Chapter 23

Chloe glided across the ballroom floor in Anthony's arms, their movements in perfect harmony. The strains of the waltz filled the air, and yet, the music could do little to soothe the ache in her heart. With each step, the weight of her impending betrothal to Lord Frampton pressed down on her soul, a relentless reminder of the despair that had consumed her since her father's cruel announcement.

Anthony's eyes, filled with a mixture of concern and unspoken love, met hers. Chloe knew she had to tell him the truth, to share the burden that had been weighing on her. She needed to let him know that much as he was the one for her, it might already be too late. The words trembled on her lips, her courage bolstered by the warmth of his embrace. She opened her mouth to speak, to confide in him the depth of her pain and the horror of her predicament…

But before she could utter a single word, their dance was abruptly cut short.

A clumsy guest, swaying unsteadily with a tray of drinks, stumbled into Anthony, sending a cascade of liquid splashing all over his finely tailored suit. The guest, notorious within the ton for his inebriated escapades, was none other than Lord Pembroke, a well known lush. Gasps of surprise echoed around the ballroom, and Chloe's heart sank as she watched the shock and embarrassment wash over Anthony's face.

"Good heavens, I am so sorry!" Lord Pembroke stammered, fumbling with the now empty tray.

Anthony's once immaculate attire was now soaked, the dark fabric clinging to his form in a way that truly looked very uncomfortable. Lord Pembroke, his face flushed from drink and embarrassment, looked as though he was bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation. But Anthony, ever the gentleman, simply smiled kindly and shook his head.

"It is quite alright, Lord Pembroke," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "Accidents happen to the best of us."

Chloe watched the exchange, her heart swelling with admiration for Anthony's composure. While others might have taken offense and sought to escalate the situation, Anthony chose kindness over conflict. It was one of the many reasons she loved him. Lord Pembroke, taken aback by Anthony's unexpected response, mumbled another apology.

"I… I am terribly sorry, truly," he stammered, looking down at the mess he had caused. "I must be more careful."

"No harm done," Anthony assured him, patting Pembroke on the shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Anthony turned to Chloe, offering her a reassuring smile. "Please excuse me, Chloe. I must clean up this mess. I will return to your side as soon as possible."

Chloe forced a smile, though her heart ached with disappointment. "Of course, Anthony. Take your time."

As Anthony hurriedly made his way out of the ballroom, Chloe felt a pang of loneliness wash over her. She moved to the edge of the room, finding solace in the shadows away from the prying eyes of the other guests. Her thoughts raced, the urgency to tell Anthony the truth gnawing at her insides. But how would he respond to her? Was she likely to receive the same kindness? Was that even what she wanted? Or did she want Anthony to fight for her? For them?

***

Anthony had barely finished changing when he felt an urgent need to return to the ballroom, the unfinished conversation with Chloe weighing heavily on his mind. He still needed to confess his love to her, he could not hold it back any longer, he just needed to find a moment to get it all out. The night had been fraught with interruptions, and he was determined not to let another moment pass without hearing what Chloe had to say.

As he made his way through the grand hall, the bright flickering glow of the terrace lights caught his eye. Through the open doors, he saw a solitary figure standing there, silhouetted against the night sky. The figure's posture was tense and familiar. It was Lord Swift, alone and seemingly deep in thought.

Anthony hesitated for a moment, almost torn between continuing on his journey to Chloe, and speaking with Lord Swift first. He knew that his words would not be well received, but he was a gentleman through and through, and wanted to do things right.

He stood still for a moment, going back and forth, but in the end, he knew what his mother would tell him to do, so that was the way he decided to go…

He took a deep breath and stepped out on to the terrace. As he approached Lord Swift, Anthony noticed that something was amiss. Something was so amiss that he could feel his pulse pounding against his rib cage. Lord Swift, who was usually so composed and in control, looked unusually pale, his hand clutching the railing for support. His face was etched with lines of pain, and his body seemed unsteady.

"Lord Swift?" Anthony called out, his voice tinged with concern. "Are you alright?"

Lord Swift turned towards him, but his eyes were unfocused, his response incoherent. "I... I do not..." he mumbled, the words slurring together in a jumbled mess.

Alarmed, Anthony quickened his pace. "Lord Swift, you do not look well. Here, let me help you…"

Before he could reach him, Lord Swift's body convulsed, and he clutched his chest with a pained gasp. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, his face contorted in agony.

"Lord Swift!" Anthony shouted, dropping to his knees beside the older man . He fumbled for his pulse, his heart racing as he felt the faint, erratic beat beneath his fingers. "Help!" Anthony called out towards the ballroom. "Someone, please help!"

Panic gripped Anthony as he realized the severity of the situation. The terrace quickly filled with concerned on lookers, their faces pale with shock and worry. But no one could possibly be as worried as Anthony felt in that moment. Among them were Chloe and Lady Swift, their expressions mirroring the dread that Anthony felt.

"Anthony, what is happening?" Chloe's voice trembled as she pushed through the gathering crowd, her eyes widening in horror as she saw her father on the ground.

"He collapsed," Anthony replied, his voice urgent and strained. "We need a doctor immediately! Someone call for the doctor."

Anthony took charge, his voice steady and commanding as he ordered the butler to send for the family physician. He and one of his foot men carefully lifted Lord Swift, carrying him to a private room to await medical attention. The last thing that Lord Swift needed was to be eyed by curious onlookers. His heart raced nervously. There was no telling what was going to happen here.

All he could be sure of was that it threw all of his and Chloe's plans in to disarray. But that did not matter right now. Lord Swift did. Anthony sat by Lord Swift's side, gripping the older man's hand as the physician arrived and began his examination. Chloe and Lady Swift hovered nearby, their worry palpable.

He wished that he could do more.

He wished that he could do anything .

***

Chloe's mind reeled with the thought of losing her father. Despite their often strained relationship, the idea of his absence left her feeling adrift and terrified. Her heart pounded in her chest, a frantic rhythm that echoed the chaos around her. The night had taken a dark turn, and she struggled to hold herself together.

Luckily, Anthony was by her side, his presence a steady rock in the midst of the turmoil. He spoke in calm, measured tones, offering words of comfort to both Chloe and her mother. His composure provided a much needed anchor, and Chloe clung to it, drawing strength from his unwavering support.

"Chloe, he is strong. He will pull through," Anthony said, his voice filled with quiet confidence. "You know that your father is strong, he is the strongest man that I have ever known."

Chloe nodded, though tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "Thank you, Anthony. For everything."

The wait seemed endless, each second stretching into an eternity. The James house, usually so lively with the sounds of conversation and laughter, was now cloaked in a heavy silence since all the other guests had thankfully gone home. There was no reason for anyone to remain at the ball while a disaster was unfolding. Chloe did not even want to think about what the ton might be saying about her family now.

The only noise was the faint rustling of servants moving with purpose, their faces etched with concern as they attempted to keep the house under control with everything going on around them. Finally, the physician arrived, his expression grave as he was led to Lord Swift's side. Chloe's heart leapt in to her throat as he examined her father, his movements methodical and deliberate. She held her breath, praying silently for a miracle.

Anthony stood beside her, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. "He is in good hands now, Chloe. The doctor will do everything he can."

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I can not lose him, Anthony. No matter our differences, he is still my father."

Anthony's grip on her shoulder tightened slightly, a gesture of reassurance. "I know. And you will not lose him. Not tonight."

Minutes felt like hours as they waited. Her mother paced anxiously, her face pale with worry. Chloe reached out to her, taking her mother's hand in hers. They drew comfort from each other, their shared fear binding them closer. Finally, the physician rose up his face etched with lines of fatigue. He met their eyes, delivering his diagnosis with a calm, professional tone.

"Lord Swift has suffered a heart attack. It is fortunate that Lord Anthony acted so quickly. From what I have heard, his decisive action made all the difference."

A wave of relief washed over Chloe, mingled with gratitude. She turned to Anthony, her heart swelling with love and admiration.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "You saved him."

Anthony's expression softened, his eyes reflecting the depth of his feelings. "I did what anyone would have done."

"No," Chloe said, shaking her head. "You did what you always do. You were there when we needed you most."

She reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. The warmth of his touch grounded her, offering a sense of security amidst the uncertainty. Chloe drew strength from his steady presence, feeling a renewed sense of hope for the future.

***

Chloe's fingers danced across the keys of the pianoforte, each note a desperate cry for solace. The haunting melody filled the music room, weaving through the air like a spectral presence. Sun light streamed through the large windows, casting a delicate light over the elegant space, but it did little to lift the heavy shadow that had settled over her heart.

The masquerade ball felt like a distant memory now, though it had been only a few days. The aftermath had been swift and severe. Her father's sudden heart attack had thrown the household into chaos, his stern and unyielding presence now replaced by a fragile, ailing man confined to his bed. The doctors had warned that he needed rest and minimal stress, a command that had turned Chloe's world on its axis. She closed her eyes, allowing the music to carry her away, her mind wandering back to that night.

Anthony's eyes had been so full of something she dared not name… hope, perhaps even love. She had seen the words forming on his lips, only for them to be stolen by the abrupt end of the dance and the unwanted accident with Lord Pembroke.

Now, sitting alone in the music room, Chloe could still feel the ghost of that almost confession hanging in the air. It was a fleeting moment, but one that had stirred something deep within her. She paused, her fingers hovering over the keys, as she replayed the scene in her mind.

But as she recalled that moment, she also thought about the news that she had to share with him. The news that her father had accepted a proposal to another man. And not just anyone. Lord Frampton. The melody grew softer, more melancholic, as her thoughts turned to her father. Despite their differences, despite the control he had exerted over her life, she loved him deeply. Seeing him so vulnerable had torn at her, bringing a new level of complexity to her feelings of duty and independence. How could she follow her heart when doing so might defy her father's wishes during his most fragile state?

It all felt so terribly wrong.

As she played, her thoughts drifted to the past few days, to the fear and uncertainty that had gripped her as she watched her father fight for his life. The announcement of her impending marriage to Lord Frampton had been put on hold, her father too weak to proceed with the drawing up of the marriage contracts.

Chloe knew she should feel relieved, but the guilt of keeping this secret from Anthony gnawed at her, adding to the burden she already carried. She had not told Anthony about the arrangement with Lord Frampton, fearing his reaction, fearing that it would shatter whatever fragile bond they were trying to rebuild. Her father's collapse had given her a reprieve, but it was a temporary one.

The shadow of the duke loomed over her, a constant reminder of the life she could be forced in to if she did not act soon. The notes she played shifted to a darker, more urgent tone, mirroring her inner turmoil. How could she explain to Anthony that, despite the fake courtship they had embarked on, her father had still intended to marry her off to Lord Frampton? The thought of being Lord Frampton's wife filled her with dread. His calculating eyes and cold demeanor promised a future devoid of the warmth and love she craved.

Tears welled in Chloe's eyes as she tried to focus on the music, each note a reflection of her inner despair. The realization that she could be forced into a loveless marriage weighed heavily on her, suffocating her spirit. How could she face Anthony, knowing that her father's plans would destroy any chance they had of a future together?

Her father's sickness had prevented her from undertaking her plan, from running off to elope with Anthony.

Now she was not sure where that left her.

Chloe's fingers slowed on the keys, the music fading into a haunting silence. She sat motionless, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her. The prospect of being bound to Lord Frampton filled her with dread, but the idea of defying her father in his weakened state was equally unbearable. The path forward seemed hopelessly tangled, each step fraught with peril. It really did feel like there was no way out.