The Duke of Dafield was used to getting all the attention, but not in a venue like this. He would rather be somewhere else, but he had a few good reason he was in the Hutchinson Ball.

He had seen far more lavish balls, but this one would do. He was here for a Stratford. Specifically, the heir to the earldom, Harry Stratford. He smiled at the greetings he passed by, murmured a good evening, and soldiered on. A man on a mission. The first of three he would have to do.

For the first order of business, he went straight to the hosts. Lady Hutchinson prattled; Lord Hutchinson mumbled. It was easy, paying respect when you're a duke. It was not expected, and a short one was enough should one opt to do so. Because the host would want to leave and brag about their immense influence at having a duke in their home. It took him one question: "Is that the Earl of Abberton?" and Lady Hutchinson promptly jumped on her feet and ushered him to the old man laughing with two gentlemen. And while she filled him with information of her friends, the Stratfords, his eyes roamed the vicinity, looking for Harry Stratford, the heir. It was easy to spot the man, because he was currently talking with a young woman with red hair not far away from his grandfather.

As they neared, his gaze jumped back to the earl and the younger Stratfords laughing with him. One of them turned and grinned.

"Ah, you bloody bastard," Webster exclaimed, much to Lady Hutchinson's surprise. "How have you been?" Webster Priest said, shaking his hand with only the familiarity of men who shared years in Butler ever would.

Without answering his friend, he offered the Earl of Abberton a slight bow and greeted Damon Stratford. And before he knew it, the old man caught his arm and said, "Are you here for a wife? Certainly not one of them Hutchinsons, boy."

"What did he say?" Lady Hutchinson asked, to which Web answered, "Nothing, my lady. I think your daughters are currently surrounded. Might want to save them." With that, the host left them, muttering about her daughters dancing with a duke.

"I'm telling you, the Hutchinsons are the worst choice," Abraham Stratford continued, ignoring his grandsons. "You're better off marrying into the Stratfords. I have a name in mind."

"Good Lord," Damon groaned. "Don't listen to him."

Daniel Cavendish only laughed. "As a matter of fact," he said, bending down. "I have a plan quite similar to what you just proposed, my lord," he said to the earl.

Web and Damon looked at him in surprise. "You do?" Web asked, almost with a scowl.

He smiled at his friend. "That's why I'm here."

"Good, good. My grandchildren have rich dowries," the earl said, steering him away from his grandsons.

With a small smile, Daniel stopped him. "I believe you misunderstood, my lord."

"What do you mean then?"

He smiled and gestured his hand to the side. Looking at Damon and Web, he said, "We should find a library. And perhaps we should invite Harry."

***

"Sisi," Lydia nudged. "Sisi."

"Lydia, I see!" she hissed.

"See what?" Price asked.

But they were not hearing him. A force was propelling both women away from the refreshment table and toward the path the duke was taking. Lydia gripped Simone's arm tighter. "Sisi."

"Lydia, I know!" she hissed. "Now, stop calling my name."

"But he's—Sisi, he's—"

"That's the actor," Gale's voice said beside Simone. "What in bloody tarnation—Do you know?"

"How would have I known?" she asked. "Did you?"

"No." His eyes narrowed. "Are you certain you had no idea?"

"If I did, I would have not worn feathers."

Gale joined them across the ballroom, the three of them looking like geese walking across the courtyard in Abberton House. They stopped, hid, walked, slithered their way toward the target who was now leading their grandfather, Harry, Web, and Damon toward the nearest exit.

"What's going on?" Price asked behind them.

"Hush!" they all hissed, smiling innocently at those who turned their way.

"Are we following them? Why? I'm sure the old man can secure a dance for both of you. There's no need—"

The rest of Price's words were left unheard as they rushed out into the corridor where they crowded because Gale had stopped and turned to them. "Talk," he ordered Simone. "Laugh," he added to Lydia.

Simone moved her mouth without saying a word while Lydia broke out into chuckles, their eyes over Gale's shoulders. Web and Harry had turned their way. Price waved at them before joining Lydia's phony laugh. "Why are we even doing this?" he asked before laughing heartily again.

Again, they did not reply. The men had entered a room, and they rushed.

"I have secured a dance after this one," Price reminded them when they all stopped outside the doors. Like the many similar moments in the past, the four of them took their positions: Lydia with her reliable ears against the door, Simone behind her pretending to fix her hair, Gale and Price, a few feet away in opposite directions, leaning against the wall to watch both ends of the corridor.

No one said a word, no one asked. Lydia hated being distracted. They all did their part with a calm expertise that only years of practice growing up in a large estate like Abberton House could ever provide.

However, they might have lacked some practice. Or Lydia did.

Without warning, her cousin suddenly straightened, butting Simone's face with the back of her head. "Ow!" Simone cried out.

"Sorry," Lydia said, turning to face her. "Oh, you're bleeding again."

"What's happening?" Price asked, coming toward them. "Sisi, are you hurt?"

Gale was on his way to offer his kerchief when suddenly, the door opened and Simone, in an attempt to hide, whirled around and tripped on Price's foot as he reached her. And worst of all, he was not fast enough to catch her because he, too, was falling.

They landed with a thud, black feathers floating about.

"What are you—" Damon's voice started, but then stopped when he noticed Simone. "Good Lord, Sisi," he said, pulling her to her feet. "What happened?"

She tried to say something, but Gale pressed the kerchief over her nose and mouth. "We were talking and laughing and suddenly she tripped," Gale provided with a straight face as he helped Price to his feet.

"Let me see," Damon said, brow furrowed in a frown as he peeled the kerchief away. "Hm. You lost a tooth."

Her gasp of horror was followed by Lydia's, "He's lying. You only have bloody teeth."

Damon looked at her. She looked away. He looked at Price and then Gale, then at Lydia who just let out an awkward laugh. "We were talking and laughing and she tripped, that's all," Lydia said. Damon just nodded unconvincingly before he stepped away from Simone.

It was only at that moment that they realized he was not alone. Behind him were their grandfather, Web, and Harry. And the Duke of Dafield.

Simone became arrested, bloodied kerchief in midair. She gazed. She looked. She ogled. He was looking at her. In that moment, Simone saw the countless letters she had written and received, the many more she sent unanswered.

There he was, finally standing there again, as if he was on a stage about to deliver a line. But this time, he was not playing the role of a duke. He was the duke. Yet he did not seem like her Daniel Cavendish either. He seemed...different.

"I'm sure you're quite familiar with the rest of the Stratfords," said their grandfather's voice from behind Daniel. He came into view, leaning on his cane.

"Yes, my lord," replied the duke—Daniel—eyes still on Simone.

Summoning the courage she never thought she had, she opened and mouth and said, "Dan—Your Grace."

He did not offer a word of reply. Not even a smile. He just gave the slightest of bows to her and to the rest of her family. "I wish you all good evening."

And then again, he was gone.

***

Daniel entered the ballroom, shoulders stiffer than it was before he left. He should be at ease now. His talk with the Stratfords was a success. No accident occurred inside the library. In fact, the earl was only eager to listen to his proposition. And Harry Stratford said he shall consider. Web was, of course, naturally surprised. Damon had no opinion on the matter. And so it was that another meeting was scheduled. A longer one. And they shared a quick drink to seal their promising agreement.

So it was not the time in the library that made him want to escape. It was the accident that followed. Not his, but of the other Stratfords.

A crowd gathered around him—men and women who hungered for his attention. Was he staying long in Abberton? He would enjoy the lake nearby, the woods, and even the fairs. He should come often, they said.

He gave the proper replies, the proper nods and smiles. Just one more glass and he would go.

He saw her enter the ballroom again, her face pale, perhaps from the accident. But when their eyes met across the room—just short of a second—she flushed. He looked away, jaw tight. He noticed her confusion earlier, heard the unspoken questions, but he wanted none of it.

After another glass and another round around the ballroom, with no dance spent with anyone, Daniel said his goodbye. It was only until his carriage drew away that he let out a sigh.

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose.

Simone Priest's beautiful light brown eyes came back to him. And suddenly more—the unruly curls at her temple, the full-cheeked smile, and the laughter. He only heard it once or twice and it had been years, yet they all came back.

The sparkle in your eyes. I hope you never lose it, Mr. Cavendish. It speaks of an entire world uniquely yours.

After nine years, he could still hear it clearly. As if she was just there, sitting across from him, telling him the words she said from across his window.

It speaks of an entire world uniquely yours.

Along with the words were the memories of the things he once loved. Every bit of them. Every fractured dream.