Chapter 118: Founder’s ball XIII

Chapter 118: Chapter 118: Founder’s ball XIII

Her eyes settled on the neatly tied cravat beneath his collar.

"...Your collar is a little crooked."

Anthony instinctively reached for it.

"Is it?"

"I think so."

Vivienne hesitated for only a heartbeat.

"...May I?"

Anthony looked at her.

The request caught him just slightly off guard.

Before he could answer—

Vivienne had already stepped closer.

"Oh."

A faint laugh escaped her.

"I’ll only take a moment."

Anthony’s raised hand slowly lowered again.

"..."

She was already there.

There hardly seemed a point in refusing now.

Vivienne lifted both hands toward his collar.

Steady...

Don’t shake.

She had straightened a man’s tie before.

There was nothing particularly unusual about it.

Nothing intimate.

Nothing she hadn’t done countless times.

So why...

Why did her fingers suddenly feel so clumsy?

Because this wasn’t just anyone.

This was Anthony.

She swallowed quietly.

The knot of his cravat was, predictably...

Perfect.

Of course it was.

Anthony Ashford had probably never worn a crooked cravat in his life.

She pretended to adjust it anyway.

One side.

Then the other.

Her fingertips smoothed the edge of his collar.

Then returned to the knot again.

How long have I been standing here?

Too long.

He’s going to notice.

Her heartbeat echoed loudly in her ears.

She could smell the faint scent of cedar and clean linen.

Feel the warmth radiating from where he stood.

The realization only made her more nervous.

Come on...

Finish.

She made one final adjustment.

"There..."

She murmured.

"I think..."

"...that’s better."

She should have lowered her hands.

Instead...

She hesitated.

For just a heartbeat.

If you keep doing what you’ve always done...

Nothing will ever change.

Very gently...

As though her fingers had simply lost their way...

The tips of them glided lightly across the side of Anthony’s neck before finally falling away.

It lasted scarcely an instant.

Yet...

It could not honestly be called an accident.

Anthony froze.

The touch had been almost impossibly light.

Yet he had felt it.

His eyes lifted to hers.

Vivienne looked back at him.

For a heartbeat...

Neither of them spoke.

He knew.

He knew Lady Beaumont hadn’t brushed his neck by accident.

The realization left him unexpectedly at a loss.

She was looking at him with quiet hope.

Not demanding.

Not pleading.

Simply...

Waiting to see whether he had noticed.

Anthony found himself holding her gaze a moment longer than he should have.

She really was...

Beautiful.

He had always known that.

Everyone did.

But somehow...

Standing scarcely a foot away...

He found himself noticing it.

Heat climbed unexpectedly to his ears.

Anthony stepped back almost instinctively.

"...Excuse me."

The words came more quickly than intended.

"I..."

He cleared his throat.

"I believe I could use a little fresh air."

Vivienne blinked.

"Oh."

"Of course."

"I’ll wait here."

Anthony inclined his head.

"My thanks."

Then, before she could say anything else...

He turned and made his way toward one of the quieter corridors leading to the balconies.

Vivienne watched him disappear into the crowd.

Silence.

"..."

"..."

Slowly...

Very slowly...

Her eyes widened.

"...Oh."

Another heartbeat.

"...Oh!"

She quickly covered her mouth to stop the delighted smile threatening to spread across her face.

He retreated.

Anthony Ashford.

The ever-composed Anthony Ashford...

Had practically fled.

A tiny giggle escaped.

It worked.

It actually worked.

Maybe...

Just maybe...

She had finally managed to crack the tiniest corner of that impossibly dignified composure of his.

It wasn’t love.

She knew better than to expect that overnight.

But it was...

Something.

And somehow...

That little victory was enough to leave her smiling to herself beneath the glittering lights of the Founders’ Ball.

--

Anthony stepped into the quieter corridor leading toward the eastern balconies.

The sounds of the ballroom softened behind him.

The orchestra became little more than a distant melody.

Normally...

He paid little attention to this part of the hall.

Tonight...

His footsteps slowed.

Beneath one of the moonlit arches, a young couple stood close together.

The gentleman leaned down, murmuring something only the young lady could hear.

She laughed softly, lowering her eyes.

Anthony looked away almost at once.

He continued walking.

Further along...

Another couple occupied the next alcove.

The gentleman lifted the lady’s gloved hand.

With practiced ease...

He brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

Anthony’s gaze shifted elsewhere.

...

How conspicuous.

He had never noticed quite so many couples lingering along these corridors before.

He walked on.

Another balcony.

Another pair.

This time he caught only fragments.

A quiet laugh.

Then a startled little gasp followed by hurried whispers.

Anthony’s ears warmed unexpectedly.

His steps became just a little quicker.

...

Only then did the realization quietly settle.

The balconies during the Founders’ Ball...

Had always been places where couples slipped away from the crowd.

To steal a private conversation.

A dance beneath the stars.

Perhaps...

Something more intimate.

How...

Had he never noticed that before?

The thought lingered.

Anthony reached the final balcony and stepped outside.

Cool night air greeted him immediately.

He drew a slow breath.

Then another.

The breeze carried away the warmth of the ballroom.

But not...

The warmth lingering at the tips of his ears.

His hand rose almost unconsciously toward his collar.

It stopped halfway.

Then slowly fell back to his side.

Silence.

The gardens stretched below him, silver beneath the moonlight.

For a long moment...

Anthony simply stood there.

What...

...had just happened?

Anthony drew another slow breath.

His thoughts retraced the evening almost against his will.

Lady Beaumont had sought him out.

Nothing unusual.

She had every right to expect her escort’s company.

Then...

She had stood a little closer.

She had asked whether her perfume suited her.

She had found an excuse to touch his sleeve.

She had taken his arm.

...

His brow furrowed.

The sleeve.

There had been nothing there.

He was quite certain of it now.

Then...

The collar.

His fingertips rose unconsciously to the side of his neck.

They rested there only briefly.

...

That had not been accidental.

The realization settled quietly into place.

Lady Beaumont...

Had been trying to charm him.

Not elegantly.

Not particularly skillfully.

If anything...

Rather earnestly.

Anthony almost sighed.

It was exactly like her.

She had loved him for years.

Of course she wished for him to notice her.

To see her...

Not as the little girl who had once followed him through Ashford Manor...

But as the woman she had become.

...

He had noticed.

That...

Was precisely the problem.