The music reached him faintly through the high doors of the ballroom. Nathan stood for a moment at the staircase, his gloved hand resting lightly on the banister, gathering his composure before stepping into the room, already brimming with people.
It seems I've grown wholly unaccustomed to London society.
He thought, the faintest crease between his brows betraying the tension he felt.
Perhaps I was wrong to agree to this performance.
He drew a deep breath, steadying himself, willing away the unease that threatened to overtake him.
No. Ophelia deserves her share of amusement, if this charade brings her joy. Onward.
The chandeliers shimmered overhead, their crystal arms dripping with candlelight — and for a moment, the brilliance struck Nathan uncomfortably. Gowns swept across the polished floor like waves caught in a slow, elegant tide. Laughter, whispers, the soft hum of conversation filled the air.
But it all slightly dimmed as the Duke stepped into the room.
He descended slowly, aware of the hush that followed. Eyes turned toward him — some curious, some calculating, a few openly ravenous.
The Duke of Blackthorn had returned. That name, that title, had been absent so long it had begun to feel more legend than man. But here he was. Alive. And, at least outwardly, at ease.
Nathaniel made his way toward the hostess of the ball with steady grace. She had known of the Duke's return thanks to Ophelia and had preserved the mystery until the very last moment, determined to make her soirée the season's most memorable affair.
The circle of onlookers thickened around him as he exchanged greetings, and then his eyes fell upon a familiar face that stirred a warmth within his heart.
Lady Carlston, a steadfast friend of his mother's, had changed little. Time had softened the lines upon her brow and touched her light hair with silver, yet she received him with the same tender affection she had shown when he was a boy.
— "Your Grace, how delighted I am to see you! At last, you have returned!" Lady Carlston beamed.
Evidently, the longtime friend dared not address the man by his given name, instead respecting his rank. This touched Nathaniel with a faint sadness, as though it tore him away from the fleeting warmth and reminded him of the very purpose of his presence this evening.
— "It is a pleasure to see you in good health, Lady Carlston," the Duke replied sincerely.
He bowed over her hand, pressing his lips just long enough to convey true regard. Then, as his head lifted, someone had drawn Nathan's attention.
The young man's features were as refined as any portrait: hair a la chaude teinte de paille, delicate cheekbones, a straight nose, sculpted lips, and vivid blue eyes that were difficult to look away from, once one had met their gaze. His fair, marble-like color of the skin only served to heighten the brilliance of those eyes. He was not particularly tall, yet his slender, well-proportioned frame and long legs lent him an elegance that gave the impression of greater stature.
I've seen many young men, but rarely one who so perfectly resembles a romantic painting. No doubt the ladies flock to him. And he does look remarkably like Lady Carlston…
— "Oh, Alex, come here. Surely you don't remember him, Your Grace, the two of you met only once or twice at most. This is my son, the future Lord Carlston."
Ah.
So this was the boy he'd once glimpsed in short trousers, running wild through the Cunninghams' garden. The memory was a hazy one, as though seen through a fogged glass.
Alex inclined his head with formal civility, and Nathaniel returned the gesture in silence.
The moment was broken by voices calling out to him.
— "Don't keep us in suspense, Your Grace," someone chimed in.
— "Where have you been all these years? Did you ever reach China?"
— "Did you visit Russia?"
— "How long have you been back?"
Nathan smiled — the sort of smile he had learned to wear like a second cravat.
The performance begins.
He answered every question with politeness, offering vague replies cloaked in his charm. One young woman laughed a bit too loudly at something he said; another gripped her fan as if to hide the blush blooming on her cheeks.
The Young Lord, Nathan observed, had quietly withdrawn from the conversation.
For the rest of the evening, Nathan played his part. He was the only one in the room who had not asked a single question.
When the Duke settled into the carriage to return home, he closed his eyes and let out a weary breath.
"Let them gossip. Let them spin their tales and half-truths…" — Ophelia's voice echoed in his mind.
How does she find such delight in these little performances?
He wondered, moments before sleep crept in and stole the weight from his limbs.
***
By Ophelia's idea, the invitations had been dispatched to every noble family worth impressing. The Duke of Blackthorn was to host a grand ball at his own estate — an event meant to declare to society that he had returned, and returned not merely as a titleholder, but as a man ready to choose his duchess.
He loathed it already.
That was partly why he had fled on his three-year journey. Yes, in distant lands he was still more an aristocrat than an ordinary man — yet Nathan cherished the freedom to choose which part of himself to reveal to strangers. He wasn't shackled by fixed expectations or perennial whispered rumours. He shaped the opinion of him from scratch.
The planning of the ball had consumed him — or rather, Ophelia had consumed him, dragging him through swatches of velvet and silk, hounding him over menus and musical ensembles.
I swear, I will never host a ball again!
Nathan thought to himself as he was once more forced to feign interest in the subtle distinctions between claret silk and garnet taffeta. Both looked equally red and equally irrelevant to him.
— "Remember, Nathan," Ophelia had warned him, clearly enjoying herself and her plan, "you must be even more charming than if you were surrounded by a hundred of the most eligible gentlemen eager for your hand."
— "You're asking the impossible," Nathan answered, smoothing his cravat. "And if I were surrounded by a hundred such gentlemen, I daresay we could find far more pleasurable use for our time."
— "Save your wit for the ladies. You'll need it tonight. Especially with Young Lord Carlston in attendance."
That name again.
— "He's grown into the season's most sought-after young man. A pity we're not better acquainted — he was far too young back then. And now, look at him. Perhaps you ought to learn a thing or two about charming young ladies from him! Though I daresay, I do feel a touch sorry for the poor boy. He'll have to endure the consequences of my scheming. Still, we must win back part of his audience — if only for the sake of a more interesting plot! But once you give me your preference, I'm sure he'll soften."
Ophelia, being ever talkative by nature, was quick to lose herself in her own reflections.
— "I must say, I'm rather glad my parents have a son to carry on the family name, or they'd never have written off their daughter as a hopeless spinster so easily. All the better — it aligns perfectly with my plan. Nathan, you've no idea what chaos followed when you disappeared abroad right after the engagement. They nearly married me off to our third cousin from Glasgow. From Glasgow, Nathan! I should never have survived the separation from Emily. But John stood up for me, bless him — said he trusted your word, that you were an honourable man and so forth. My dear brother — so utterly blind, and yet once in a while he strikes true! What was I saying…"
Nathaniel and Emily smiled at Ophelia. She was always like that — magnetic, bright, and lively. She could easily become the center of attention, and she did so naturally that it was hard even to envy her position, given the universal warmth she inspired. These two, by nature quieter than Ophelia, were happy to bask in her sunny glow.
— "Yes! That was my point — these balls, these games of cat and mouse, these glances. I find them absolutely thrilling! There's nothing more amusing than to toy with men so assured of their own superiority, all the while knowing full well they shall never win my heart!" She glanced knowingly at Emily, who laughed softly.
— "I'll do my best not to disappoint your terrifying little theatre," Nathan replied with a smile. "But really, whatever has stirred such concern over some boy?"
— "Ah, I don't know… he's still so young! Perhaps there's simply too much talk about him this season, and I can't get him out of my head. Or perhaps I simply can't unsee the boy he once was — the one who refused to catch butterflies for fear of harming their wings. But I'm quite certain he's not like the other gentlemen this season, believe me. Daniel frequents the gentlemen's club and sometimes shares what men discuss these days. Now, I don't mean to gossip, but my sources say the Young Lord has yet to be with a woman — and that's despite mingling with the club's libertines, who visit brothels more often than they attend fencing lessons. That's what I was getting at…"
The Duke's face truly looked taken aback upon hearing this. He knew all too well the sort of crowd that frequented certain clubs, and was genuinely surprised that anyone had managed to remain untouched by their influence.
— "Yes, yes, Nathan. That's precisely why I urge you not to tease the boy too much. Knowing you and your fondness for 'clever' barbs, you might not be able to help yourself."
— "Ophelia, what do you take me for?"
— "Just let him be and do your job, that's all I'm saying. Or encourage him somehow, so he doesn't feel as though you're stealing away his favourites out of spite. Yes, please, do it! It's his first season, after all — surely his family places great hopes on their only son and heir. But I do wonder what that purity is truly about… Genuine faith in God? A proper upbringing? Love of family and duty? Or perhaps… a dirty little secret?" Ophelia giggled.
Emily defended Alex gently: "Ophelia, I think we should stop gossiping, that's too unkind…"
Ophelia jumped into her favorite's lap and answered, "My dear Emily, you are the beacon that lights my path on the road to piety," then kissed her cheek loudly, "but please, allow me to share a few spicy tidbits with my close circle now and then — strictly as food for thought, not condemnation! I promise, I confide this only to you. Though it is hardly a secret; everyone knows it, most likely… Still, I am merely trying to lessen the harm for Young Lord Carlston. Yes, from my own act, alas — but I have nothing else to offer! Nathan, try to spare his pride somehow, for the sake of my peaceful sleep. He is only striving to find his place in the world of cruel adults."
Emily softened, smiled, and replied, "I know your intentions are pure…"
— "Nathan, did you hear me?" Ophelia asked.
— "Ophelia, it's hard not to hear you. But I must observe, it was not I who devised such a cruel plan…Why not simply…"
She frowned, planting her hands upon her hips.
— "Alright, alright, I'll try not to offend your little lord. At least out of respect for Lady Carlston. I'll think of how to ease the pain of expectations clashing with reality for your unexpected favorite."
— "Very well!" Ophelia chose to ignore the familiar note of teasing in Nathan's voice. "Speak with him tonight, encourage him. I'm sure you'll find a few wise words in that chest of years and experience you carry."
— "Now I feel quite old," Nathaniel said, and all three laughed together.
— "Now that everyone's gathered, go and greet your guests at once! We'll be somewhere nearby all evening. Oh, you're already scandalously late!"
— "And whose fault would that be, I wonder?" Nathan quipped, and swiftly made his escape from the room.