Sleep escaped him for the next three nights, and when the day of the ball fell upon them, he felt as if he had crossed the entire length of the country on foot. His body ached, his mind felt full of cotton, and the sight of food made him feel ill.

He could not bring himself to admit the thoughts he had been entertaining, not even to himself. They caused his chest to burn with fear every time he pondered them. They were wicked and would anger many people, but the way that events were unfolding, he wondered if he had little choice at all.

Lady Agnes was still silent whenever he was around, and he began to wonder if she was simply pretending that he was not in the room. He would continue to watch her, hoping to make eye contact with her. He would speak, and she would speak, even when they were beside one another, but it was never to each other.

Their mothers were so fixated on the coming ball and wedding that they were unaware of their children's attitudes, but his siblings certainly were not. They spent much of their time when Lady Agnes was not in the room accusing him and scolding him. He allowed it, for he felt as if it was an agreeable punishment to what he was considering doing. He knew that if he went through it that their insults and prodding would be all that much worse.

He sat at the edge of his bed just minutes before he had to be presented to the rest of the ball attendees, his mind racing. Was he really going to go through with it? Could he truly change the entire course of his future with just one decision?

He knew that he could, but the question in his mind was...which decision was the right one?

He rose to his feet, crossed to the mirror to examine his jacket and hat, and met his own eyes for the first time in days.

Do you care for Lady Agnes? he asked himself.

He sighed. "I do," he replied, out loud, but no louder than a whisper.

Do you think that she cares for you? The question came to mind before he could quell it.

He closed his eyes. "I...I don't know."

Do you think that you should call the wedding off?

And as he looked into his own eyes, he faced the question that had been dancing just along the outside of his mind for the last week. He forced himself to face it, for it was no small matter, and it was no good running from it any longer.

And the truth was, he realized, that he honestly did not know the correct answer. He cared for her, and even if he felt as if he had perhaps ruined their marriage already, he knew that she had withdrawn from him as well, no matter what her parents' efforts had been. Something had changed, and he wondered, not for the first time, if she had ever cared for him at all.

Perhaps he had been some lovesick fool who wasted no time in getting himself wrapped up in the idea of marrying her, so much so that it caused him to miss the truth. Perhaps she was not as sweet and kind and as gentle as he had initially made her out to be. She could very well be like all of the other women he had ever known—mysterious, always with a plan of their own.

But how could he know for sure?

He paced back and forth in his room, across the floor.

Would he risk an entire life of unhappiness, for both of them, on the hope that he was wrong?

There was a knock at his door.

"Brother, you are needed."

"I'll be right down. I was just changing my hat," he lied.

He looked at himself in the mirror again, across the room.

No, he thought. No, I cannot do that. I must call the wedding off.

The decision, now that it had been made, settled over his shoulders. It felt heavy, but he did not feel as if he was wrong.

I will call it off.

He walked toward the door, grabbed the glass knob, and hesitated. He could not do it this evening, not now. There were too many people around, too much that could go wrong.

No, I will wait for a better time. Perhaps tomorrow, when all of the guests have gone home. I am sure, if she is thinking the same way that I am, that she will agree that it is best, and we can salvage our reputations.

He swallowed hard as the image of her in the rose garden flooded his mind like warm light, the flowers around her dull in comparison to her beauty.

He gripped the knob harder. He had made the decision, and now, he would have to live with it...no matter how beautiful she was to him.

* * *

"There you are."

Robert was waiting at the end of the hall, looking quite smart in his new navy blue coat and tails. His face was expressionless as he did a rapid search over his brother.

"My apologies," John said. He felt a lump in his throat, yet more calm than he had in as long as he could remember.

Robert furrowed his brow as he looked at John. "You seem quite pale. Are you all right?"

"Better than ever," John replied, looking down the stairs into the foyer. Many guests had already arrived, it seemed, as there was a wide array of colors, patterns, and styles in the room. Laughter floated up the stairs, and the warm glow of candles and oil lamps filled every surface and wall.

Peering more closely at his brother, Robert pursed his lips. He arched an eyebrow. "Are you now? And might it have anything to do with the fact that this ball is for you and your bride?"

"No, it is not," John replied, and as he straightened the collar of his jacket, he began to walk down the stairs, away from his brother.

"Ah, Lord Bridgewater!" said a jovial man with a large, round face at the bottom of the stairs. He stood with his father and mother, receiving the guests as they came into the manor.

"Good evening, Lord Gregory. I trust you and your family are well?"

"We are indeed, my boy, we are indeed." His white moustache bounced happily as he laughed. "It is wonderful to see you. You must be quite excited about the big day coming up!"

A pang of guilt struck him suddenly as his parents glanced over at him. "It is going to be the talk of the whole summer, no doubt."

"That it will be," his mother chimed in, a wide, fake smile on her face. It didn't linger long, as another couple had just approached and stolen her and his father's attention away.

John had to force himself not to glare at the back of her head. He knew how mad she would be at him when he ended things with Lady Agnes. He hoped they would understand if Lady Agnes was in agreement. An icy fear washed over him as he wondered what he would do if she did not.

"I simply am waiting for the lovely Lady Agnes to appear, and then I will announce you both together to the rest of the party. Is that all right with you?"

John looked around the room. There was no sign of Lady Agnes, and he was not sure if he was delighted by this fact, or saddened.

"That should be fine," he replied, and settled in next to Lord Gregory to wait for her arrival.

He greeted some families that he knew as they came in, attempting to be as calm and amiable as he could be. His mind continued to wander, and he had to force himself to greet each guest pleasantly in order to keep up appearances.

"Well, if it is not Lord and Lady Cheshire!" Lord Gregory exclaimed.

John blinked, clearing his mind of Lady Agnes sitting beside the fireplace, the cup of tea he had brought her clenched in her small hands. Two of his friends appeared in front of him, Lord Cheshire and Lady Charlotte, who were twins.

"What a wonderful surprise," John said honestly, for what felt like the first time all evening.

They were strikingly similar, with silvery blonde hair and eyes that reminded him of ice on a pond in winter, cold and blue, but their faces were kind, and they wore matching outfits of ivory and white.

"Good evening, Bridgewater!" Lord Cheshire reached out his hand to John, who took it and shook it.

"How are you this fine night?" John asked them.

They both nodded. "Wonderful. Thank you for asking my lord," Lady Charlotte said. Her cheeks were red like roses, and her lips like the reddest apples.

He was not sure he had ever noticed just how pretty she was before.

Between their shoulders, a woman in an emerald green dress with dark hair caught his eye, and his gaze shifted to her.

She was turned away from him, her hair done up in a pretty knot, with little flowers woven into the tiny braids, and the gloves on her hands that absently smoothed wrinkles on the side of her dress were the brightest white. She was slender, and something about the way she stood intrigued him.

And when she turned around, he swallowed hard. It was Lady Agnes. He felt ashamed that he had been so enticed by her, for it was going to make following through with his decision that much more difficult.

Both of the twins turned to see who he was looking at.

"She looks stunning," Lord Cheshire said.

"She does indeed," his sister agreed.

"Yes she does..." John breathed, before he was able to stop himself.

"Well, we won't stand in your way, old chap," Lord Cheshire said, patting John amicably on the shoulder. "We shall see you later then, yes?"

John nodded at them, and they walked away.

Lady Agnes was still looking at him, holding his gaze with her intensely blue eyes.

He swallowed hard as she started to walk toward him.

"Good evening," she said, looking up into his face.

"Yes," John replied rather dumbly. He shook his head. "That is, it is a fine evening, to be sure." He cleared his throat, shifting on his feet. "You look...very nice."

That was really the best that he could come up with? Once again, he was failing himself and her all at the same time.

But she was gracious as always. "Thank you very much. And you look quite handsome yourself."

He looked at the open space beside himself. "Would you care to stand with me? Lord Gregory is going to be announcing us soon."

"Of course," she said, more formally than usual, and they fell back into an uneasy silence as she took her place beside him.

"Ah, the bride has arrived!" Lord Gregory exclaimed some time later. "Good, good. I shall clear the guests from the hall."

And he did. He ushered everyone out of the foyer and into the ballroom, giving both of them much more room to breathe.

Before Lord Gregory returned through the doors he had shut, they were left alone together in the large, quiet room.

He stole glances of her out of the corner of his eyes, a small and feeble part of him hollering inside of his mind that it was not too late, that he could still repair the damage that had been done, that this marriage could still work.

But she would not look at him like she had when she first arrived. Her gaze was fixated on the door in front of her, and she made no motion of speaking with him.

"Lady Agnes," he said, very quietly, realizing that this moment was perhaps the last he would ever have to make amends.

She did finally turn her face up to him, her face pensive.

Her eyes met his, and he could see the distinct color of them. They were almost green in the light from the candles around them, and he could see tiny flecks of gold along the outside.

"What is it, my lord?"

"I would just like for you to know that the time that my family and I have spent with you and your parents has been most pleasant."

There was no reaction in her gaze; she simply blinked up at him. No happy curve of her lips, and no change in her posture.

When she said nothing, he stumbled on. "I realize that I may not have been the most agreeable fellow as of late, but I would have you know that –"

The doors swung open before them, and they both looked up to see Lord Gregory stepping back inside.

"Are we ready?" he asked, beaming between the two of them.

They glanced at one another.

He had failed, once again, to say anything of substance. He had one chance to let her know how he felt, and he had missed it.

Perhaps it was never meant to be after all.

"Of course," Lady Agnes said in reply, a small smile that did not quite reach her eyes growing slowly on her face.

Steeling himself and forcing a smile onto his own face, John nodded in agreement. "Yes, carry on, Gregory. We are ready."

Lord Gregory motioned them over and turned back towards the doors.

"On my mark, then," he said, and he pulled the doors wide open.

The ballroom was handsomely adorned, with swags of velvety curtains hung over the windows, sparkling crystal bowls in every corner, and the greatest number of people that John felt he had ever seen.

"Dear Lords and Ladies, present and able this evening!" Lord Gregory called out into the room. "May I have your attention, please!"

Slowly the noise in the room began to diminish, and the band had stopped its jubilant playing. All of the guests' heads swiveled in their direction, and John felt his cheeks grow hot.

"On behalf of the Duke and Duchess Edgefield, as well as the Earl and Countess of Kensington, I present to you for the first time in society together, in celebration of their coming marriage, Lord Bridgewater, and Lady Agnes Bartmouth!"

He was aware of the fact that the room erupted in cheers, but it all felt very distant from him in that moment. No one had any idea that there was any sort of contention between him and Lady Agnes, nor that they were anything but happy about the upcoming union.

They had to discuss what was truly happening between the two of them; he felt as if he might lose his mind if there was not some sort of clarification soon. They could not begin a marriage like this, no matter if it was arranged or not.

How could it be that he was standing beside her behind such a blatant façade? Their smiles and their waving at those around them who loved them so much felt hollow. It physically pained him to be so torn about the entire endeavor, and it took every bit of his strength to keep him grounded to the spot.

He had to fool them all for the evening, and then, tomorrow, they would have to discuss their upcoming marriage. They would have no other choice.

With that thought in mind, he looked down at her beside him. As if he had spoken, she looked up at him, her smile still fixed on her face. He felt he could see the same fixed determination in her eyes, and for the first time, he felt connected to her again.

He offered his arm to her, she accepted it graciously, and they stepped out into the swelling group of people, ready to accept the praise and congratulations that would fall on heavy and unaccepting hearts. How strange the world had become.

They stayed by each other's sides for a short time, and as if by agreement, they allowed themselves to be pulled away into different groups of people, everyone excited and laughing and shaking his hand.

He accepted their words with as much grace as he could muster. He would sneak glances of Lady Agnes, weighing her reactions, only to be teased by those who noticed that he could not keep his eyes off his soon-to-be bride for very long and how sweet it was. She was amiable and kind, and she gave no signs of faltering. He used her courage as inspiration and strength for his own.

There was much dancing and celebration throughout the evening, and John hardly participated in any of it. He and Lady Agnes danced a few obligatory dances, which pleased everyone, and then they returned to their friends and family.

Once everyone had had their fill of speaking to him, John found himself alone with his friends, many of whom were still single. He noticed for the first time since he had known them how often they watched the young, single ladies. He realized that he too had been the very same way until he had been reminded of his betrothal to Lady Agnes.

Pretending that he was not particularly interested, he asked after who his friends were gawking at like fools.

"Have you not seen her?"

"She's quite the beauty!"

"Who is it?" John asked, looking about.

In unison, his friends all looked behind him, and he turned his gaze around to see who they meant.

It was not hard to see who it was that they spoke of. She wore a lovely dress, the color of lavender and ivory, and her blonde hair that looked like pale gold was tied up in a shining knot at the nape of her neck. She was surrounded by men, and she seemed to glow with grace and poise.

He swallowed hard, feeling as if he had never seen a woman such as her. It seemed odd to him that he had not noticed her earlier, for she would have been difficult to miss, even in such a crowded room.

"I wonder how many proposals she has received," one of his friends said, and the others murmured in agreement.

"Who is she?" John asked, still not looking at his friends.

"Lady Penelope Glass," he heard. "Bridgewater, have you never met the woman?"

John shook his head, finally turning his attention from her. She was breathtaking, he realized with a slight twinge of shame. It was no wonder that she had captured the attention of all of the men in the room. And what fortune for them, having met her at a ball that was entirely focused on the subject of marriage and romance.

"I have not had the pleasure," John replied, folding his hands behind his back to hide the fact that they were now shining with nervous sweat.

"I can see why," one of his friends commented. "Your betrothed would certainly not approve of such an acquaintance."

"Better chances for the rest of us," another added. "Her father brings in more than most of our families combined. She essentially has the ability to pick any man she wants." His friend gave John a pressing look. "Well, almost any man she would want."

A few of them laughed.

He wondered, for a moment, who this woman was connected to. Who from his family, or Lady Agnes's, invited this Lady Penelope? Who knew her, for he knew that he had never seen her before.

In the far recesses of his mind, he began to form a plan.

If I am indeed going to break off this engagement with Lady Agnes, then perhaps I would be able to spend some time with this Lady Penelope. I would have much to offer her, much more than most of the men here. I do wonder who her father is. Perhaps he would think that I was an acceptable match...

And then he scolded himself for even daring to think such thoughts. As far as anyone in the room knew, as far as Lady Agnes knew, everything was normal and happy with them. No one would have any idea that he was going to break off the engagement.

Once he had, he would then have to wait an appropriate amount of time in order to preserve Lady Agnes's reputation as much as possible. He might even have to wait until she was approached by someone else offering her a marriage proposal. She was a most pleasant young woman, he knew, with a well-connected family. Surely she would find another suitable match with someone who would treat her better than he had.

The war raging inside him was enough to give him a headache.

"I would like to be introduced to her," John said. He was not quite sure who exactly he was saying it to, but he did know that he was not entirely sure that he had meant to say it out loud.

The men standing around him looked at him curiously, and all of their idle chatter ceased. They glanced between one another.

"Are you quite sure?" one of them asked.

John straightened his shoulders. "It is my ball, is it not? I should greet everyone who is here, and thank them for coming. As one of the guests of honor, is it not my duty to ensure that everyone is having a pleasant time?"

Again, they all exchanged nervous looks.

"Well, if you are determined..."

"I suppose it would not hurt, would it?"

"Surely his father has already met with her family..."

John looked across the room at her again. Many guests had joined together in two long lines and were merrily dancing to a popular tune that the musicians were playing.

Men were still surrounding her, many with wide, childish grins on their faces. It made him roll his eyes before he caught himself. Was he not asking to go over and join those fools?

"Well, come on then," said his friend who had stepped up, Lord Cheshire, and he gestured for John to follow him.

The walk across the room to the woman was both uncomfortable and exhilarating. He forced himself not to look for Lady Agnes. What would she think if she saw him walking toward another woman, and a woman like Lady Penelope no less? He told himself that if he looked innocent enough doing it, then everyone would perceive that he was doing nothing strange. He hoped they would see nothing more than a man greeting a young woman that he had never met before. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Lady Penelope," his friend said, side stepping around a particularly forward gentleman with rosy cheeks and squinting eyes. "Hello, good evening, my lady."

"Oh, Lord Cheshire," she replied, with a warm, radiant expression. "What a pleasure to see you."

She turned her attention toward him and John, and the man who had been speaking to her frowned, but withdrew into the crowd around them.

His friend bowed to her. "The pleasure is mine, of course." He looked up at John. "We were not sure that you had been introduced to the guest of honor this evening, Lord Bridgewater. I thought that it would be appropriate to ensure that you had the pleasure of meeting him."

She turned her lovely eyes onto him. "It is indeed a pleasure to meet a man as prestigious as yourself, Lord Bridgewater." And she bowed ever so slightly, inclining her head in his direction.

"I insist, the pleasure is mine," he replied, bowing his own head. He looked up once more. "I would not want any of my guests to be forgotten or passed over."

"Oh, not at all, my lord," she answered. "Certainly you have many guests to mingle with this evening. I would never ask you to trouble yourself with me."

"A Lady as lovely as you is never a trouble at all."

His friend gave him a nervous glance.

How is it I have absolutely no trouble speaking to a woman as beautiful as Lady Penelope? he asked himself angrily. This felt far more familiar to him, and it was somewhat of a relief to be able to speak freely to a woman once again. And on the same hand, it was infuriating that Lady Agnes had been such a discouraging character, someone he could not understand.

He swore he could see color rise in her cheeks.

Is she…interested?

He suddenly felt devious, exposed, and inappropriate. These people around them were no fools; surely someone would have to know what he was up to. A deep, raging part of his own mind could not even believe that he was standing here in this crowd and had the audacity to even consider a match with this woman when he was still so obviously engaged to another!

Who am I? he wondered as he absently smiled at her as she told him and Lord Cheshire a story about something entirely irrelevant. What have I let myself become?

The song that had filled the room ended, and it pulled him from him from his own mind. He glanced around, and eventually joined the clapping with the rest of those in the room. He heard Lord Cheshire laugh at something that Lady Penelope had said, and he laughed as well. At what, he would most likely never know.

As had become his habit that evening, he glanced around the room for Lady Agnes, mostly to soothe his own conscience. Fear gripped him once more at the thought of her seeing him standing here with this Lady Penelope. It took him a moment to spot her, but when he did, he had to stifle a gasp that had formed in his throat.

She was beaming, and the light of the chandeliers overhead cast long tendrils of light into her long hair, giving it the appearance of liquid moonlight. She was happy, he realized, happier than he had seen her in weeks. Her arms were outstretched, and she was walking toward the middle of the room.

Many other people had their eyes on her as well, and there was fragmented applause from various guests. Apparently, they all had noticed her as well.

It wasn’t until he had realized that she was not looking at him that he searched for where her gaze was fixated, and it was on one of his friends, Lord Yorbourgh.

He was leading Lady Agnes out onto the dance floor to a series of applause, and she was gazing up at him as if he were the object of all of her affections.

A squirming unhappiness boiled up inside of him. She had smiled like that for him when they had been reintroduced. Carefree and genuine, just like how she smiled at Lord Yorbourgh.

He shook his head. Had the entire world changed when he wasn’t watching? Was he asleep, and this was all some sort of bizarre dream that he couldn’t seem to wake from? Had he ever been engaged to her at all?

He was vaguely aware that Lord Cheshire had asked him a question, but he did not much care in the moment. He could not believe her obvious pleasure at spending time with another man. It made him feel angry and hopeless all at the same time.

The pair came to the dance floor, and many people cleared a space for them. They were poised and ready, waiting for the music to begin.

John watched intently as Lord Yorbourgh said something and Lady Agnes threw back her head and laughed. It made him sick to his stomach. The music picked up again, and many around the room began to clap in time with the beat. Even Lady Penelope and Lord Cheshire turned to watch.

He knew that Lord Yorbourgh was a terrific dancer; he had spent many summers in London learning it with his mother, who had had a great passion for it. And he loved music. And, John knew, he was a very amusing individual.

It was almost torture to stand there, completely helpless, and watch the two of them dance. With every beat of the drums, he felt her drifting farther and farther from him. With every change in tune, he felt more and more powerless. And with every spin that she held onto his hand, he felt as if his heart might break into a thousand tiny pieces.

You’re jealous, old chap, he told himself.

He nearly swallowed his tongue when he realized it fully.

You’re jealous, and you are just going to sit here and let whatever this is happen.

He glared at Lord Yorbourgh, who was interacting so effortlessly at his Lady Agnes. His Lady Agnes. It was as if he had been struck by a train. He suddenly felt as if he had been a complete and utter idiot for ever, ever, wanting to break off the engagement with her. What was he, a young lad with no courage? Was he a man or was he a mouse?

No, this is not going to end this way. No matter what she might say to me, no matter what she might believe, she will know how I feel for her, and that I wish for nothing more than to be her husband.

“Lord Bridgewater, are you all right?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of his name. He looked around wildly and saw Lady Penelope standing beside Lord Cheshire, and both were peering at him curiously.

“I’m…I’m fine, yes,” he said, and he felt so out of breath, almost as if he had run all the way to London and back.

“Are you quite sure?” Lord Cheshire asked. “You look particularly flustered.”

John swallowed and shook his head. “Not at all, my friend, not at all.”

He looked at Lady Penelope whose face was a picture of concern, and he suddenly wondered why he had found her so irresistible. Surely, she was a handsome woman, but there was nothing captivating about her aside from that. He was sure she was an amiable woman, but she was not Lady Agnes, with all of her genuineness and gentleness.

And so he was able to smile at her without reservation. “My lady, it has been a honor to meet you, but I believe that my beloved has been without my attention for far too long this evening.”

She smiled at his words, and it was almost as if she was flattered herself by them. “What a fortunate woman she is to have a man who loves her so.”

He was not quite sure that he had ever let that word pass through his mind before. Love. Is that what this feeling was? Is that what this insatiable desire was, the entire reason why he could not get her out of his mind? Was this the reason that he had fought himself so much about his decision to call off the wedding?

He bowed to the two of them and excused himself, feeling so light that he wondered if he would float off into the night. What a freeing feeling it was to be rid of the decision that he had so hastily made. He never liked it, not from the moment it had entered his head.

His sister intercepted him in the crowd, Lady Jane.

She stared up into his face.

“What happened to you?”

He beamed at her. “I prevented myself from making a terrible, terrible mistake.”

But before she could reply at all, he swept passed her and back into the crowd of people, determined to find Lady Agnes and dance with her for the rest of the night.