Genevieve blushed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She was acutely aware of the impropriety of their lingering stare, and yet, it was as if a magnetic force had drawn her to Jonathan. The encounter on the cliffs had left an indelible mark on her, and now, in the heart of Graftonshire Manor, their paths had crossed once again. But Eleanor had reminded her that she needed to look away, whether she wanted to or not, causing an intense heat to race through her body. She knew she had probably started to shine red, which only made this much more humiliating. Thankfully, it was not long until it was time for Genevieve and her family to walk on.
As Genevieve and her family proceeded through the magnificent halls of Graftonshire Manor, Eleanor leaned in, her voice a playful whisper in Genevieve’s ear, not quite finished with the teasing as yet. “My dear cousin, I must say the Duke of Graftonshire is quite striking, do you not think?” Her tone was light, and she wore a mischievous smile. “I wonder what it is like to talk to him. You will have to tell me more about your meeting with him because I amveryintrigued by him…”
Genevieve’s thoughts, however, were still caught in the whirlwind of emotions from her unexpected reunion with Jonathan. His presence, the vivid memory of their cliff-side encounter, and the intensity of their locked gazes continued to occupy her mind. She could not help but acknowledge the truth in Eleanor’s words, though she made no reply.
Before she could gather her thoughts and respond to her cousin’s teasing, an unsettling presence caught her attention. Across the grand ballroom, her eyes met those of Lord Alastair Fitzroy. The memories of the previous Season rushed back, particularly the awkward and painful instance when she had rejected his marriage proposal. The look of evident displeasure on Alastair’s face was unmistakable, and a chill ran down Genevieve’s spine.
The mere sight of Alastair, his eyes fixed on her, sent her stomach twisting into knots. She had known that her rejection had bruised his pride, but the intensity of his resentment was palpable. As they moved further into the ballroom, she could not shake the feeling that Alastair’s presence would bring a storm of trouble to an otherwise enchanting evening.
It had been a beautiful evening, not unlike this one, when Alastair had taken her aside under the twinkling stars. In the soft glow of moon light, he had poured his heart out to her, his words laced with affection and longing. He had proposed to her with a genuine and earnest plea for her hand in marriage.
The memory of that night still made her shudder with embarrassment. She recalled the knot in her stomach as she struggled to find the right words, the weight of the eyes of the assembled guests upon her. She had turned him down, gently but firmly, explaining that her feelings for him did not match his own, and that she could not accept his proposal. The look of disappointment and humiliation on Alastair’s face had been etched into her memory, and it had cast a shadow over her in subsequent social gatherings.
As Genevieve relived that moment in her mind, she could not help but wonder if Alastair’s presence at the ball would bring with it a resurgence of those uncomfortable feelings and strained interactions. The memory of her rejection still weighed heavily on her heart, and she knew that facing Alastair once more would not be an easy task.
CHAPTER 8
Lord Alastair Fitzroy, a tall and well dressed figure, stood regally beside his cousin, the Duchess of Cavendale, in the grand ballroom of Graftonshire Manor. The chandeliers over head cast a warm, golden glow upon the gathering, and the ornate room was filled with aristocrats in their finest attire. By his side were the Duchess’s husband, the Duke of Cavendale, and their young daughter, Lady Isabella. They had come to spend the winter season in Graftonshire and were eagerly participating in the social festivities.
Alastair’s attention, however, was undeniably fixed on someone else.
Lady Genevieve Ellsworth, with her strawberry blonde curls cascading gracefully down her back, had captured his interest from the moment she entered the ballroom. She was the undeniable star of the evening, her presence radiant, and her graceful demeanor leaving a trail of admirers in her wake. Her slender figure, enhanced by a beautifully crafted gown, was a vision of elegance and poise.
But unbeknownst to Lady Genevieve, Alistair did not count himself as one of her admirers, although he could not take his eyes off of her. He observed her movements, the delicate curve of her smile, and the charm that flowed from her like a beacon in the night. Amid the lively conversations and the enchanting waltz music that filled the room, Alastair found himself solely focused on Lady Genevieve. Her presence transported him to the previous year, when he had been a darling of society, an eligible bachelor sought after by ambitious families, and Genevieve’s considerable dowry had been the key that unlocked his ambitions.
Alistair’s thoughts drifted back to the days when his pursuit of Lady Genevieve was not driven by true love but by a desperate ploy to secure her wealth and stave off the impending bankruptcy that threatened his social status. It was a time when he was a master of deception, a charmer of hearts, and a collector of fortunes… or so he thought. So he hoped.
He had been a brilliant actor, skillfully playing the part of the ardent suitor. In the eyes of the world, he was the perfect match for Lady Genevieve. He had whispered sweet promises and spun a web of romance that had lured her in. At the time, it had seemed so easy, so natural to manipulate her emotions.
But Alistair had never considered the possibility that Genevieve might possess an independent spirit, a fierce determination, and a heart that could not be easily won by his artful words. He had underestimated her, believing that her wealth was her most valuable asset, the one he needed to secure. He thought that she would easily go along with whatever her parents wanted, and that she would not be given a choice of her own.
But she most certainly did have a mind of her own, and that was Alistair’s down fall.
The chilling memory of her rejection remained etched in his mind. Her refusal had been a stark reminder that Lady Genevieve Ellsworth was not a pawn to be won in his game of social survival. She had seemingly seen through his facade, recognized his ulterior motives, and dared to defy his advances.
Either that, or she simply did not want him.
No matter what, the bitterness of that rejection had haunted him ever since. It was a harsh lesson in humility, one that had tarnished his reputation and, in many ways, destroyed his standing within the elite circles of society. No one seemed to look at him in the same way anymore, which Alistair hated.
Alistair watched Lady Genevieve with a mixture of anger and intense regret that he had not managed to make things work out with her. Her grace, her beauty, and the strength she had displayed by standing up to him had remained etched in his memory, making the loss of her dowry that much harder to bear.
As Alistair Fitzroy watched Lady Genevieve from across the grand ballroom, he could feel the bitterness swelling within him. The opulent surroundings, the lively chatter of the aristocracy, and the grandeur of Graftonshire Manor all seemed to blur into a meaningless backdrop. It was a stark contrast to the turmoil that raged within him.
His current financial predicament was all too real, and so much worse than it was the previous year when she could have saved him, and it was the gnawing anxiety of teetering on the brink of bankruptcy that had brought him to Graftonshire. Alistair Fitzroy, once the darling of high society, had fallen from grace, hard, and his once impeccable reputation now hung by the thinnest thread. His extravagant lifestyle, reckless investments, and gambling debts had left him in financial ruins.
He had been a master of disguises and had masked his troubles well, putting on a facade of prosperity that fooled many. But behind closed doors, the debtors had grown relentless, and the bailiffs had become all too familiar. The grandeur and luxury he had once enjoyed had turned into a mirage, and the weight of his financial burden had crushed his pride. The only person that Alistair could think to blame for that was Lady Genevieve. Things could have been resolved if only she had married him, if only he had received the dowry. If he could have used that money to get himself back on track, then he would still be revered by other people, not looked down on.
Alistair felt like even his family looked down on him these days. His cousin might have been beside him, but he did not feel even a scrap of support from her. She was merely there in the room beside him. No wonder he was so full of rage for Lady Genevieve. He wished that she could know what she had done to him, how she ruined his life. Especially since she did not look like she was suffering over everything that happened last year.
As bitterness coursed through him, threatening to consume him whole, Alistair’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of another figure in the room. Lord Jonathan Grantham, the newly appointed Duke of Graftonshire, had captured his attention. The man who everyone was here to celebrate. A man that Alistair did not realize he knew before this very moment…
But now as he stared at this man, it hit Alistair that their paths had not merely crossed in ballrooms or society gatherings before now; they had once shared a ship, a voyage, and a heart wrenching tragedy at sea. The memories of those fateful days came rushing back to Alistair, almost drowning him in the pain from the past.
Alistair had never sailed with Jonathan Grantham before the day of the tragedy, but he had heard good things about him. He did not think twice about the journey, especially because of his best friend, Trevor, had nothing but good things to say about the man.
How Alistair wished that he could go back in time to stop himself and Trevor from getting on that ship.
The memories of that ill fated voyage continued to haunt Alistair, even to this day. He could still hear the cries of their fellow sailors, feel the relentless fury of the tempest, and remember the desperate moments when their ship had been on the brink of destruction. Jonathan was supposed to be a beacon of leadership during those tumultuous times, a steady hand that had guided the crew through the darkest hours. But that was not how Alistair had felt. Especially as Trevor was tossed overboard in the storm that theynevershould have been sailing in, and he was never seen again. Alistair might not have actively seen him drown, but he knew that was what had happened.
