“Well… I don’t think I’ve seen him today.”

“If you do, please call him over here.”

“Daisy, stay still! I said I’ll handle it!”

Miss Lance snapped irritably. Mr. Fairfax blinked.

What’s that about?

“Brother, I’m thirsty. Could you fetch me a glass of lemonade?”

“Of course. Now, ladies, anything else I can get for you?”

At Mr. Fairfax’s charming demeanor, the ladies giggled.

“Then, I’ll have a white wine.”

“I’d like a plate of panini!”

He took their orders like a waiter and headed toward the dessert table.

As he picked up a tray from the servants and began loading it with the requested food and drinks, he overheard two ladies conversing behind the curtain.

“Miss Lance, do you think she’s really engaged?”

“If she is, shouldn’t they announce it today?”

Mr. Fairfax had no taste for eavesdropping on gossip. He quickened his movements to leave.

“There’s no better timing than this. They’ll probably make a big splash at the height of the ball.”

“That’ll be quite a spectacle. We should skip the lounge and stay in the ballroom.”

Hmm, let’s hurry.

He hastily scooped up the panini.

After checking to ensure he hadn’t missed anything, he lifted the tray and turned to leave. But a whisper from one of the ladies stopped him in his tracks.

“By the way, I’m not sure if Mr. Dalton really likes Miss Lance. He’s been hovering around her all week, but he seems… distracted.”

The next words froze Mr. Fairfax in place.

“Anyway, it’s good news if Miss Lance becomes the mistress here. They’ll probably host balls often at Whitefield Hall.”

“True. They might even open it to tourists.”

The ladies continued their chatter, but Mr. Fairfax found no value in listening further. The information he’d heard was enough to chill his blood.

Miss Lance’s rumored fiancé is Ian? What nonsense is this? That fellow’s too busy chasing after Miss Pendleton!

He hurriedly returned to Miss Lance’s group. They welcomed him warmly as he arrived with the tray.

Mr. Fairfax distributed the food to the ladies. Then, saying he needed to speak with his sister, he led her away from the group.

Finding a private spot for a confidential talk was no easy task. He ended up taking his sister upstairs, away from the ballroom.

He asked softly, “Janet, this rumored lover of Miss Lance… could it be Ian?”

Janet, wiping her sweat-soaked forehead with a handkerchief after dancing, burst into laughter.

“Brother, you’re only figuring this out now?”

“…”

“I didn’t think Ian would keep it a secret even from William! Honestly, no loyalty! Probably swore to Miss Lance to keep it hush-hush, right?”

“Janet.”

“Yes?”

“How many people know about this rumor?”

“I told you—everyone in London!”

The color drained from Mr. Fairfax’s face.

“Hmm, Dora, it looks like we need to find Mr. Dalton.”

Miss Orson said, fanning her neck.

“There are so many people, he probably can’t find you.”

Miss Lance replied primly, “How could a lady go searching for a gentleman?”

“Still, isn’t it a lady’s virtue to give a gentleman a chance? Especially one she fancies.”

Miss Lance shook her head.

“Then shall we go look for him? If we tell Mr. Dalton where you are, it’ll be easier for him to find you.”

Miss Wilkes chimed in.

“Yes, let’s do that. After tonight, he’ll find it harder to muster the courage. He hasn’t had a chance to confess these past few days. No time alone, you know.”

Miss Donovan agreed.

“Right. We should’ve been more tactful and slipped away. But a waltz is a dance for two, so he’ll surely seize the moment.”

Miss Lance said nothing—a silent consent. The ladies promised to find Mr. Dalton and bring him to her, then moved away.

Sipping cool white wine, Miss Lance checked her appearance once more. Her heart pounded harder, fueled by the alcohol.

Over the past few days, Mr. Dalton had gazed at her with unfocused, dreamy eyes—entranced by her beauty.

It’s probably tonight.

A ball at Whitefield Hall, a romantic waltz, herself dressed to perfection. There could be no better setting for a proposal.

She waited for Mr. Dalton to emerge through the crowd. Meanwhile, the cotillion ended, and it was time for the country dance.

She was supposed to dance with Mr. Fairfax first. She waited for him, but even as the music began, he was nowhere to be seen.

Miss Lance felt a twinge of annoyance but shook it off.

He’s not the type to stand up a lady without reason. Must be caught up with something. But when will Mr. Dalton arrive? The waltz is right after the country dance.

The country dance ended. Merry gentlemen and ladies left the dance floor. The waltz began and concluded. Then came the quadrille and another cotillion.

In between, she received dance requests, but Miss Lance declined them all, waiting only for Mr. Dalton.

After an hour, anxiety crept in.

This won’t do. I’ll have to find him myself.

She lifted her skirt slightly and stepped forward.

The crowd was overwhelming. Each step bumped her against someone’s shoulder or caught her skirt under a shoe.

Leaving me in a place like this—where did he go, Mr. Dalton?

Irritation surged within her. Come to think of it, he’d left her alone at the ball. He’d never once asked her for a waltz, the dance of lovers.

She’d always hoped and waited.

Mr. Dalton, where are you? You won’t disappoint me again, will you?

But as she pressed forward, a flushed, middle-aged gentleman stumbled into her path. He stared at her dazedly and bowed his head in a clumsy greeting.

Do I know him?

Miss Lance, out of courtesy, began to curtsy slightly. At that moment—

“Urgh!”

“Eek!”

The gentleman’s vomit splattered onto the hem of her dress.

Onlookers gasped and turned toward her.

Miss Lance’s face turned tomato-red. She shoved the retching man aside and fled forward. Gentlemen and ladies scrambled to clear a path, avoiding the mess.

She burst out of the ballroom and hurried down the stairs. Outside, she glanced around. No one was there.

Miss Lance looked down at her skirt. A foul stain of wine and shrimp marred the delicate lace-trimmed, creamy silk dress.

Tonight’s ruined! This expensive dress I begged Mother for! I didn’t even get to show it to Mr. Dalton! The ball’s over for me!

She couldn’t bear her pitiful state. She resented Mr. Dalton for leaving her alone and was heartbroken that her hopes had been dashed again.

Unable to hold back, she burst into tears.

She felt the glances of passing servants and workers but didn’t care and sobbed loudly.

Then, someone touched her shoulder.

“Miss Lance?”

She lowered her hands from her face. Miss Pendleton stood before her.

“Why are you crying?”

Miss Lance frantically wiped her face. Humiliation and despair overwhelmed her. To be seen in such a wretched state by a lady who might be (no, surely was) Mr. Dalton’s mistress was unbearable.

Miss Pendleton noticed the stained skirt. Her brow furrowed briefly but quickly returned to her usual calm expression.

“Someone’s made a terrible mistake with you, it seems.”

Miss Lance sniffled.

“I want… to go back to my room.”

“The ball’s not even halfway done. There’ll be fireworks later. Aren’t you looking forward to it?”

“But in this dress… looking like this…”

“You can change. You brought plenty of evening gowns.”

“They’re not as pretty as this one. And my face is a mess! How can I go back like this?”

Miss Lance shouted and began crying again.

Miss Pendleton waited patiently. As her sobs subsided, she gently wiped Miss Lance’s tear-streaked face with a gloved hand. The soft velvet absorbed the tears.

“Your face is a bit swollen and red, but you’re still prettier than any lady in the ballroom.”

Miss Lance glared at her skeptically.

“Many ladies look worse after crying, but you’re still like a freshly bloomed bud.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Now, let’s go to your room, wash your face, and change your dress. I’ll fix your hair. No one will know you cried. Not even Mr. Dalton.”

Miss Lance, rubbing her eyes, suddenly looked up at Miss Pendleton. She was smiling warmly.

“Tonight’s the best chance for his proposal, isn’t it?”

Miss Lance nodded and followed her back into the manor.

As they climbed the stairs, Miss Lance stole glances at Miss Pendleton. It felt as though she was helping her with Mr. Dalton.

Has she decided to give up on him? Or is there some other motive?

Miss Lance couldn’t guess.

In her room, Miss Pendleton busied herself assisting. She called for a maid to bring washing water, helped with the dress, and styled her hair. Miss Pendleton’s skill was delicate and expert.

In the mirror, Miss Lance looked as lovely as she had before the ball. Miss Pendleton had styled her hair to suit her face and chosen a fitting evening gown.

Miss Lance could only say, “Thank you.”

While pinning a curl with a hairpin, Miss Pendleton shook her head.

“Helping you is my duty.”

“Why?”

“Because I introduced you to Mr. Dalton.”

“Come to think of it, I forgot to thank you for that too. Thank you.”

“…”

Once dressed, they headed back to the ballroom. As they walked side by side, Miss Pendleton seemed lost in thought.