CHAPTER 20

In the grand ballroom of his family home, Wesley stood alongside his mother and Harriet, greeting the arriving guests with the politeness that was to be expected of him tonight. Especially with his family being the hosts, he had to be even better than usual. Especially because his mother had done her best, as usual, trying to decorate the house to reflect their wealth and status, to remind the ton that they were still worthy of their attention.

It was all rather silly in Wesley's opinion, but he did want to help his mother out in the hope that they could finally start talking again. The tension between them was indeed annoying.

Wesley's polite smiles were automatic, a practiced facade honed over years of social obligations. His mind, however, was preoccupied with the thought of Lady Sylvia's arrival. Each greeting, each exchange of pleasantries, was tinged with an undercurrent of impatience. He scanned the room periodically, his eyes flicking to the entrance in the hope of catching a glimpse of her.

He knew that she would be coming, because however unhappy his mother was, she was far too concerned with social status to leave someone out. She would not dare refuse Lady Grace an invite because that would be so rude, it could cause others to turn on her.

So Lady Sylvia would most certainly be here soon enough, and he could not wait.

As the guests continued to arrive, the room filled with the hum of conversation and the rustle of fine dress fabrics. Wesley's attention was momentarily diverted by the prominent entrance of Lady Arabella and her parents. Lady Arabella, always the center of attention as much as she could possibly manage to be, was resplendent in a gown of deep burgundy that complemented her striking beauty. There was no denying that she would have all eyes on her tonight, and not just because she was the diamond of the Season.

But Wesley could not make his heart race faster for her, no matter what he did.

He was never going to be able to feel that way about her, and he had fully accepted that now.

He just was not sure what to do about it as yet, but he hoped that would come soon enough.

Wesley stepped forward, his cordial greeting masking his indifference. "Lady Arabella, Your Graces, welcome. It is a pleasure to have you here this evening."

Lady Arabella smiled, a hint of something more in her eyes. "Thank you, Lord Wesley. It is always a delight to be in your company." Her tone was smooth, practiced, and Wesley could not help but admire her poise even as he remained emotionally detached. "I am very much looking forward to your beautiful family ball. I am sure this will be the event of the Season."

But he had also seen the harder side to her that came more behind closed doors, and he could not forget that. So he allowed the smile to falter on his face, even just a little.

The Duke responded with a nod, his voice a deep rumble. "Thank you for hosting us, Lord Wesley. Your home is as magnificent as ever. I am sure your mother is very happy."

Almost as if she sensed herself being spoken about, his mother joined the conversation, her voice warm and welcoming. "Your Graces, it is an honour to have you with us. Lady Arabella, you look stunning as always."

As the pleasantries continued, Wesley's thoughts drifted back to Lady Sylvia. He maintained his polite facade, but his eyes kept straying to the entrance, anticipation building with each passing moment. He felt a tightening in his chest, a mix of excitement and anxiety. He could not help himself, and it was becoming obvious to everyone around him.

But his mother clearly did not want to see him thinking about someone else. "Wesley, my dear, it is time to open the ball," she said, her voice smooth and authoritative. "You will lead the first waltz with Lady Arabella."

Wesley's heart sank. The intimacy of the first waltz with Lady Arabella felt like a betrayal of his true feelings, feelings that he had accepted now, especially because he knew that it would speak volumes to the ton. Tongues would certainly wag and rumors of an engagement were likely to fill the room, making everything that much harder.

Yet he was trying to make things up with his mother, plus his sense of duty as host prevented him from declining. He managed a polite smile, masking the internal conflict because he could not create a scene here. "Of course, Mother," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "I will do as you ask…"

His words were cut off as the doors to the ballroom swung open, and the very air seemed to change. Wesley turned, and his breath caught in his throat. There, framed by the grand entrance, stood Lady Sylvia. Her presence was like a beacon in the bustling room, a vision of grace and beauty that drew every eye. She really was the most beautiful woman in the room, in any room. He was captivated by her.

Lady Sylvia was resplendent in a gown of a lovely lavender that shimmered in the candle light, the rich color accentuating her striking features. Her hair was elegantly styled, and her eyes sparkled with a mix of anticipation and determination. She stepped into the room with an air of quiet confidence, her movements fluid and poised. This had to be hard for her, because any ball was a challenge, but she held her head up high anyway. Even under the intense gaze of Lady Arabella and his mother.

Their eyes met across the room, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still. The connection was instant and powerful, an unspoken exchange of emotions that intensified Wesley's internal conflict. He felt a rush of feelings — yearning, admiration, and a deep sense of regret for the situation he found himself in.

Sylvia's gaze held his, and in that moment, Wesley knew she felt it too. The bond between them, though unspoken, was undeniable.

Why could he not open the ball with her? She was the only woman that he wanted in his arms.

But then, as if on cue, his mother stepped between them, breaking their gaze with a sharp tone. "Wesley," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument, "it is time. I would like the ball to open now."

Wesley's heart sank. It really was time. Time to step back into the role he did not want to play. With a deep breath, he turned to where Lady Arabella stood. The weight of his mother's ambitions pressed down on him, making his steps feel heavy as he approached her.

"Lady Arabella," Wesley said, extending his hand. "Shall we dance?"

Lady Arabella's smile was warm and inviting, her poise unwavering. She looked truly pleased to be the first, opening dance of the evening, of course because it would have all eyes on her. "Of course, Lord Wesley."

As they took their places on the dance floor, the room quieted in anticipation. The musicians began to play, the lilting melody of the waltz enveloping them. Wesley placed his hand on Lady Arabella's waist, and they began to move in perfect harmony. They clearly looked perfect together as the onlookers around them whispered, but Wesley felt sick to his stomach. This fa?ade was becoming all too much.

It did not matter that Lady Arabella was in front of him. His eyes kept straying to where Lady Sylvia stood amongst the other onlookers. Her presence was a constant pull, a magnetic force that drew his attention away from the dance he was compelled to lead.

He had been torn since the very start of this Season, since his mother first started talking about Lady Arabella, and even more so since he met Lady Sylvia.

That was not changing, it was not growing easier to deal with. If anything, he remained more conflicted than ever.

Eventually the dance concluded, and the ballroom erupted in polite applause. Wesley gratefully escorted Lady Arabella back to her mother, glad for that moment to be over. Now he hoped that he could spend the rest of the evening, keeping out of trouble.

"Thank you for the dance, Lady Arabella," Wesley said, offering a courteous nod to Lady Easton.

Lady Arabella smiled, though her eyes held a hint of disappointment because she did not seem happy for their dance to be done. This was exactly what he had been worrying about, leading Lady Arabella on. "It was my pleasure, Lord Wesley."

The Duchess acknowledged him with a gracious nod. "You danced beautifully, Lord Wesley. We appreciate your attentiveness."

Wesley forced a smile, offering the requisite pleasantries. "Thank you, Your Grace. I hope you both enjoy the rest of the evening."

Seeking a brief escape from the overwhelming atmosphere, Wesley made his way to the refreshment table. There, amidst the array of fine beverages and delicacies, he spotted Edward, who had been observing the proceedings with a keen eye. Thank goodness he could always find Edward to talk to.

"Wesley," Edward greeted, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You look like you could use a drink."

Wesley nodded, grateful for the familiar presence. "I could, indeed."

Edward handed him a glass of champagne, the bubbles rising in a steady stream. "Here you go. What an evening… and it is only just starting!"

Wesley took a sip, the cool, crisp taste offering a momentary reprieve. "You have no idea," he replied, his voice tinged with weariness. "How on earth am I going to get through this?"

"The same way that we always do. With a little help from the drinks."

Wesley clinked his glass against Edward's and smiled. He supposed the only good thing was that he had danced with Lady Arabella tonight, so he did not have to dance with her again. Although his mother might try and persuade him to, because she knew that would solidify his union with her. Unless he wanted to be shrouded by gossip.

Wesley scanned the room, his eyes seeking Lady Sylvia out yet again. He was growing increasingly tired of pretense required by his social standing. It did not seem fair. The dance with Lady Arabella had been a perfect performance, but it had left him feeling hollow. His heart yearned for something real, something genuine. And that something was Lady Sylvia.

It had always been Lady Sylvia. Ever since he first laid eyes on her. No one else could compare.

There had been something intriguing about her from the very first moment he met her, and that had not changed. He could see that it was never going to change. She was always the one that he was going to want to spend more time with, he did not want to discuss anything with anyone other than her. She had captivated him, and he could not shift that.

He knew that his mother did not want him anywhere near Lady Sylvia, and he had been trying to keep things tempered between them, but as the orchestra began to play the next set, Wesley set his glass down, a newfound determination settling over him. The time for hiding behind societal expectations was over. He would follow his heart, no matter the consequences.

With a deep breath, Wesley made his way across the ballroom. The crowd seemed to part for him, their chatter and laughter fading into the background as he moved with purpose. His gaze remained fixed on Lady Sylvia, who stood near the edge of the dance floor, her expression one of quiet grace.

All eyes might have been upon him, his mother's particularly intense, but he did not care.

The constraints of duty and expectation had lost their hold on him.

As he approached, Lady Sylvia looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. Wesley stopped in front of her, offering his hand. "Lady Sylvia," he said, his voice steady and sincere, "may I have this dance?"

Lady Sylvia hesitated for a moment, her eyes searching his. She saw the earnestness in his gaze, the determination that belied his calm exterior. Slowly, she placed her hand in his. "I would be honoured, Lord Wesley. Thank you."

Taking her hand, Wesley led Lady Sylvia to the center of the dance floor. The murmurs of the guests rose around them, Wesley's mother stood rigid, her expression a mask of barely concealed anger. Lady Arabella watched from the side lines too, her face composed but her eyes betraying a flicker of hurt. But was it hurt because she really cared about him, or hurt because she liked the idea of a ‘suitable union'? Wesley could not tell. And in this moment, he was not worried.

He could not care about anything other than the woman standing in front of him.