Page 44 of The Earl's Demure Spinster
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 didnot 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.
