Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

“ Y our dancing is indeed quite remarkable, Miss Kingman,” Alistair spoke, his voice slightly strained as he guided the impassive lady in his arms across the floor. He attempted to maintain eye contact, but his gaze kept drifting, finding distractions in the crowd.

“Thank you, Your Grace. You are most talented as well,” Diana replied, her voice soft and barely above a whisper.

She glanced down, her cheeks flushing a delicate pink, a nice contrast to the beautiful shade of lavender dress she had on that complemented her fair complexion. The fabric flowed around her like water, accentuating her graceful movements.

Alistair cleared his throat, trying to shake off the awkwardness that hung in the air like a thick fog. “I’ve heard you play the pianoforte beautifully. Perhaps you could play for me sometime?”

He hoped the compliments would spark some enthusiasm, but instead, Diana's eyes widened slightly, and she seemed to retreat further into herself.

“Oh, certainly, if His Grace wishes it, it would be an honor,” her tone lacked emotion as she spoke. “However, I hope I can live up to His Grace’s expectations, I am but inexperienced in the art…” She trailed off, her gaze dropping back to the polished floor, as if searching for an escape route.

Alistair felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “I’m certain you’re more than good enough,” he insisted, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I’ve heard whispers of your talent.” He tried to sound genuine, but the words felt hollow, echoing in the awkward silence that followed.

Diana’s response was a polite nod, her expression still shy and reserved. “That’s very kind of you to say, Your Grace.”

Alistair tried to hide his frown. She was saying all the right words. And if it were a couple months ago he met her, he likely would have felt glad for it. However, now, he felt the way she spoke made him feel as if he were conversing with a porcelain doll—beautiful yet fragile, utterly devoid of any spark.

None of that should matter. She would make a wonderful duchess.

Yet, as they continued to dance, Alistair found himself stumbling over his words, desperately searching for something—anything —that could bridge the growing chasm between them. He could barely recognize himself.

“And your dance skills,” he ventured, his voice faltering. “You seem to glide across the floor.”

“Glide, yes,” she echoed, a faint smile gracing her lips, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I suppose it’s just practice.” Another pause settled between them, heavy and uncomfortable. Alistair cleared his throat again, feeling the tension stretch like a taut string ready to snap.

“Indeed, practice,” he murmured, wishing he could retreat into the crowd. The silence felt like a weight pressing down on him, each second stretching into an eternity, filled only with the sound of their footsteps and the distant laughter of others enjoying the evening.

Diana shifted slightly, her delicate frame barely moving as she clung to the edges of her composure. Alistair could sense her discomfort, and it mirrored his own, creating an invisible barrier that neither of them could breach. Their chemistry felt nonexistent, as if they were two ships passing in the night.

Just then, amongst every other, Alistair heard a familiar laughter, a sound like the tinkling of delicate chimes, and couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Despite his body moving rhythmically with Diana, each step felt mechanical, as if he were merely a puppet dancing on strings.

His heart raced, and a tightness constricted his chest as his gaze landed on Cecilia. She stood across the room, her presence magnetic, with cascading waves of her dark hair that caught the light, framing her porcelain face.

Her eyes sparkled with near mischief, and her smile radiated warmth, illuminating the space around her. She looked all too dashing in her gown of deep emerald that accentuated her slender figure, flowing gracefully as she moved, each gesture imbued with a natural elegance that captivated everyone nearby.

Alistair watched with horror as his eyes finally took note of a gentleman next to her with a confident smirk on his lips. The man leaned in, seeming to whisper something that made Cecilia laugh again, and a pang of jealousy sliced through Alistair's entire being.

Who in all the gods’ name is he?!

The man reached for her hand, and Alistair's breath caught. In that moment, the world around him blurred into insignificance. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but the sight of her delicate fingers intertwining with the stranger’s felt like a betrayal.

His mind raced, an internal storm brewing as he struggled to repress the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him.

“Your Grace?”

He glanced back at Diana, who continued to sway with him, her demeanor timid, her eyes downcast as if she sensed the tension radiating from him.

Diana’s presence felt like a distant echo, and Alistair realized he had completely shifted his focus away from her. She stepped gently to the music, her movements soft and elegant, yet they seemed to fade into the background against the vivid tableau of Cecilia and her dance partner.

“Yes, I, uh, may I have your next dance as well?”

Alistair’s heart ached as he took Diana’s hand once more, his eyes trained on watching Cecilia’s laughter, a sound that once brought him amusement, echo the floor as she leaned into the random man as their dance began, her head tilted back in laughter in conversation.

The jealousy boiled within him, a bitter concoction of longing and frustration. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to intervene, to pull her away from the man who seemed to claim her attention so effortlessly.

How dare he pull her so close?

He’s taking liberties, with my Cecilia!

The entire dance was a struggle, and Alistair felt as though he was to explode with every movement to the music. At last, it came to an end.

“That was lovely indeed,” He forced a smile as he turned to Diana, but the words felt hollow in his throat. The music faded, and couples began to shift on the floor, but he remained rooted in place, a tempest of emotions swirling within him.

Diana, with her soft blonde curls cascading over her shoulders looked up at him expectantly. “Yes, it was. But you seem… distracted. I heard about your accident. Are you quite all right, Your Grace?” she observed, her brow furrowing slightly.

Alistair realized he had not once thought about the bandages still under his elaborate suit. His mind had been elsewhere since the start of the day.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. “I apologize, movement is difficult at the moment, yes,” he lied through his teeth, his voice strained.

After bowed slightly, the gesture feeling mechanical, he then excused himself from the dance floor, searching for a moment of solace with a glass of wine.

As he moved toward the refreshment table, his heart raced, each beat echoing the turmoil in his chest. The moment he turned, his heart plummeted.

Cecilia was still on the ballroom floor, her laughter ringing like a melody, dancing effortlessly with the gentleman who had stolen her attention. The sight made his hands tremble around the glass, the crystal threatening to slip from his grip.

Why does this enrage me so?

Alistair’s eyes narrowed, fixated on the pair. He felt like a hawk, sharp and predatory, and all he could see was the way she leaned into the man, her eyes sparkling as they moved. Panic surged through him, a visceral reaction he couldn’t comprehend.

“Alistair?” A familiar voice broke through his haze. It was his mother, the dowager duchess, gliding toward him with an air of elegance. “What do you think of Lady Diana?” she asked, her tone filled with eager anticipation.

He quickly set his glass down, forcing himself to appear composed. “She’s… just the kind of lady I was looking for,” he replied, the words feeling foreign as they left his lips.

He noticed his knuckles were white, gripping his glass. His mother’s keen eyes narrowed, and he cleared his throat, trying to mask the storm brewing inside him.

“Ah, splendid indeed! She has such talents, you know. A marvelous pianist, and her embroidery is exquisite, and so many more,” The dowager continued, her enthusiasm returning as she seemed to settle on not questioning. “I truly believe our search for a duchess has come to an end.”

Alistair nodded, but his mind was still on Cecilia, the image of her laughing with another man seared into his memory. Each word from his mother felt like a distant echo, lost amidst the chaos of his heart. He forced a stoic expression, but inside, he was unraveling, torn between duty and an emotion he couldn’t name.

“Your Grace, you must pay attention. Lady Diana is truly a catch,” his mother insisted, her voice smooth yet persistent. The dowager duchess leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with ambition. “She has the grace of a swan and the intellect to match. I can already envision the two of you gracing the halls of our estate.”

He forced a tight curl of his lips, nodding absently as his mother continued to extol the woman’s virtues. Yet, as she spoke, his eyes drifted back to Cecilia, who stood across the room, her laughter mingling with the music.

The way her dark hair framed her face, cascading in soft waves as she bounced, made her seem almost ethereal. Her eyes, a vivid green, sparkled with mischief as she twirled with her partner, a look he wished she was giving him instead.

“Alistair? Are you listening?” his mother’s voice pierced through his reverie, and he blinked, shaking his head slightly to clear the fog. “I said, she would make an excellent duchess. Just think of the future.”

“Yes, mother,” he replied, but the words felt hollow. The thought of making Lady Diana his wife filled him with a sense of disappointment that he couldn’t quite articulate.

The image of Cecilia, carefree and radiant, lingered in his mind, and he felt a pang of panic.

How could you let yourself get this distracted? Pull yourself together!

“Alistair, dear, you must understand the importance of this match,” she pressed, her tone a mix of concern and impatience. “You need to think about your responsibilities.”

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on his mother’s words, but they began to drone on, a monotonous hum in his ears. The more he tried to concentrate, the more his gaze drifted back to Cecilia.

He clenched his fists, feeling a surge of frustration. He couldn’t pursue her; she was nothing like the woman his mother envisioned for him. She was nothing like the woman he envisioned for himself as well.

She does not wish to marry either.

The recollection and realization struck him like a cold wave. A smile lifted his face admist the chaos. Perhaps the man that twirled her at the moment did not have a chance either.

Realizing his train of thought, Alistair’s heart raced with anxiety. He needed to stop these feelings before it spiraled out of control.

“Your Grace?” His mother’s voice broke through again, and he realized he had been staring. “What is it? You seem troubled.”

“Nothing, merely… thinking, mother,” he replied, forcing a smile.

But deep down, he was coming to terms with a truth he had tried to ignore. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became: his heart was drawn to Cecilia, and perhaps that was a path he could never take.