Chapter 2

Chapter Two

AS WITH ALL GOOD PLANS

E ngland was cold and wet, and Charles Beaumont, Viscount Hawthorne, eldest son to the Earl and Countess of Whickerton, wondered if the sun would ever shine again. Indeed, they had been gone from English soil for so long that he barely remembered his home country.

"I don't like it here," Elizabeth, his twelve-year-old sister pouted as they stood in front of the terrace doors of their London townhouse. "It always rains."

Charles could not disagree.

Ever since their arrival barely a fortnight ago, it had rained constantly. If only temperatures were to drop a bit more… "Perhaps we'll see snow soon," he murmured, trying to cheer up his little sister. "Don't you want to see snow?"

Lizzie's face brightened as she looked up at him. "Yes," she breathed, awe in her voice, before another cough wracked her little body.

Charles held her close, rubbing a soothing hand over her little back and murmuring words of comfort. When her coughing had calmed, Charles seated himself upon the floor and pulled Lizzie into his arms. "We won't stay long," he murmured, tickling the corners of her mouth to make her smile. "Only long enough for you to see snow."

Since birth, Lizzie had suffered from a weakness of the lungs, which could not be cured but was eased by warmer climates. Unfortunately, that was not something to be found in England.

Footsteps echoed closer, and then the door to the drawing room was flung open. "There you are," Henry exclaimed, dressed in formal evening attire. He strode closer, then he laughed. "You look miserable," he remarked with a grin.

Charles chuckled, casting a meaningful look at his brother, younger by three years. "And you look dashing." He looked down at Lizzie, her eyes wide as she gazed at Henry. "We were talking about snow."

Henry kneeled down in front of their sister. "I heard temperatures are bound to drop any day now," he told her, putting a smile onto her face.

Leaving Lizzie in Henry's care, Charles hurried to dress for tonight's ball. Indeed, despite his twenty-one years on this earth, it was his first, and he could not deny a touch of nervousness. In truth, he did not much care for the idea of being crammed in a room with a myriad of strangers. He preferred the country, the wide-open expanse as well as the quiet. Henry, though, could probably not wait to mingle.

Still, being back in England after all these years, Charles wanted to see the world his parents had grown up in, the world that would one day be his as well. Yes, he was determined to make the most of their time here.

As they arrived at Lord Atwood's townhouse later that night, the sound of laughter, conversation, and music filled the hall, echoing off the walls and vibrating against Charles's chest. He felt overwhelmed by the sudden noise, and a wave of anxiety washed over him.

"It is quite different, is it not?" his mother, Edith Beaumont, Countess of Whickerton, asked with a twinkle in her pale eyes. "Consider it a social study of a foreign culture."

Charles chuckled, grateful for his mother's words. "I shall," he replied, not unaware of the expression in his father's eyes as he looked at his wife. Indeed, Charles's parents were the embodiment of true love, the bond between them transcending everything Charles had ever encountered. He had seen love in others before, but it had never come close to that which connected his parents. As far as he knew, there was not even a word in any language he had ever studied that would do it justice.

While his parents easily glided through the throng of guests, Charles and Henry remained behind. "What do you think?"

Henry shrugged, eager eyes sweeping over the crowd. "Not the greatest adventure I've ever imagined, but," he grinned at Charles, "it'll do for tonight." Then, he, too, disappeared into the crowd.

Charles could not deny that he enjoyed being on his own, even in a crowd. His brother had the tendency to speak without pause, and Charles often felt drained having to pay attention to his brother's endless stream of words. And so, instead, Charles retreated to a quiet corner—relatively quiet, at least—and watched, observing those around him with almost scientific interest. Indeed, customs differed greatly across cultures, and he wondered about the many nuances he had yet to learn.

Quite content, Charles spent the next hour upon the fringes of the ballroom, watching couples dance and lords and ladies interact. He saw young women bat their eyes, coy smiles upon their faces, and gentlemen square their shoulders, an air of importance surrounding them. Old matrons stood in one corner, watching everything with hawk's eyes, secretive words exchanged between them. Charles could not help but wonder what it was they saw when they looked at this ballroom, how different their experience was from his own. Almost entranced, Charles strolled along, his gaze sweeping over the many guests in attendance, with many more still arriving minute by minute. Their voices were now only a hum in the background, the meaning of their words lost to Charles. It was a soothing sound, and it made Charles feel more at ease; after all, he was merely a spectator at tonight's ball, glad not to have any sort of active role in it.

In Charles's opinion, the evening could have progressed in this very manner until the time of their departure. However, as with all good plans, sometimes they took an unexpected twist.

Lost in his observations, Charles did not notice the young woman until they collided in a tangle of arms, his feet firmly planted upon the hem of her skirt, her fingers grasping his arms to regain her balance. The moment was upon him so abruptly that Charles felt his heart pause in his chest, his eyes staring down into her face in utter shock, the rest of the world momentarily lost to his senses.

Indeed, for a moment, all Charles saw…

… was her.

Wide blue eyes looked up into his. Indeed, it was the most astounding blue he had ever seen, and yet Charles could not quite say why that was the case. Indeed, it was a remarkable blue, a mixture of the sky on a bright summer's day and the deep, almost turquoise waters he had seen in the south of Europe. It was a color that held mystery and depth, a color that intrigued him and made him wish to know what lay beneath the waves.

And then Charles blinked, and he saw her face.

Not unlike his own, it held surprise, visible in the widening of her gaze. Yet beyond that, Charles saw deep sadness, anguish even. Tears clung to her lashes, and even after regaining her balance, her hands still clung to his arms, holding on, as though she feared she could not stand on her own. Indeed, an almost crushing weight seemed to rest upon her shoulders, and Charles felt a fierce need to protect her, to carry her burden for her… whatever it might be.

It was the oddest feeling, for he did not even know her name.

"I'm sorry," Charles managed to say after finally rediscovering his voice. Although it sounded rather like the croak of a frog than the voice of a human. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm sorry. I suppose I did not look where I was going. Are you all right?" As Charles took a step back to look into her eyes, the young lady's hands slipped from his arms, and he instantly regretted the loss of her touch. Again, it was the oddest sensation.

Blinking her eyes fiercely, the young lady bowed her head, clearly struggling to regain her composure. Still, Charles was certain that it had not been their collision that had unbalanced her. Indeed, whatever had upset her had happened before their meeting. "I'm quite all right," she replied in a small voice, her head still bowed, her eyes refusing to look back up into his.

More than anything, Charles wished to know what had happened to her. He took a careful step forward, his head slightly lowered, and whispered, "Is there anything I can do? Please." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded pleading. Indeed, in that moment, he would have said anything to keep her by his side.

Unfortunately, the young lady had other plans, for she shook her head and retreated another step, reestablishing the distance between them. "No, I'm truly all right." Then, slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted her chin, and it seemed to be a great effort to her. She met his eyes, and then the most ingenuine smile Charles had ever seen touched her lips. "Nothing happened. I'm… I'm fine." She nodded to him as though in confirmation of her words and then slipped back into the crowd so fast that for a moment Charles felt as though he might have simply imagined her.

He still did not know her name. He could not even remember the color of her hair or her dress. All he remembered were those wide blue eyes filled with sadness, and yet, strangely enough, he thought that in that moment he had seen her.

Truly seen her.

And he knew that it had changed everything.