Eveline looked out at the ballroom, at the swirling dancers and glittering jewels and poisonous smiles. How could she explain that his offer was everything she should want and nothing she actually needed? That respect and esteem, while admirable foundations for marriage, felt like cold comfort to a heart that had known consuming fire?
"Because you deserve someone who can match your regard with equal feeling," she said finally. "I respect you, Theodore. I admire your mind, your principles, your kindness. In another life, perhaps that would be enough. But in this one..."
"You love someone else." It wasn't a question.
She didn't deny it, couldn't bring herself to lie to this good man who'd offered her so much. "I'm sorry."
His composure cracked then, just slightly; a tightening around his eyes, a muscle jumping in his jaw. When he spoke, his careful control couldn't quite mask the frustration beneath.
"You would rather cling to scandal than accept a hand that could save you?" The words came out harder than she'd heard from him before. "Do you think affection grows overnight? That passion is more important than compatibility, than shared interests, than mutual respect? Those are the foundations of true marriage, Miss Whitcombe, not whatever romantic notions you've derived from poetry."
"Perhaps you're right."
"I am right." His voice rose slightly, drawing curious glances from nearby guests. "I'm offering you everything a rational woman should want. Safety from scandal, intellectual companionship, freedom to pursue your studies, respect foryour mind. Yet you'd throw it all away for what? For someone who's already failed you? Who left you to face this alone?"
The accusation stung because it held enough truth to hurt. But it also clarified something that had been murky in her mind.
"Yes," she said simply. "I would rather be ruined honestly than saved falsely. I would rather face society's censure with my whole heart intact than enter a marriage with only half of it to give."
"That's foolish romanticism."
"Perhaps. But it's for me to choose."
They stood facing each other, the air between them charged with his frustration and her regret. Around them, the ballroom continued its glittering dance, but Eveline was aware of the growing attention their confrontation was attracting. Fans had stopped fluttering, conversations had paused, and the atmosphere had taken on the electric quality that preceded social catastrophe.
"You're making a mistake," Theodore said, his voice carrying now with either intention or carelessness. "When you're alone, when doors close in your face and employment disappears like morning mist, remember that I offered you an alternative. Remember that you chose ruin over reason."
"I'll remember," Eveline replied steadily, though his words cut deep. "I'll remember that you offered me everything except the freedom to refuse gracefully."
His face flushed at the gentle rebuke. "I apologise. That was..."
"Mr. Browne."
The voice cut through their confrontation like a blade through silk. Cold, controlled, and carrying enough aristocratic authority to make strong men reconsider their life choices.
Eveline's heart stopped, then resumed at double pace.
Adrian stood behind Theodore, immaculate in black evening clothes that made him look like a figure from a Gothic novel—all sharp angles and dangerous elegance. His grey eyes were fixed on Theodore with an expression that could have frozen the Thames in summer.
"Your Grace." Theodore's voice held a note of bitter satisfaction. "What an unexpected pleasure."
"Is it?" Adrian's gaze flicked to Eveline for the briefest moment, and what she saw there made her breath catch. Fury, yes, but underneath it something raw and desperate that he couldn't quite hide. "Miss Whitcombe has already declined your offer. I suggest you respect her decision."
The ballroom around them had gone absolutely still. Even the orchestra seemed to play more quietly, as if the musicians sensed the drama unfolding and didn't want to miss a word. Eveline could practically feel the collective held breath of a hundred gossips witnessing what would undoubtedly be the scandal of the Season.
Theodore drew himself up, his mild manner vanishing entirely. "And who are you to speak for her, Your Grace? The man who has already ruined her? At leastI offer her a future, not merely the ashes of scandal you've left in your wake."
"You offer her safety," Adrian said, his voice dropping to a register that would have sent wiser men running. "I offer her freedom to be herself. Which do you think she values more?"
"Freedom?" Theodore laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Freedom to be ostracized? Freedom to be whispered about in every drawing room in London? What freedom is there in social exile?"
"The freedom to choose her own path rather than be saved by someone who sees her as a problem to be solved."
"Better a problem with a solution than a scandal without redemption."
"Gentlemen." Eveline's voice cut through their escalating tension with the precision of a surgeon's blade. Both men turned to her, seeming suddenly to remember that she was more than just a prize to be debated. "I believe you're both labouring under a misapprehension."
"Eveline..." Adrian began.
