"Miss Harcourt? Are you sure you are well? You look… pale."
"I am all right, my dear," her governess said, her voice tight, too practised. She forced herself to breathe, to stand taller, to seem unshaken. Even though on the inside, she felt a storm was brewing.
Miss Harcourt's eyes, however, did not leave the ballroom floor. She had seen that man before, Edmund Whitcombe, the father Candice had never known, was not entirely a respectable gentleman.
Candice, oblivious to the history that crackled like lightning between her governess and the man she had just danced with, leaned back slightly on her heels, frowning. "I must admit," she said slowly, "there is something familiar about him… though I cannot place it. And yet," she added with a laugh, "I find myself strangely at ease."
Miss Harcourt swallowed hard. "Well there is a reason for that my dear. You just met your father."
Candice tilted her head, the colour draining from her face. "I didn't know....."
"And now you do." Miss Harcourt said firmly before she excused herself and went in search of the man. She found Edmund near the sideboard, a glass of wine held lightly in one hand, his expression carefully neutral.
"Edmund," she said softly, keeping her voice low. "Do you intend to frighten her? Or simply confuse her?"
He looked at her, calm, composed, yet his eyes betrayed a flicker of hesitation. "Neither," he said. "I only wished to see her, to know her before others did."
"You mean to reclaim what you abandoned?" Miss Harcourt asked, her voice sharper than she had intended. The words startled even her.
Edmund flinched, just slightly. "I… wish to protect her now," he said carefully. "I have returned to make amends, to ensure she is properly guided, shielded from misfortune."
Miss Harcourt studied him. His smile was easy, practiced, but she had seen it crumble before, the same charm that had seduced society decades ago could never erase the past. "Protection, perhaps. But a daughter's trust is earned. And you have squandered every chance already."
Edmund's jaw tightened. "I know. But tonight… I hoped to begin again. Slowly. Discreetly. With no announcements, no obligations, no public expectations."
Miss Harcourt shook her head, pale and conflicted. "Candice must never know the full measure of your history yet. She is too young, too innocent… and you?" Her voice dropped. "You are not the man you once were. I do not know if she will recognize the kindness in your face, or only the father who left her."
Edmund's eyes darkened with the memory of regret. "I only hope she will forgive me… if the opportunity ever comes."
Meanwhile, Candice had returned to the floor, trying to shake the lingering tension of the earlier dance. Her heart still fluttered, inexplicable and slightly unsteady. Something about the way the masked man had watched her earlier was so different, so intense and then there was her own father who had danced with her. The same man that had abandoned so long ago. What did he expect of her now she wondered.
Her eyes found him, briefly, before he moved toward her. Candice froze as the distance closed between them.
"Candice," he said, voice low but steady, "may we speak?"
"Yes," she replied, instinctively firm. "We must."
He led her aside, away from the music, the dancers, the murmuring guests. The room suddenly felt enormous and hollow. Candice drew herself up, chest tight with questions, with years of absence.
"Why did you leave me?" she demanded, voice trembling but sharp. "Why abandon me, my mother, and everything you promised?"
Edmund's face softened, shadows and candlelight painting him with remorse. "I… I was a fool. Young, proud, incapable of the responsibility. I thought I could provide from afar and spare you hardship. I failed."
"Failed?" Candice's voice rose. "You left me! You left her! And now, after twenty years, you appear at a ball and expect what? My forgiveness?"
He flinched at the force of her words. "Not forgiveness, not yet. Only… the chance to explain. Only the chance to be present now."
Candice's eyes brimmed with tears. "You had a chance every day and every year since! And yet you never came! You never even tried to see if I was safe. If I remembered you. If I needed you!"
Edmund's jaw tightened. "I know, and I will bear that regret forever. But tonight, I am here. And I will stay, if you allow me. Not to command, not to reclaim, but to protect, to guide, if you permit it."
Candice took a deep breath, trembling, anger and longing warring in her chest. "And what of my mother? What of her memory? You cannot step in and pretend this erases everything."
He bowed his head. "No. It cannot. I can only promise you, Candice… I will try, however imperfectly, to honour her memory. To protect you."
Candice stepped back, shaking. The ballroom seemed impossibly distant, the music a distant echo. "You have much to prove, Father," she said, voice barely a whisper. "Much… and little time to earn it."
Edmund nodded solemnly, watching her carefully. "I understand. And I will do my best. That is all I can promise."
Candice had barely taken a breath after her confrontation with her father when the air in the ballroom seemed to tighten around her. The masked figure she had glimpsed earlier—a tall man in silver, Cassius Deveraux, moved with deliberate calm through the throng of dancers, his presence undeniable.
He stopped a few feet from her father, Edmund Whitcombe, and bowed lightly, though the gesture carried no respect, only warning.
"Baron Whitcombe," Cassius said, his voice smooth, low, and dangerous beneath the polite cadence. "I had hoped our meeting might be delayed."
Edmund straightened, eyes narrowing, the cordial mask of the gentleman slipping for the briefest of moments. "Cassius. I had not expected to see you here."
"I am hardly here for a social visit," Cassius replied, tilting his head slightly. His silver mask caught the candlelight, reflecting it in shards of cold brilliance. "I am here for her."
Candice stiffened, her hand going to her chest. "For me?"
"Yes," Cassius said simply, stepping closer. "For you, Lady Candice. The bargain made long before you arrived still stands."
Edmund's jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. "This—this is madness. You cannot claim her now, Cassius."
"She is mine by agreement," Cassius said, voice sharp enough to cut through the murmurs of the ballroom. "Your debt cannot be undone, Baron. You wagered more than you understood at that table. I have waited. I have been patient. And now…" His gaze flicked to Candice, unyielding, magnetic, impossibly heavy. "…now it is time to collect."
Candice's eyes widened, a chill crawling down her spine. "A bargain? What… are you talking about?"
"To take what was promised," Cassius interrupted, calm, precise. "You, Candice. As my wife. Not a request. Not a suggestion. A debt to be repaid."
Edmund stepped forward, his composure faltering as his voice rose. "This is absurd! I will not allow my daughter, my only child, to be threatened in such a manner! You have no right!"
Cassius's hand brushed the edge of his mask, tilting his head. "I have every right, Baron. And you," he said, eyes flicking to Edmund with a dangerous gleam, "will ensure she honors it or suffer consequences you are not prepared to face."
Candice's stomach knotted, fear and outrage warring with the strange, magnetic pull she had felt the moment she had danced with him. "Why was I bargained to be your wife?"
"Ahhh...my lady that is a question best directed at your beloved father."
"Care to explain Edmund or would you rather I did it for you?"
Cassius's voice softened slightly, though it retained its edge. "My curse does not forgive hesitation. It does not allow for mistakes."
Her father's face went pale. "Cassius, you must...."
"Stay silent," Cassius said, cutting him off with a single word that carried more power than any argument. "This is between her and me."
Candice's heart pounded. She looked at her father, seeing helpless frustration and fear mirrored there, and then back at the masked man who had haunted her vision all evening.
Cassius stepped closer, and his presence seemed to fill the room. "You may think this is cruel," he said quietly, "but it is necessary. You are to be mine. And soon, you will understand why resistance is… dangerous."
Candice swallowed, trying to steady herself. Her mind raced: her father, who had abandoned her; Miss Harcourt, who had raised her with love and vigilance; and now this stranger, claiming her by a bargain forged long before she had arrived at London.
She took a deep, shivering breath. "And if I refuse?"
Cassius's eyes, the only part of him not hidden, met hers with a cold, unrelenting intensity. "Refusal is… not an option you will survive to consider."
Candice's hands clenched into fists. Her mind was spinning, heart hammering, and yet, beneath the fear, a stubborn, unyielding thought flickered: she would not....could not be claimed without understanding the cost.
And somewhere in the shadows, Miss Harcourt's fingers tightened around her reticule, her face pale but resolute.
Candice lifted her chin, voice trembling but firm. "If this is to be explained," she said, "then I demand to know everything. Now."
Cassius inclined his head slightly, almost admiringly. "Very well, Lady Candice," he said. "Then let us speak… privately, of course."