Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

" Y ou seem particularly pleased with yourself," Hector grinned upon having Jonathan join him by the refreshments table. The two gentlemen huddled in one of the safest corners of the ballroom in hopes of having a private moment to themselves.

"I can only assume it has something to do with the lady you were just dancing with," Hector added playfully, taking a drink from his glass.

"You assume well, old boy," Jonathan grinned. "And you can assume that I need a drink of my own." He went and grabbed himself a drink, walking back confidently to join his friend, as he swirled the amber liquid in the glass he was holding.

"Are you going to tell me the name of the mysterious young lady?" Hector teased. "So, I know whom to thank for perking you right back up."

Jonathan laughed. "Her name is Ciara Everton."

Hector's smile died down as his forehead knotted. "Wait… Everton you say?"

"Yes," Jonathan nodded.

Hector thought about it for a second more. "The daughter of the Viscount of Hartfield?"

"Yes." Now, it was Jonathan's turn to lift an inquisitive eyebrow. "How did you know?"

"Ciara… that name stuck with me," Hector admitted, pointing somewhere indefinitely with his index finger as if that helped him remember better. "Was not she the one who was sent away to a convent?"

Jonathan's eyes widened in surprise. "A convent? As in… a nunnery?" he echoed, his mind racing to reconcile this revelation with the captivating woman he had just danced with. Was she… a nun? It could not be.

Hector nodded, his expression contemplative. "Yes, it is all coming back to me now. She has a most unusual name, and it is also unusual to see her here, given her history."

Jonathan's thoughts whirled as he tried to piece together the puzzle of Ciara's past. Before he could voice his confusion, Hector's eyes lit up with sudden realization. "Wait a moment. Is this the girl connected to that Irish song you were asking me about last time?"

Jonathan could not remember the last time he felt this awkward, the memory of his quest for the mysterious melody finally resurfacing. "Perhaps," he admitted, seeing there was no other way out. A hint of sheepishness in his tone betrayed him.

Hector's grin turned to teasing. "Well, well, Jonathan. It seems our rakish hero has found himself quite a challenge. The nunnery girl with an enchanting voice."

Jonathan rolled his eyes at his friend's playful jibe, but before he could respond, a group of ladies approached them, their laughter and chatter diverting the men's attention. Hector immediately turned his attention to the newcomers, engaging them in lively conversation.

Jonathan, however, found his thoughts drifting back to Miss Ciara Everton.

On the other side of the ballroom, Ciara navigated her way through the elegantly dressed guests until she found Adeline, who was standing near a table adorned with crystal vases overflowing with fresh flowers. Adeline's expression brightened upon seeing her friend, but it quickly shifted to one of concern as she took Ciara's hand.

"Ciara, there you are," she said, her voice filled with relief and worry. "Is that the man you told me about?"

"Yes, that is him," Ciara confirmed, knowing what was about to come.

"Ciara, you… you have to be careful with him," Adeline warned her tenderly. "His reputation is… how do I put it, less than stellar."

Ciara offered a reassuring smile though she felt a twinge of guilt. "I know, Adeline. I only accepted his dance request to be polite. I assure you, it was nothing more than that."

"All right, if you say so, then I believe you," Adeline noted. "I am glad to hear that. Just remember, not all attention is good attention, especially from men like him."

Ciara smiled, appreciating her friend's concern. "I will, Adeline. Thank you for looking out for me."

The two friends chatted for a bit longer, their conversation drifting from the events of the evening to lighter topics. They spoke of the upcoming season, the latest fashion trends, and the delightful music filling the ballroom. Ciara felt a sense of comfort in Adeline's presence, the familiar rhythm of their friendship providing a much-needed anchor in the midst of the evening's complexities.

Their conversation was interrupted when a distinguished-looking lord approached, bowing slightly as he addressed Adeline. "Miss Middleton, may I have the pleasure of this dance?"

Adeline glanced at Ciara, who gave her an encouraging nod. "Of course," she replied with a graceful smile, taking the lord's offered hand.

As Adeline was led away, Ciara found herself alone once more, her thoughts inevitably drifting back to Jonathan and their enigmatic dance. Despite her friend's warnings, she could not help but feel a pull towards him, an inexplicable curiosity that refused to be quelled.

Ciara wandered to the edge of the ballroom, finding a quiet spot where she could observe the festivities without being immediately noticed. She watched as couples twirled and swayed to the music, their movements graceful and elegant. Among them, she caught glimpses of Jonathan, charming and handsome, his presence commanding attention wherever he went.

As Ciara made her way through the crowded ballroom, her eyes fixed on her uncle, a sense of relief began to wash over her. Uncle Brendan's familiar and comforting presence felt like a lifeline in the midst of the opulent chaos. But just as she was about to reach him, her path was suddenly blocked.

"Ciara," came the stern voice of her mother, Lady Hartfield, piercing through the noise of the ballroom. "We almost didn't recognize you."

Ciara's heart sank as she came face-to-face with her parents, Lord and Lady Hartfield. This was the first time she had seen them since they had sent her away to St. Catherine's, and their expressions were a mixture of disdain and anger.

"Mother, Father," Ciara managed to say, her voice trembling.

Her father, Lord Hartfield, crossed his arms and glared at her. "What do you think you are doing here, parading yourself around at social events? Have you no shame?"

She needed her uncle now more than ever, but he was nowhere to be found. In fact, none of her friends knew she needed them desperately. She was all on her own, faced with the most frightening duo of her life.

Lady Hartfield's eyes narrowed. "You are humiliating us, Ciara. The scandal you bring upon our name is insufferable. How dare you show your face in society after everything?"

Their harsh words cut through Ciara like a knife, each accusation reminding her of the isolation and cruelty she had endured at St. Catherine's. The memories of the nuns' abuse, and their cold, unyielding discipline flooded back, overwhelming her senses.

"Mother, Father, please…" she began, her voice barely a whisper, but they continued their tirade, their voices rising in anger and disappointment.

"I truly thought that you would change, that you would see the error of your ways," her father said furiously. "You were only thirteen when all of this started, and even after all these years, you are still the same."

She wanted to tell him that he couldn't have known that when he didn't see her, when neither of them had seen her. But she didn't have the strength to speak up.

"You broke that boy's nose!" her mother exclaimed, remembering the incident that started it all when Ciara's temper got the best of her during a heated argument with a local nobleman's son who insulted her late grandmother.

It was something Ciara would not allow. In a fit of rage, she punched him hard and then challenged him to a duel. Fortunately, the duel never took place, but it was a major scandal that started what her father referred to as her downward spiral.

"He deserved even more for what he said." Ciara found a bit of courage, but it was not nearly enough.

"So did you," her father said with malice in his eyes. She never thought that a parent could despise their child so much. It was unthinkable.

As her parents' harsh words echoed around her, Ciara felt her chest tighten. Panic welled up inside her, a visceral reaction that left her feeling trapped and desperate. She could not breathe, could not think, and the urge to escape grew overwhelming.

In that moment, she felt the familiar grip of fear take hold. Unable to face the confrontation any longer, she turned and fled, her heart pounding in her chest as she pushed her way through the crowd. She barely noticed the bewildered stares and murmurs of the guests as she ran, her only thought being to escape the oppressive weight of her parents' judgment.

Ciara finally reached a secluded balcony, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The cool night air enveloped her, and the quiet solitude of the balcony provided a stark contrast to the overwhelming noise and chaos of the ballroom. She leaned against the railing, her hands gripping the cold metal as she tried to steady herself.

The stars twinkled above her, a reminder of the vastness of the world beyond her troubles. The garden below was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets offering a soothing melody to her frazzled nerves. Ciara closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds of the night and the rhythm of her own breathing.

In and out. In and out.

Just as she opened her eyes, turning toward the doorway, she realized the Duke of Silverbrook was there.

"Need a solitary moment, siren?" he asked seductively.