there for a moment, taken aback by his abrupt departure. She felt a mixture of annoyance and bewilderment bubbling up inside her.

"How rude," she muttered under her breath before gathering her composure and leaving the dance floor. Alone. Which was most certainly not the way that it was supposed to happen.

As she approached she could see the curiosity in her eyes. "Cordelia, do you know who you were dancing with?" her mother enquired.

Cordelia sighed, still feeling the sting of the man's brusqueness. "I do not know his name, Mother. He was quite ... enigmatic and not particularly polite."

Lady Amelia's eyes widened slightly. "My dear, that was the Duke of Whitestone, Julian Simon."

Cordelia blinked, the shock evident on her face. "The Duke of Whitestone?" she repeated, incredulity colouring her tone.

"Yes, indeed," her mother confirmed, nodding. "He is known to be somewhat reclusive and rather critical of society. But I had no idea he could be so ..." She searched for the right word. "So ungracious."

Cordelia's mind raced. The Duke of Whitestone was a well-known figure, albeit more for his wealth and status than his social appearances. His reclusiveness and critical nature were the subject of much gossip among the ton, but Cordelia had never paid much attention to such rumours. Yet, here she was, having had a bewildering encounter with him.

No wonder it was so strange dancing with him.

She could not help wondering what it all meant …