Philip cringed inside as his mother caught his arm.
“I have been searching for you. I have some people that I would like you to meet.” Her smile was so forced that it made Philip feel a little ill. What on earth was this? “This is Lord Cedric Fitzwilliam and his lovely wife, Lady Daphne Fitzwilliam. And here is his younger sister, Lady Rosalind Fitzwilliam.”
Philip’s heart sunk. He recognized that name.
It was the woman that his mother had been insisting that he dance with because she would make such a lovelymarchioness. Despite his protests, she had orchestrated this meeting, undoubtably trying to make the Fitzwilliam family see that he was the perfect match for Rosalind.
“Good to meet you all,” he declared through gritted teeth. “I do hope that you are having a wonderful time.”
“Oh yes, this is quite the ball,” Cedric replied. Philip could feel Cedric sizing him up, silently trying to work out if he was worth the attention. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”
“Oh, Cedric, Daphne, I am sure you want to dance,” Adelaide interjected slyly. “And Philip, would it not be a lovely idea to welcome Lady Fitzwilliam by taking her on the dance floor.”
Philip wanted to scream.
He could not believe that his mother had gone this far. It was absolutely ridiculous. She was relentless and would seemingly stop at nothing. She had backed him in to a corner, and now he had no choice in the matter.
With a resigned sigh, Philip extended his hand to Lady Rosalind. “Would you care to dance, Lady Fitzwilliam?”
She accepted with a polite smile. “I would be delighted, my lord.”
Philip led Rosalind to the dance floor, forcing himself to maintain the facade of graciousness. As the music started, they began to waltz. Rosalind moved with practiced grace, her steps light and fluid, and for a moment, Philip allowed himself to appreciate the ease with which they danced.
“Your sister looks radiant tonight,” Rosalind commented, her voice smooth and composed. “It’s clear that much thought and care have gone into this evening.”
Philip nodded, keeping his tone neutral. “Georgina has always been excited by such events. I am glad she is enjoying herself.”
Rosalind’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “And what of you, my lord? Are you enjoying the evening?”
Philip forced a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see my sister happy. That is enough for me.”
Rosalind studied him for a moment, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. “I understand that you have been rather reclusive these past years. It must be quite an adjustment to be back in society.”
Her observation was astute, and Philip found himself reluctantly impressed. “Indeed. It’s... different,” he replied carefully. “But necessary for Georgina’s sake.”
Rosalind was undeniably beautiful, but Philip felt no spark of connection or attraction. Instead, as they moved, he was acutely aware of the expectant gazes of his mother and the ton, all waiting to see if the widowed Marquess of Eilendale would finally choose a new bride.
As if it was any of their business.
As they glided across the dance floor, Philip’s thoughts automatically drifted to Juliana. The memory of her smile, the warmth of her touch, and the joy they had shared seemed like a distant dream. He remembered the laughter, the shared secrets, and the plans they had made for a future that was cruelly taken from them. The grief was still raw, an ever-present ache that no amount of time seemed to dull.
Why should he be forced to wed again when he wasn’t ready? It seemed utterly absurd.
Rosalind attempted to engage him in conversation. “My lord, I hear you have quite the collection of rare books. Do you have a favorite?”
Philip barely heard her. “Yes, I do,” he replied vaguely, his mind still on Juliana. He could almost see her there, in the library they had shared, her eyes lighting up as she found a new volume to read. “I have many favorite books...”
Rosalind continued, undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm. “I would love to hear about them sometime. Perhaps you could show me your collection?”
Philip nodded absently. “Perhaps.”
The dance continued, and Rosalind’s attempts at conversation were met with similar distracted responses. Philip’s heart wasn’t in it. He could not bring himself to care about the polite chatter and superficial niceties. All he could think about was the life he had lost and the emptiness that had filled its place.
As they moved through the steps of the dance, Philip’s frustration grew. The idea of a loveless union, of marrying someone just to fulfill societal expectations, filled him with dread. He longed for a connection, for someone who could understand the depth of his grief and the love he still held for Juliana.
The ton’s expectations felt like a noose tightening around his neck, suffocating him.
Finally, the music came to an end. Philip felt a wave of relief as he led Rosalind back to her family. He offered a polite bow, his mind already seeking an escape from the stifling atmosphere of the ballroom.
