CHAPTER 21

As they moved into position, Sylvia became acutely aware of the eyes watching their every move. Her hand rested lightly in Lord Wesley's, his other hand firm on her waist, guiding her with an assured confidence that contrasted sharply with the chaos swirling within her. His touch sent a shiver through her, a mix of excitement and anxiety, and she took a deep breath to steady herself.

She had not planned on this dance.

She thought that she would just come here and keep to the shadows to survive it.

But as soon as Lord Wesley approached her, all her plans seemed not to exist anymore. She could not resist getting close to him.

Their first steps were tentative, the rhythm of the music unfamiliar beneath the weight of so many watchful gazes. But soon, they found their stride, moving much easier because they had an understanding of one another. The connection that they had built flowed between them, bringing a much needed smile to her lips.

Sylvia's heart raced with every step, her senses heightened by Lord Wesley's nearness. The warmth of his hand on her waist, the steady strength of his hold, the way his eyes never left hers — it all made her feel as though she were floating. The whispers of the ton faded in to the background, replaced by the soft strains of the orchestra and the rhythm of their shared heart beat.

Dancing with Lord Wesley was always like a dream. It was exactly like she imagined it would be when the closest she got to balls was in her novels. If only she could lose herself in the dream for a little while longer. She did not want reality to come crashing down on her.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what happened.

Despite the enchantment of the moment, the reality of their different stations in life loomed large in Sylvia's mind. She could not think about anything else. The closer they got and the more she liked him, the more she had to remind herself that it could never happen. Lord Wesley would eventually have to break her heart when he chose someone like the woman he had opened the ball with.

As they glided across the floor, Sylvia could not help but steal glances at Lord Wesley's face. There was a determination in his eyes, a resolve that made her heart ache with longing. She knew he was as aware of the watching eyes as she was, yet he seemed unconcerned, focused solely on her. It was as if he were telling her, without words, that she was the only one who mattered. As if he wanted her to believe, if only for a moment that they could really be together.

When the music finally drew to a close, Sylvia felt a pang of loss as Lord Wesley's hand slipped from her waist. The applause of the guests brought her back to reality, a stark reminder of the world outside their shared moment. Lord Wesley bowed to her with a sincerity that made her heart ache. "Thank you, Lady Sylvia," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine warmth. "This has been a truly special moment."

"The pleasure was mine, Lord Wesley," she replied, her voice steady despite the emotions churning within her.

For some reason, it felt like that was the last time they were ever going to be able to dance, and that was soul destroying for Sylvia. She hated it.

As Lord Wesley escorted her back through the sea of onlookers, the weight of their stares and whispers pressing down on her once more, Sylvia clung to the memory of the dance. Potentially the final dance before they had to go their separate ways forever.

Yet, as they reached her previous spot, Lord Wesley's hand lingered on hers for a moment longer than necessary, a silent promise in his touch. "I hope you enjoy the rest of the evening, Lady Sylvia," he said, his eyes conveying what words could not.

"And you as well, Lord Wesley," she replied softly, her heart aching with the knowledge that their brief escape was over.

She clutched her hands to her chest, willing the pain away. If she felt this way now, she was never going to recover from her heartache.

Just as Lord Wesley started to walk away from her, a sudden jostle from an unseen guest sent her reeling. She had been so focused on Lord Wesley and the pain left behind that she could hardly remain up right. A waiter, balancing a tray laden with wine flutes, lost his grip as he tried to steady her, and a glass of red wine tipped precariously before cascading down her gown.

The cold liquid was a shock against her skin, but it was nothing compared to the wave of burning hot embarrassment that crashed over her. She stared in horror at the dark stain spreading across the delicate fabric, its vivid color a stark contrast against the soft lavender of her dress. There was no hiding the mess that she had become. The room seemed to pause, the hum of conversation dying away as all eyes turned towards her.

The whispers began almost immediately, and a tinkling of laughter shot through her body. Sylvia's cheeks burned with humiliation as she heard the insinuations that it was her clumsiness that caused the mishap, rather than the waiter. Because of course it was her fault… she did not fit in. She would never be graceful or poised enough for these people. She was always going to be the small town vicar's daughter who did not deserve to be among them.

Sylvia tried to compose herself, her hands trembling as she attempted to blot the stain with a handkerchief. But the stares and murmurs of the ton watching her were overwhelming, their judgmental eyes making her feel more exposed and vulnerable with each passing second. There was nothing that she could do about this wine stain. If anything, she was only making it so much worse.

Desperate to escape the prying eyes and hushed judgments, Sylvia turned and made her way towards the exit, moving as quickly as she could, tears blurring her eyes as she ran. Each step felt heavier than the last as she tried to escape the prison cell that she now found herself in with the laughter and gossip running through her veins.

She finally reached the doors of the ballroom, pushing them open with a trembling hand. The cool air of the corridor outside was a welcome relief, but it did little to calm the storm of sadness swirling within her. Sylvia hurried down the hallway, the echoes of the nasty words always spoken about her following her like a relentless shadow.

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away, determined not to let them fall. She did not want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing her break. She needed to find a place where she could be alone, where she could collect herself away from the scrutinizing eyes of the ton. The wine felt like a physical manifestation of the eyes of everyone who despised her simply because of who she was.

She found a small alcove near the end of the corridor, a quiet corner away from the main flow of guests where she could pause for a moment to try and catch her breath. Sylvia closed her eyes for just a second, willing herself to calm down. She had faced difficult situations before, but this felt different. More intense somehow. The scrutiny, the whispers, the feeling of being the center of ridicule — it was all too much. She felt a sob rising in her throat, but she swallowed it down, refusing to give in to the tears threatening to spill.

Not here, not now.

But it was too much. She needed to get far away from all of this.

Far away.

She could not stand to see anyone again tonight, not even Lord Wesley. Not after that.

No one had followed her, thank goodness, so she could run away and get out of this mess before it swallowed her up whole again. Before she had anyone looking at her as she nearly wept.

Outside, the cold night air offered a small respite. Sylvia took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the weight of embarrassment still pressed heavily upon her. She hurried towards the waiting carriage, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, avoiding anyone who might be outside watching her. She did not know if there was anyone out there, but she could not risk it. She could not stand to see another living soul.

Aunt Grace and Lord George were already inside the carriage waiting for her, thank goodness. They really were the only people that she could stand to see right now. Sylvia barely managed a weak smile as she climbed into the carriage, the safety of its enclosed space feeling like a sanctuary. The door closed behind her with a finality that sealed her off from the prying eyes of those who despised her.

The carriage began to move, taking her away from her nightmare at long last. Sylvia sat in silence, her mind a whirlwind of embarrassment and hurt. The night, which had begun with so much promise, had ended in disgrace, leaving her to ponder the cruel whims of high society and her place within it.

No, there was nothing to ponder.

Now she knew more than ever that she did not have a place within it.

Aunt Grace, sitting opposite her, reached out and took Sylvia's hand, squeezing it gently. "Pray, Sylvia, what transpired yonder?" she asked softly, her eyes filled with concern.

Sylvia sighed, her voice barely above a whisper as she continued to force the tears to stay inside. She wanted to wait until she was locked away from the world in her bedchambers before she finally succumbed to the emotion. "A glass of red wine was spilled on my gown. It was an accident by one of the waiters, but the way everyone stared and whispered… It was mortifying. Of course, they automatically blamed me, my clumsiness because I am not as graceful as them. Not as accustomed to high society."

Aunt Grace's expression hardened with irritation. "Sylvia, the people in that ballroom can be exceptionally cruel. They often forget that accidents happen to everyone, regardless of their station. It is utterly ridiculous that they are trying to blame you."

"But that is what they always do. It is as if they can not stand to have me around. They need me to know that I am not one of them, and I never will be."

Lord George leaned forward, his brow furrowed with concern. "Lady Sylvia, it is not fair how they treated you. Anyone with a shred of decency would have understood it was an accident. Their reaction says more about them than it does about you. It shows how cold hearted and calculated they are."

Sylvia nodded, appreciating their support, but the sting of the incident was still fresh. She stared out the window, the light from the candles blurring as the carriage moved through the streets and she continued to fight her tears. She could not even think about the nice time that she'd had with Lord Wesley anymore. Not without the bitterness of the wine spillage crushing her.

The carriage drew to a gentle stop in front of Aunt Grace's home, which finally allowed her to let out a breath that she did not even realize that she was holding in.

She was here, at last, away from the ton.

But it was not far enough. She still yearned for her life in Bath. More so than ever.

Lord George stepped out first, offering his hand to help Sylvia down. She accepted his support, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her. Aunt Grace followed, her presence a calming force as they walked up the path to the front door.

"Sylvia," Aunt Grace said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder as soon as they stepped inside, "you need rest. Tonight has been difficult, but tomorrow is a new day."

Sylvia nodded, offering a faint smile. "Thank you, Aunt Grace. I believe I shall retire to my chamber now. Good night."

Lord George and Aunt Grace exchanged a concerned glance but said nothing more. Sylvia ascended the staircase. When she finally reached her room, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it as a sigh escaped her lips.

The events of the evening replayed in her mind, each detail etched in painful clarity. She crossed the room to the mirror, gazing at her reflection. The stain from the red wine was a glaring reminder of her humiliation. With a heavy heart, she began to change out of her gown, the fabric slipping to the floor with a soft rustle. She felt like she was taking off a mask, and revealing her true self.

Dressed in her night clothes, Sylvia sat at her vanity, staring at her reflection. The image of Lord Wesley's face, the way he had looked at her during their dance, filled her thoughts. Her heart ached with longing, but she knew she had to face the truth. She could never be with Lord Wesley. Their worlds were too different, their stations in life too far apart. The night had made it painfully clear that high society would never accept her, and she could not bear the constant scrutiny and judgment.

Sylvia finally let the tears fall as she succumbed to the pain of the night. She had not survived the Season, nor did she wish to anymore. She just wanted to escape this, to get away from all of it, and to live comfortably once more.