Alex took a deep breath and stepped out of the carriage, then offered his mother his arm.
This was his fifth ball of the season. Each one he had awaited with more anticipation than the last, but tonight was different.
Wherever he went, everyone spoke only of the Duke of Blackthorn and the "incredible" stories about his past, present, and future. Alex knew there was no truth to be found in gossip and rumors. It seemed the pace of the season had settled into a familiar rhythm, so even the smallest "false note" sounded like a sensation.
Suddenly, his old irritation dissolved into the darkness of the summer evening. The stone-paved path to the Cunningham estate was decorated with candles, casting a magical glow as the flickering lights danced in the breeze.
— "Very beautiful," his mother's thought echoed his own.
As he stepped inside, Alex felt an unexpected sense of calm. Vague memories stirred, which Lady Carlston gladly helped him piece together.
— "I can't believe everything is still in the same place as many years ago! Remember that little horse? You wouldn't take your eyes off it, Charlotte noticed and offered to give it to you, and you got so embarrassed you ran away."
— "Yes, Mother, I remember it faintly," Alex replied with a smile.
The Young Lord and his mother entered the ballroom and slowly began to descend the staircase.
— "It's strange the Duke doesn't greet his guests at the door. Isn't that part of hospitality?" Alex remarked.
— "I'm pleased to welcome and see in person all who gathered here tonight! Thank you for accepting my invitation on such short notice."
Alex startled and turned around. The Duke had appeared out of nowhere, addressing the guests with a welcoming speech before urging everyone to enjoy the evening and dance.
"I hope he didn't hear me, that's so embarrassing". Alex thought to himself as he poured a glass of water. "I won't let him get under my skin. Pull yourself together!"
The Young Lord glanced toward the host. If not for the Duke's height, he might not have noticed him at all. The Duke of Blackthorn gathered a crowd of admirers around him, eager to get to know the "new" nobleman better.
"One look is enough to understand why he threw this ball," Alex thought. He finished his drink and returned to the dance floor.
At some point, the crowd around Alex mingled with the Duke's. Now the Young Lord could clearly see and hear how the Duke managed to flirt and answer questions about his travels all at once, skillfully winning people over.
Soon, Alex told his mother he had a headache and left the ball early for the first time that season.
The next week flew by unnoticed. Alex couldn't afford to "lose," so he was ready to attend balls again and again. After all, he had a goal. More precisely, it wasn't really his, but his parents. They could not afford to be embarrassed too.
The Young Lord spent much time pondering why the Duke stirred such dislike in him, even though they had exchanged only a few words or even bows. The new feeling was unfamiliar.
"Am I really this jealous?" Alex thought, ashamed.
To help himself get through the knot of emotions, he tried to downplay anything related to the Duke of Blackthorn.
"Someone talks about him? So what. Just more rumors, none of my concern. Is that the Duke? I don't know him, I don't care who he is."
Did it help? Not at all. But at least it was something.
***
At the next ball, Alex sought to free his mind and let the dance carry him. What he cherished most was the stillness it brought to his mind, a chance to disappear into the music, into the steps, into something beyond himself and simply enjoy the moment.
After another quadrille, Alex wanted to check on his mother. Spotting her among the guests, he also noticed the Duke nearby. This took all desire to approach away, but the Young Lord forced himself.
"I won't let him control me."
Seeing Alex, Lady Carlston called him over.
— "Young Lord Carlston, I'm very pleased to meet you! I must say, you have no equal in the art of dancing. I have traveled widely and can say such talent and grace are rare indeed!"
Alex was taken aback, then, unexpectedly, he blushed and could find no better response than a dry thank you.
Lady Carlston spoke for him: "You're making us blush, Nathaniel."
Suddenly, old friends of Lady Carlston joined the circle. They asked the Duke again about his travels, and he was forced once more to answer a few factual questions and political remarks. By then, Alex's mother had drawn Lady Willow aside to speak privately.
At one point, someone in the group said: "Young Lord, don't be shy to join our conversation! The Duke may be your new rival, but with your talents, there's a piece of the pie for you too."
They all laughed. Alex felt a wave of irritation again. He hadn't expected such an open jab.
— "Please, excuse me. I must withdraw for a while."
He no longer cared what the others thought of him. He just needed a break. Bowing politely, he quickly left the ballroom.
He walked into a dimly lit corridor and went toward a window to get some air. Suddenly, he felt the ribbon holding his hair loosen. When Alex lightly touched it, the ribbon slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor.
The Young Lord turned and froze in surprise. The Duke leaned forward at once to pick up the ribbon, then straightened before him with what seemed a mischievous smile.
Alex looked at the Duke with a hint of annoyance: "What are you doing here? Give me back my ribbon!" He held out his hand, expecting the Duke to place it there.
The Duke smiled and said: "I regret you were spoken to like that. Some people don't know where wit ends and rudeness begins. You're planning to return to the ballroom shortly, Young Lord? Allow me to help you with your hair — it will be difficult to do by yourself without a mirror."
Alex kept his brows furrowed as he looked at the Duke. Something deep inside rebelled, refusing to be "defeated".
— "All right, but please be quick," Young Lord said, then quickly turned his back to the Duke.
Nathaniel smiled and stepped closer, deliberately running his hands slowly through the Young Lord's golden hair. He traced his fingers along the temples, then carefully gathered the hair in his left hand, while his right hand helped tie the ribbon into a neat tail.
Alex felt very strange. His shoulders rose stiffly, as if bracing for a blow to the back. The whole situation clearly made him uncomfortable. But there was something more. He felt his cheeks flush, and a shiver ran down his spine. He flinched slightly.
— "Th-thank you," the Young Lord muttered as the Duke lowered his hands, then abruptly turned, gave a small bow of thanks, and swiftly returned to the ballroom.
The candelabra lights blinded him as if an eternity had passed. Alex headed for the table to pour himself a glass of cold water. After draining it, he realized he wasn't quenched.
It's too stuffy here.
The Young Lord decided he'd had enough for the night. He stepped outside for fresh air, then headed home.
Memories of the ribbon returned to Alex every time he tied his hair back. He regretted his decision to trust the Duke that evening a hundred times over.