“Well, this is novel.” Her heart hammered against her corset as the hand guided her smoothly onto the ballroom floor. away from Vikcount Merik’s advancing form. She’d perfected the art of polite evasion over three seasons as Lady Cordelia’s companion. But tonight Merrick had cornered her near the refreshment table with an intensity that made her skin crawl.

His breath had smelled of brandy and entitlement when he’d leaned close, suggesting a private conversation in the garden. I take it, her unexpected partner continued, his tone conversational as he positioned them for a waltz. that you are running from someone particularly objectionable. Juliet finally looked up and her stomach dropped.

She’d grabbed the hand of possibly the most conspicuous man in the ballroom, tall, dark-haired, with hazel eyes that seemed to catalog everything about her in a single sweep. He wore his evening clothes with the careless perfection of someone who’d never questioned his right to be anywhere. But it was the subtle shift in the crowd around them, the way conversations paused and eyes turned that confirmed her catastrophic error.

“Oh no,” she breathed. “Oh yes,” his mouth quirked, though I’m not sure whether you’re horrified by me specifically, or the situation generally. The orchestra swelled into the opening bars, and he began to lead. He was an excellent dancer, fluid, confident, making her feel weightless despite the lead weight of mortification in her chest.

I I apologize, sir, she managed. I didn’t mean to impose. I was simply running from the Viccount Merrick, he said it loud enough that an older woman nearby turned sharply. Understandable. The man has the charm of a wet dog and twice the persistence. You can’t, Juliet hissed, feeling heat flood her cheeks.

That’s hardly proper. Proper? He repeated as if tasting the word. No, I suppose comparing a Vic count to a wet dog isn’t in Mrs. Palmer’s etiquette guide. Should I have said he has the appeal of moldy bread instead? A laugh tried to escape her throat. She swallowed it, horrified. You’re making this worse.

Am I? They turned, and he somehow managed to place himself between her and Merrick’s view entirely. Strange. I thought I was making it better. You’re not being accosted, and I’m having the first interesting conversation of the evening, though I suppose we haven’t been properly introduced. He paused for effect. I’m Dominic Ashworth.

The name hit her like cold water. Ashworth. Not just any Ashworth, the Ashworth, heir to the Duke of Thornwick, one of the wealthiest and most powerful families in England. She’d heard Lady Cordelia mention him exactly once in the tone reserved for young men too clever for their own good. “And you are,” he prompted. “Leaving,” Juliet said flatly.

“As soon as this dance ends, pity.” I was hoping to learn the name of the woman who grabbed me like a life raft in a storm. “Miss Juliet Thorne,” the words came out more curtly than intended. “Lady Cordelia Hartwick’s companion.” Something shifted in his expression, not pity exactly, but recognition, understanding perhaps of what the word companion meant in a ballroom full of diamonds and silk.

She was invisible until she wasn’t useful until she became inconvenient, respectable only in so far as she remained utterly unremarkable. “Well, Miss Thorne,” Dominic said, his voice dropping lower, “Since we’re already scandalously acquainted, perhaps you’d like to know what I’m doing tonight.

I imagine the same as everyone else. Dancing, drinking, pretending to enjoy yourself. Wrong on all counts. He spun her with unnecessary flourish, drawing more eyes. I’m conducting a social experiment. I’m trying to determine how many times I can violate protocol before my mother has an apoplelexi. Juliet nearly stumbled. You can’t be serious. Entirely serious.

So far tonight, I’ve told Lady Bellingham her hat looks like a deceased pheasant. She agreed, by the way, and I’ve convinced Lord Ashford that the Prince Regent is secretly funding a turtle racing league. That’s She didn’t know whether to be appalled or impressed. That’s absurd. That’s the point. His eyes held hers suddenly intense beneath the playfulness.

Everyone here is so busy being proper that they’ve forgotten how to be honest. Present company excluded, apparently. Tell me, Miss Thorne was grabbing a stranger’s hand proper. It was desperate. Honest, he corrected. Refreshing hand far more interesting than the five young ladies who’ve simped at me this evening, hoping to become the future Duchess of Thornwick.

The music was ending. Juliet prepared to extract herself with whatever dignity remained, but Dominic’s hand tightened slightly on her waist. “One more dance,” he said. It wasn’t quite a question. “Absolutely not. I’ve already imposed. You’ve already scandalized yourself by grabbing my hand uninvited,” he interrupted pleasantly.

“You might as well be thoroughly scandalous and enjoy it. Besides, Merrick is still watching. One more dance puts you beyond his reach for at least another 20 minutes.” Juliet hesitated. “The logical thing, the proper thing, was to refuse to curtsy, thank him politely, and disappear back into the protective anonymity of Lady Cordelia’s shadow.

” But Merrick was watching, his expression dark, and Dominic was already guiding her into position for the next dance, as if her agreement was assumed. “You’re impossible,” she muttered. “I prefer determined,” he grinned unrepentant. “Now stop frowning, Miss Thorne. You’ll give people the impression I’m a terrible dancer, which would wound my pride terribly.

Your pride seems remarkably resilient. Years of practice.” The music began again, a slower waltz this time. Tell me something true. What does Lady Cordelia’s companion do when she’s not being accosted by wet dogs or rescued by Duke’s heirs? I’m not being rescued. Evidence suggests otherwise. She wanted to argue, but couldn’t quite manage it.

He had rescued her in the most inconvenient, public, impossible to ignore way imaginable. Tomorrow people would be talking about how the heir to Thornwick had danced twice with a nobody, and Lady Cordelia would want to know why, and Juliet would have no good answer except the truth. She’d been foolish and desperate, and he’d been there.

“I read to Lady Cordelia,” she said finally, answering his actual question. “Manage her correspondence, organize her household, accompany her to tedious events where I’m expected to be invisible.” “Except you’re not invisible.” His gaze traveled over her face with unnerving focus. You’re extraordinarily visible to anyone actually looking. Heat climbed her neck.

You shouldn’t say things like that. Why not? Because, she struggled for words that wouldn’t sound priish. Because it’s inappropriate. Because I’m a companion and you’re human, he supplied. Capable of observation in possession of working eyes. Stop being difficult. Stop being interesting. and I might consider it.

The walts spun them past Lady Cordelia, who was watching from her chair near the wall with an expression Juliet couldn’t quite read. Concern perhaps, or curiosity. Lady Cordelia had been kind to Juliet in the two years since she’d come to her household, kinder than she had any obligation to be, but kindness had limits.

If Juliet became a source of gossip or embarrassment, that kindness would evaporate. “This was a mistake,” Juliet said quietly. Dominic’s expression shifted, the playfulness dimming into something more genuine. The dance or the conversation? Both. All of it. I should never have. She stopped, aware of how close they were, how his hand rested against the small of her back, how easy it would be to lean into his warmth and pretend for just a moment that she belonged in this world.

When the music stops, I need you to forget this happened. Not possible, I’m afraid, Mr. Ashworth. Dominic. Mr. Ashworth, she repeated firmly. You don’t understand what you’re risking by by dancing with you. His eyebrows rose. Miss Thorne, I hate to shatter your illusions, but I’m not risking anything. My reputation can survive a few waltses.

Yours, on the other hand, he paused, and something complicated crossed his face. That’s what you’re worried about. Yes. Then we’ll be discreet. You’ve been the opposite of discreet. I’ve been deliberately conspicuous about dancing with you, which means no one will suspect anything clandestine. If I’d snuck you into a garden or arranged a secret meeting, that would be scandalous.

Public dancing is merely eccentric. His logic was infuriating because it was almost sound. Besides, eccentricity is expected from me. I once brought a parrot to a garden party. Why would you? Juliet caught herself. Never mind. I don’t want to know. The parrot’s name was Desdona, and she knew 12 curse words.

A laugh burst out before Juliet could stop it. Genuine, undignified, the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who didn’t spend every day calculating angles of propriety. Dominic’s expression transformed, something almost triumphant flickering across his face. “There,” he said softly. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” The music ended.

Juliet stepped back quickly, putting proper distance between them. Around them, couples were dispersing, conversations resuming, the ballroom’s rhythm reasserting itself. Dominic made no move to follow her as she curtsied correctly, perfectly with all the invisible armor of propriety back in place. “Thank you for the dances, Mr. Ashworth.

The pleasure, he said, voice carrying just enough to be overheard by nearby matrons, was entirely mine, Miss Thorne. She turned and walked back to Lady Cordelia’s side with measured steps, feeling his gaze follow her across the ballroom. When she finally risked a glance back, he was already surrounded by other guests, laughing at something Lord Bellingham said, utterly at ease in his natural environment.

“It meant nothing,” she told herself. An amusing diversion for a bored aristocrat. By tomorrow he’d have forgotten her entirely. Juliet, Lady Cordelia said as she approached, her elderly face thoughtful. That was unexpected. I apologize, my lady. Vicounter was being persistent, and I acted without thinking. I’m not scolding you, child.

Cordelia’s papery hand patted her arm. Ashworth’s a good boy underneath all that cleverness. Too clever by half, his mother says, but good-hearted. Still, you should be careful. The world sees what it wants to see, and what it wants to see is rarely kind to young women in your position. I know.

Juliet’s throat felt tight. It won’t happen again. See that it doesn’t. But Cordelia’s tone was gentle, almost regretful, as if she wished the world worked differently. Come now, it’s late and my bones are tired. Let’s go home. They left the ballroom without ceremony. Two unremarkable women in a sea of glittering importance.

Juliet didn’t look back again, didn’t let herself wonder if Dominic Ashworth was watching. She told herself she was relieved when he wasn’t. 3 days passed before Juliet saw him again. Lady Cordelia had taken a chill, nothing serious, but enough to confine her to bed, leaving Juliet to manage the household’s daily correspondence and receive visitors in herstead.

Most were elderly friends bearing gossip and oranges. But when Morrison announced Mr. Ashworth to see Lady Cordelia, Juliet’s composure cracked. “Mr. Ashworth is here,” she repeated stupidly. “Morrison, who had served Lady Cordelia for 30 years, and knew everything worth knowing, allowed himself the slightest elevation of one eyebrow.” “Indeed, Miss Thorne.

Shall I show him to the drawing room?” I Yes, yes, of course. Juliet stood, smoothing her dove gray dress, painfully aware that she looked nothing like the woman who’d walted in silk and desperation. I’ll receive him. Dominic Ashworth, she discovered as Morrison showed him in, looked unfairly put together for someone who’d simply dropped by.

His coat fit perfectly. His crevat was expertly tied, and he carried a small basket covered with cloth, as if showing up unannounced at elderly ladies homes was his usual pastime. “Miss Thorne,” he bowed perfectly proper. “I hope I’m not intruding.” “Lady Cordelia is indisposed,” Juliet said carefully. “Perhaps you could call another time.

” “Actually, I came to see Lady Cordelia specifically because she’s indisposed,” he lifted the basket. My aunt Philipper, Lady Thornwick, heard she was unwell and sent remedies. Apparently, they were companions at school together approximately 100 years ago. Despite herself, Juliet’s mouth twitched. Lady Cordelia would say it was only 90 years.

I stand corrected. He handed her the basket, his fingers brushing hers briefly in the transfer. The housekeeper swears by the honey and lemon mixture. The biscuits are simply because Aunt Philipper believes all crises are improved by food. Juliet peaked under the cloth. The basket contained not just honey and biscuits, but also a small jar of what looked like expensive tea, some hot house flowers, and a note in elegant handwriting.

This is very kind of your aunt, she said, meaning it. She’s a medalsome old dragon, but I’m fond of her. Dominic glanced around the drawing room with open curiosity. May I sit? I promise I’m not here to cause scandal, merely deliver baskets, and perhaps escape my own household for 20 minutes. Every instinct screamed that she should refuse, make polite excuses, send him away.

Instead, Juliet heard herself say, “20 minutes. But if Lady Cordelia wakes and needs me, I’ll vanish like a well-mannered ghost.” She gestured to a chair. He sat looking entirely too comfortable in the modest drawing room with its worn furniture and faded carpet. Lady Cordelia lived well enough, but her home bore no resemblance to the gilded world Dominic inhabited.

“Ta,” Juliet offered automatically. “Only if you’re having some.” When she hesitated, he added, “Miss Thorne, I’m trying very hard to be respectable. The least you can do is not make me drink alone.” She rang for tea, then sat across from him, arranging her skirts with precise care. The silence stretched uncomfortably until Dominic broke it.

I’ve been thinking about our dance, Mr. Ashworth. Dominic, I think it’s best if we both forget. I told you that’s not possible. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, expression earnest. Miss Thorne, Juliet, if I may, you may not. You grabbed my hand because you were desperate, and instead of helping discreetly, I turned it into a spectacle.

That was thoughtless of me. I’m apologizing. Juliet stared at him. Of all the things she’d expected, genuine contrition wasn’t among them. I That’s not necessary. It is rather. My mother gave me quite the lecture about using people for my own amusement. He grimaced. In my defense, I wasn’t trying to amuse myself at your expense.

I was trying to irritate Viccount Merrick, who is genuinely dreadful and deserves irritation. That doesn’t make it better. No, he agreed. It doesn’t. So, I’m apologizing and I’m delivering baskets from medalsome ants and I’m promising that I won’t do anything to make your life more difficult than it already is.” The tea arrived.

Juliet poured, grateful for something to do with her hands. When she handed him a cup, their fingers didn’t touch this time. She made certain of it. “Your life can’t possibly be difficult,” she said, not quite accusingly. “Can’t it?” He sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I suppose compared to yours, it isn’t. I have money, freedom, a future handed to me on a gilded platter.

But difficulty is relative, Miss Thorne. My life is difficult in the way that being perpetually observed by people who want things from you is difficult. In the way that knowing you’ll never be quite certain whether people like you or your title is difficult. At least you have a title to wonder about. True. He didn’t look offended by her sharpness, though I’d argue you have something more valuable.

You know exactly where you stand. There’s a strange kind of freedom in that. Juliet laughed, sharp, bitter. Is that what you think? That I’m free, more free than I am to choose, perhaps? I choose nothing. My choices are which household to serve, which elderly lady will tolerate me, how many hours I can stretch the same three dresses before they become embarrassing.

If I’m very lucky, I might have enough saved by the time Lady Cordelia passes to avoid becoming a governness in some remote estate where the children hate me. She stopped, horrified by her own honesty. I apologize. That was inappropriate. It was honest, Dominic said quietly. I asked for truth at the ball, remember? I can hardly complain when you give it to me. They sat in silence for a moment.

The only sound the ticking of the mantle clock. Juliet felt exposed, as if she’d shed some necessary layer of protection. This was why conversations with Dominic Ashworth were dangerous. He made her forget the rules. Forget that honesty was a luxury she couldn’t afford. I should check on Lady Cordelia, she said, starting to rise.

Don’t, he held up a hand. I mean, I’m sorry I keep making you uncomfortable. It’s becoming a pattern. You can’t help it, Juliet said before she could think better of it. You’re too used to being interesting to worry about whether other people can afford to find you interesting. His eyebrows rose. That might be the most cutting thing anyone said to me in years. I didn’t mean no. It’s brilliant.

He looked genuinely delighted. See, this is exactly why I wanted to apologize in person. You’re the first person in months who’s been honest with me about anything that matters. Even when you’re trying to be polite, you can’t quite manage it. I’m perfectly capable of politeness. You’re capable of mimicking it. There’s a difference.

He stood, apparently, recognizing that he’d overstayed his welcome. I should go. Thank you for the tea and the brutal honesty. Both were refreshing. Juliet walked him to the door, hyper aware of Morrison, probably listening from somewhere nearby. In the entrance hall, Dominic paused, looking down at her with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I meant what I said,” he told her. about not making your life difficult, but I also He stopped, seeming to choose his words carefully. I’d like to see you again. Not at a ball where we both have to perform somewhere real. That’s impossible. Is it? What if Lady Cordelia needed something from the lending library or wanted someone to walk in the park? Mr.

Ashworth, think about it, he said, not quite pleading, but close. I’m not asking for anything improper, just conversation. with someone who isn’t trying to marry me or use me or bore me to death with pleasantries. I will make your life difficult,” Juliet said quietly. “Just by being seen with you, people will talk.” “People always talk.

At least give them something worth talking about.” He left before she could formulate a response, striding down the steps to where his horse waited. Juliet stood in the doorway, watching him go, the basket from his aunt still in her arms, feeling as if she’d just survived a small catastrophe. Well, Morrison said from behind her, making her jump. That was interesting.

It was nothing. Of course, miss, but his tone suggested he didn’t believe her for a moment. Neither did Juliet. Dominic returned the next day. And the day after that, the first time he brought books. Lady Cordelia mentioned she enjoys poetry, and I found these gathering dust in our library.

The second time he arrived with his aunt, Lady Philipper Thornwick herself, who swept into Lady Cordelia’s sick room with imperious warmth and ordered everyone about until Cordelia was laughing despite her chill. “Dominic,” Lady Philipper announced after an hour of visiting, “ney needs to be kept occupied.

He’s become unbearably restless.” “Miss Thorne, would you mind terribly showing him Cordelia’s gardens? The roses should still be acceptable this time of year.” It was an order disguised as a request. Juliet couldn’t refuse without being rude to both elderly ladies who watched her with expressions of feigned innocence. “Of course, Lady Thornwick.

” Dominic followed her outside with suspicious meekness. The moment they were out of earshot, he grinned. “My aunt is completely shameless. She’s matchmaking, undoubtedly. Is it working?” Juliet shot him a look. You’re encouraable. I prefer persistent. They walked along the gravel path between rose bushes that had indeed seen better days.

Dominic bent to examine one, completely ignoring the fact that gentlemen of his status typically didn’t care about horiculture. These need pruning. Lady Cordelia’s gardener left 3 months ago. We haven’t found a replacement. I could send someone. We can’t afford. Juliet stopped herself, but too late. Dominic straightened his expression careful.

I wasn’t offering to make you pay for it. Thornwick House has more gardeners than we know what to do with. One could easily No. The word came out harder than intended. Thank you. But no. Why not? Because accepting favors from you is dangerous. Dangerous? He repeated slowly. Miss Thorne, are you afraid of me? I’m afraid of what you represent.

Juliet forced herself to meet his eyes. You’re bored and I’m novel. That’s all this is. In a few weeks, you’ll move on to your next curiosity, and I’ll be left dealing with the consequences of letting you into my life. Something flickered across his face. Hurt, perhaps, though it vanished quickly. You think I’m that shallow? I think you’re human, and humans with power rarely consider what their actions cost people without it.

They stood in silence for a moment, the autumn breeze carrying the scent of dying roses. Dominic shoved his hands into his pockets, looking younger, suddenly less assured. You’re probably right, he admitted, about me being thoughtless at least. But you’re wrong about one thing. What’s that? You’re not novel to me. Novel suggests temporary interest, something exotic, I’ll tire of.

He turned to face her fully. You irritate me, Miss Thorne. You challenge every assumption I make. You refuse to be impressed by anything I say or do. You make me work for every smile, every laugh, every moment of genuine conversation. Do you know how rare that is? So, I’m a challenge. No, you’re the first person in years who’s treated me like I’m more than just a future title.

His voice dropped. That’s not something I’ll grow bored with. Juliet’s breath caught. The intensity in his gaze pinned her in place, made her aware of how alone they were in this garden, how easy it would be to close the distance between them. Mister Ashworth, she said carefully, I think you should leave because you’re afraid I’ll compromise you or because you’re afraid you might want me to. Heat flooded her face.

That’s You can’t just I can’t just be honest. He stepped closer, not touching, but near enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. You’ve been demanding honesty from me since we met. The least you can do is accept it when I offer it. This isn’t honest. This is manipulation, is it? Then tell me you don’t feel it, too.

Tell me you don’t think about our dance. Tell me you didn’t wait by the window yesterday hoping I’d return. He paused. Tell me I’m imagining the way you look at me when you think I won’t notice. Juliet’s hands clenched in her skirts. You’re impossible. You keep saying that. His mouth quirked.

I’m starting to think it’s a compliment. It’s not. Pity. He stepped back, giving her space to breathe again. But I’ll take it anyway, along with the fact that you didn’t answer my question. I don’t owe you answers. No, he agreed. You don’t owe me anything, which is precisely why, when you eventually decide to give me something, even if it’s just another cutting remark.

I’ll value it appropriately. Lady Philipper’s voice called from the house. Dominic, stop bothering Miss Thorne and come help me with these books. Duty calls, he bowed, perfectly proper, except for the glint of mischief in his eyes. Until tomorrow, Miss Thorne, you’re not coming tomorrow, aren’t I? He was already walking away, calling over his shoulder.

Lady Cordelia mentioned she needed help organizing her correspondence for the Thornwick charity event. I’m nothing if not helpful. Juliet stood alone in the garden long after he’d gone, her heart beating too fast, her thoughts scattered like fallen rose petals. She knew she should tell Lady Cordelia to refuse further visits, should establish boundaries before this went somewhere irreversible.

But when she finally went inside, she said nothing, and when Dominic arrived the next day, she let Morrison show him to the drawing room without protest. The charity event for Thornwick House became Juliet’s nominal reason for seeing Dominic daily. Lady Cordelia, recovering but still weak, had agreed to help organize the annual autumn gala, a massive undertaking involving guest lists, seating arrangements, menu approvals, and enough correspondence to drown a smaller household.

“Miss Thorne has an excellent eye for detail,” Lady Cordelia told Lady Philipper when questioned about the arrangement. And Dominic needs something productive to do before he drives his mother to distraction, which was how Juliet found herself working alongside the heir to a dukedom, arguing about table settings, and whether the orchestra should play Mozart or handle.

Mozart is more lively, Dominic argued, sprawled in what had become his chair in Lady Cordelia’s study. Besides, Handle makes me want to nap. The Duke of Thornwick specifically requested Handle for the opening set. Juliet didn’t look up from her seating chart. Your father’s preferences outweigh yours. My father specifically requested that I make myself useful.

Useful includes keeping guests awake. He leaned forward, peering at her meticulous notes. Why are you seating Lady Bellingham next to Lord Ashford? They hate each other. Exactly. Hatred is more interesting than boredom. She glanced up, caught his grin. What? You’re learning? Learning what? To be strategically improper. I’m so proud.

He pressed a hand to his chest in mock emotion. Next you’ll be telling Vic counts they resemble wet dogs. I would never. But she couldn’t quite suppress her smile. Over 3 weeks of daily meetings, she’d learned that arguing with Dominic was dangerously entertaining. He didn’t defer to her. He pushed back, challenged her assumptions, made her defend positions she’d never questioned.

And somehow in the process, the work actually got done. “What about entertainment?” he asked, returning to their list. “We need something memorable. Last year’s gala was so dull that people still complain about it. Perhaps because your uncle gave a 40-minute speech about crop rotation.” In my uncle’s defense, crop rotation is endlessly fascinating if you’re him.

Dominic stood stretching. We need something unexpected, a performance. Something that makes people pay attention. The budget? Forget the budget. What would you choose if money weren’t an issue? Juliet hesitated. It was a game they played now, these hypotheticals. What would you do? What would you choose? Small windows into each other’s thoughts that felt more intimate than actual touch.

A soprano, she said finally. A real one, not someone’s niece who took lessons. Someone who could make you forget everything else when she sang. Done. Dominic, we can’t watch me. He was already writing a note. I know someone Italian, trained in Milan, currently performing in London. She owes my mother a favor after that business with the ambassador’s wife.

Long story, not important. Point is, she’ll come. You can’t just Juliet stopped recognizing the futility. Dominic had a remarkable talent for making impossible things happen simply by assuming they would. What business with the ambassador’s wife? See, now you’re curious. He sealed the note with unnecessary flourish. I’ll tell you tomorrow.

Maybe if you’re nice to me. I’m never nice to you. Exactly. It’s one of your most attractive qualities. The word hung in the air between them, attractive. Dominic seemed to realize what he’d said a moment too late, his expression shifting from playful to something more guarded. I mean, he started. Juliet focused very hard on her notes.

Just don’t. Right. Sorry, that was inappropriate. I was going to say honest, but inappropriate works, too. He ran a hand through his hair, destroying its careful arrangement. Juliet, I’m not good at this. At what? Pretending I don’t. He stopped, exhaled sharply. Never mind. Where were we seating arrangements? But they’d lost the easy rhythm of their banter.

The rest of the meeting felt strained. Both of them too careful with their words, too aware of the things they weren’t saying. When Dominic finally left earlier than usual, Juliet sat alone in the study, staring at her notes without seeing them. “Lady Cordelia appeared in the doorway, wrapped in shawls despite the warm fire. “That boy is falling in love with you,” she said without preamble.

Juliet’s quill slipped, leaving an ink blot across Lady Bellingham’s name. “That’s absurd.” “Is it?” Cordelia shuffled to her favorite chair, settling with a soft groan. I may be old, Juliet, but I’m not blind. The way he looks at you means nothing. He’s bored, and I’m convenient. You’re many things, child, but convenient isn’t one of them.

Cordelia’s eyes were kind, but sad. You’re also intelligent enough to know this can’t end well. I know. The words felt like glass in her throat. I’ve told him it’s not about telling him, it’s about what you want. Cordelia leaned forward. Do you have feelings for him? Juliet’s silence was answer enough. Oh my dear. Cordelia sighed.

Then you need to end this. Not tomorrow or next week. Now before either of you gets hurt worse than you already will be. The charity event can be managed by someone else. There are a dozen women who’d be thrilled to organize Thornwick’s Gala. Cordelia’s voice gentled. You’re not indispensable to the event, Juliet, but you are indispensable to me.

And I won’t watch you destroy yourself chasing something impossible. I’m not chasing anything, aren’t you? Every time he walks through that door, you light up. Every time he leaves, you look like someone’s died. Cordelia reached out, squeezed her hand. I understand the appeal truly. Dominic is charming and clever and kind beneath all that wit, but he’s also the heir to a dukedom, and you’re my companion.

That’s not snobbery, child. That’s reality. Juliet pulled her hand away, standing abruptly. I should finish these charts. Juliet, you’re right, of course, about everything. She gathered her papers with shaking hands. I’ll tell him tomorrow that we need to maintain proper distance, that someone else should help with the event.

I’m not trying to hurt you. I know. Juliet managed a smile that felt like it might crack her face. You’re trying to protect me. It’s what you’ve always done, and I’m grateful, truly. She left before Cordelia could say anything else, retreating to her small room at the back of the house. It had been home for 2 years, modest, but comfortable, more than she’d had any right to expect.

A narrow bed, a writing desk, a window overlooking the garden, where roses died slowly in the autumn chill. Juliet sat at the desk, staring at nothing, letting herself feel the full weight of what she’d been trying to ignore for weeks. She was falling for Dominic Ashworth, had fallen, perhaps the moment he’d taken her hand at that ball, and refused to let propriety dictate kindness.

And Lady Cordelia was right. There was no future in it. No happy ending where the companion married the heir and lived in a fairy tale. Real life didn’t work that way. Real life was brutal and practical and mercilessly clear about where people like Juliet belonged. Tomorrow she would end it. Tonight she let herself cry.

But Dominic didn’t come the next day or the day after that. A note arrived instead, delivered by a Thornwick footman in full livery. My father requires my presence on estate matters. Will return as soon as possible. Don’t seat Lady Bellingham next to Lord Ashford without supervision. Air Juliet told herself the hollow feeling in her chest was relief.

This made everything easier, a natural break, a chance to establish distance without awkward explanations. She threw herself into finishing the event preparations alone, working late into the evenings until Lady Cordelia insisted she rest. “You’ll make yourself ill,” Cordelia scolded on the fourth day of Dominic’s absence.

“The event isn’t for another week. Whatever you’re doing can wait. I want it to be perfect, Juliet didn’t say for him, but the words hung unspoken. It will be. You’ve always been thorough. Cordelia studied her over her teacup. Have you heard from Dominic? No. Why would I? I thought perhaps. Cordelia stopped. Never mind.

It’s none of my business. But it felt like everyone’s business. Lady Philipper had called twice, making pointed inquiries about the event and casually mentioning that Dominic was dealing with tedious estate nonsense in Yorkshire. The way she said it suggested the situation was more complicated than boredom. But Juliet didn’t press.

She had no right to press, no right to miss him, no right to the way her heart jumped every time Morrison announced a visitor, only to plummet when it wasn’t Dominic. On the fifth day, Viccount Merrick appeared at Lady Cordelia’s door. Juliet nearly refused to see him, but Morrison’s expression suggested that would cause more problems than it solved.

She received Merik in the drawing room with the door conspicuously open and Morrison hovering nearby. Miss Thorne. Merik bowed, his smile oaginous. What a pleasure to see you again, Lord Merik. Juliet remained standing, making it clear this wouldn’t be a long visit. How may I help you? I wanted to apologize for my behavior at the Bellingham Ball.

I’m afraid I was rather forward. His tone suggested he didn’t think he’d been forward at all. I hope I didn’t cause you any distress. I’ve already forgotten about it. Have you? He moved closer. I heard you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Dominic Ashworth, organizing some charity event together. Warning bells rang in Juliet’s mind.

Lady Cordelia has been helping Lady Thornwick with the gala. Yes, it’s perfectly proper. Oh, I’m sure it is. But his expression said otherwise. Still, one must be careful. A young woman in your position can’t afford to have her name linked with someone like Ashworth. People talk, Miss Thorne, and what they’re saying.

I’m not interested in gossip, Lord Merik. Even when it concerns your reputation, he lowered his voice, foe concerned. I’m merely trying to help. Ashworth has a reputation for dallying with women he can never marry. Companions, governnesses, the occasional actress. He tires of them quickly and moves on, leaving them to deal with the consequences.

Ice formed in Juliet’s stomach. That’s a vicious lie. Is it? Ask anyone who knows him. Ask his own family. Merrick’s smile widened. I’m not saying he means harm, but men of his class rarely consider the damage they do to women of yours. I’d hate to see you hurt when he inevitably Get out, Miss Thorne, now before I have Morrison remove you physically.

Merrick’s expression hardened. You’ll regret this. When Ashworth abandons you and your reputation is in tatters, don’t come crying to me. I wouldn’t come to you if you were the last man in England. He left, but his words lingered like poison. Juliet sank into a chair once he was gone, her hands shaking. It was nonsense. It had to be.

Dominic wasn’t like that, was he? But doubt crept in, insidious, and cold. What did she really know about him? That he was charming, clever, bored by his own world, that he made her laugh and challenged her, and looked at her like she mattered. But did he actually care, or was she simply his latest entertainment? Lady Cordelia found her still sitting there an hour later.

Morrison told me about Merik. Cordelia lowered herself into the opposite chair. What did he say? Nothing important. But Juliet’s voice shook. Juliet. He said. She stopped, swallowed. He said, Dominic has a reputation for toying with women he can’t marry. That he’ll tire of me and move on. Merrick is a spiteful man with his own motives.

Cordelia’s tone was sharp. He wanted you. You rejected him. And now he’s trying to poison whatever happiness you might have found elsewhere. But is he wrong? Juliet looked up, eyes burning. Be honest with me, is that who Dominic is? Cordelia was quiet for a long moment. I don’t know Dominic as well as his aunt does. But from what Philipper has told me, he’s not a rake.

He’s had lovers, yes, most men of his age and station have, but he’s not cruel. He doesn’t make promises he doesn’t keep. He hasn’t made me any promises. No, Cordelia agreed softly. He hasn’t, which is its own kind of honesty, I suppose. Juliet’s laugh was bitter. You were right. I should have ended this weeks ago, perhaps. But now, Cordelia hesitated.

Juliet, what do you want? Not what’s proper or safe or practical. What do you actually want? It doesn’t matter what I want. It matters to me. Juliet closed her eyes. I want him to come back. I want to hear him argue about Mozart versus Handel. I want him to make me laugh when I’m trying to be serious. I want her voice broke.

I want things I have no right to want. Oh, my dear. Cordelia moved to sit beside her, wrapping thin arms around Juliet’s shoulders. Having feelings isn’t a crime. It might as well be. They sat like that for a long time. Juliet fighting tears while Cordelia held her, and neither of them had any answers that wouldn’t hurt.

Dominic returned on the sixth day, looking tired and more serious than Juliet had ever seen him. She was in Lady Cordelia’s study, reviewing final guest confirmations when Morrison announced him. Her heart performed an acrobatic feat that should have been medically impossible. “Mr. Ashworth,” she said, keeping her voice level. “I wasn’t expecting you.

” “I know. I’m sorry. I should have sent word. He stayed near the door, uncharacteristically hesitant. May I come in?” Of course. Juliet set down her pen, folding her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. Was your business in Yorkshire successful? Tedious, but necessary. He crossed to his usual chair, but didn’t sit.

My father’s been having trouble with one of the northern estates. Tenants weren’t paying rent. Land agent was incompetent. The usual disasters. I spent 5 days sorting through account books and listening to complaints. That sounds dreadful. It was enlightening. He finally sat, running a hand through his hair. I’ve never actually dealt with estate management before.

Never had to think about tenants as real people with real problems, not just entries in a ledger. One family hadn’t paid rent in months because their daughter was sick and all their money went to doctors. My father wanted to evict them. Juliet’s breath caught. Did you? No. I paid the doctors myself and told the land agent to give them 6 months of reduced rent to recover.

His expression was complicated. My father was furious, said I was being soft, that exceptions set dangerous precedents. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I just cost the estate money we’ll never recover. Or maybe you did the right thing. The right thing isn’t always practical. He met her eyes. You taught me that.

I didn’t teach you anything. You did. You showed me that choices have consequences for people beyond myself. That power without consideration is just cruelty with better clothes. He leaned forward. Juliet, I’ve been thinking about what you said in the garden, about me not understanding what my actions cost people without power. You were right.

She wanted to tell him it didn’t matter, that she’d spoken in anger, but the words wouldn’t come. Because it did matter, and she had been right, and hearing him acknowledge it felt like vindication and loss simultaneously. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked quietly. “Because,” he stopped, seeming to gather courage.

“Because I want you to know that I heard you. That I’m trying to be better. Not perfect, but better. And because he stood abruptly pacing to the window because Viccount Merik came to see me yesterday. Cold dread washed over Juliet. What? He arrived at Thornwick house while I was reviewing reports. Said he had concerns about my improper association with Lady Cordelia’s companion.

Dominic’s jaw tightened. He suggested that I was compromising your reputation, that as a gentleman, I should either make my intentions clear or cease contact entirely. He had no right. He’s not entirely wrong. Dominic turned to face her. Not about my intentions, but about the consequences. Juliet, I’ve been selfish.

Coming here everyday, monopolizing your time, not thinking about how it looks to everyone else. I’ve made things harder for you. You haven’t. I have. And Merrick made it very clear that he’s been spreading rumors about us, about what people assume we’re doing in these private meetings. His expression darkened. I wanted to call him out, challenge him to a duel, or at least hit him very hard in his smug face.

Despite everything, Juliet almost smiled. That would have made things worse. I know, which is why I didn’t. Instead, I told him very politely that my association with Lady Cordelia’s household was entirely proper and supervised, that his concerns were unfounded, and that if he continued spreading malicious gossip, I would ensure his creditors started calling in his considerable debts.

“Dominic, he’s heavily in debt,” Dominic said calmly. “Everyone knows it.” I merely reminded him that antagonizing the future Duke of Thornwick was an expensive habit he couldn’t afford. Juliet didn’t know whether to be appalled or impressed. You threatened him. I protected you. There’s a difference.

He moved closer, stopping just out of reach. But Juliet Merik raised a valid question. What are my intentions? Her heart hammered against her ribs. You don’t owe me an explanation. Yes, I do. I owe you honesty at minimum. He took a breath. My intention when I first came here was simply to apologize for making a spectacle of you at the ball.

Then it was to help with the charity event because I was bored and you were interesting. But somewhere along the way it became something else. Dominic, don’t. I’m falling in love with you, he said quietly. probably already have fallen, and I don’t know what to do about it because everything you’ve said is true.

I’m thoughtless and privileged, and I’ve never had to consider consequences the way you do every day. But I also can’t stop coming here. Can’t stop wanting to hear you tell me I’m impossible. Can’t stop. Stop. Juliet stood on shaking legs. You can’t say things like that. Why not? It’s honest. Because honesty doesn’t change reality. The words burst out sharper than intended. You’re the heir to a dukedom.

I’m a companion. There’s no universe where this ends well for me. What if there was? There isn’t. But what if, Dominic? She forced herself to meet his eyes. Even if you mean every word you’re saying right now, and I believe you do, it doesn’t matter. Your family would never accept me. Society would crucify both of us.

and eventually you’d realize what you’d given up and you’d resent me for it. You don’t know that. Yes, I do because I’ve watched it happen. I’ve seen men of your class make promises to women of mine, swearing love conquers all only to abandon them the moment reality intrudes. I won’t be another cautionary tale, Dominic. I won’t. I’m not asking you to be.

Then what are you asking? He opened his mouth, closed it, and for the first time since she’d met him, Dominic Ashworth looked genuinely lost. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just know I can’t walk away from you. Then I’ll do it for both of us.” Juliet’s voice steadied even as her heart shattered. “Don’t come back, Dominic.

The charity event is almost complete. I’ll send the final arrangements to Lady Thornwick directly. There’s no reason for us to see each other again.” “Juliet, please.” She was begging now, dignity abandoned. Please just go. Make this easier for both of us. For a long moment, he simply stood there, and Juliet thought he might argue. Might refuse to leave.

Might make this impossible situation even more impossible by being stubborn and hopeful, and everything she couldn’t afford to want. But then he nodded once stiffly, and walked to the door. He paused there, hand on the frame, without turning back. For what it’s worth, he said quietly. You’re wrong. I wouldn’t resent you.

I choose you again every day for the rest of my life if you’d let me. He left before she could respond. Juliet stood frozen until she heard the front door close until his footsteps faded down the street until the house fell silent except for the ticking clock that measured every second of her new reality. Then she sank into her chair and let herself break.

Lady Cordelia found her there an hour later, still crying and said nothing, just held her while Juliet mourned something that had never truly been hers to lose. The Thornwick Autumn Gala was, by all accounts a spectacular success. Juliet arrived early to oversee final preparations, moving through the grand ballroom like a ghost in dove gray silk.

Lady Cordelia had insisted she have a new dress for the occasion. You’ve worked too hard to attend in rags, and the modest gown was the finest thing Juliet had ever owned. It didn’t matter. She felt hollowed out, going through motions that no longer seemed to mean anything. She hadn’t seen Dominic in 10 days.

He’d honored her request, sending no more notes, making no attempts to visit. The final arrangements had been delivered to Lady Philipper through Morrison, and Juliet had received formal thanks from the Duchess of Thornwick herself, a kind letter that made no mention of her son. It should have been a relief. Instead, it felt like dying slowly.

“Stop frowning,” Lady Cordelia murmured as they entered the ballroom together. “You’ll frighten the guests.” “I’m not frowning. You’ve been frowning for 10 days straight,” Cordelia squeezed her arm. He’ll be here, you know. I assumed as much it’s his family’s event. Will you speak to him? Only if necessary. Juliet straightened her spine, armor sliding into place.

Tonight is about the success of the gala, not my personal feelings. The ballroom had been transformed. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light across polished floors. Arrangements of autumn flowers adorned every surface, and the orchestra, Mozart, in the end, because Dominic had been right about handle being so horrific, tuned their instruments in the corner.

Guests would begin arriving within the hour, and everything was perfect. Everything except the hollow ache in Juliet’s chest that refused to fade. Lady Philipper swept toward them, respplendant in burgundy silk. Miss Thorne, the ballroom is magnificent. You’ve outdone yourself. Thank you, Lady Thornwick. Juliet curtsied. I hope everything meets your expectations.

Exceeds them, my dear. Absolutely exceeds them. Philipper’s sharp eyes studied her face. Though you look rather peak, are you unwell? Simply tired. The preparations have been extensive. Hm. Philipper’s expression suggested she didn’t believe that for a moment. Well, you must save a dance for Dominic. He’s been impossible for days, snapping at everyone and brooding in corners.

A dance might improve his temper. I’m here to work, Lady Thornwick, not to dance. Nonsense. You organize this entire event. The least you can do is enjoy it. Before Juliet could protest, Philipper had moved on to greet other arriving guests, leaving Juliet feeling ambushed. Lady Cordelia patted her hand.

You don’t have to dance with him. I know, but you want to. Juliet didn’t answer. couldn’t answer because wanting was the problem. She wanted too much. His laugh, his challenges, his infuriating confidence and unexpected vulnerability. She wanted things that would destroy her if she let herself reach for them.

So, she wouldn’t reach. She’d work. She’d supervise. She’d ensure the gala was flawless, and then she’d go home and try to forget what it felt like to have Dominic Ashworth look at her like she was the only person in the room. Guests began flooding in. Lords and ladies in jewels and silk, filling the ballroom with laughter and gossip.

Juliet moved through the crowd efficiently, checking on the orchestra, ensuring the refreshments were properly arranged, solving minor crises with the calm competence that came from years of managing other people’s households. She was conferring with the head footman about wine service when she felt it, that peculiar awareness that crawled up her spine whenever Dominic was nearby.

She turned and there he was across the ballroom talking with his father. He looked devastatingly handsome in formal black, his crevat perfectly tied, hair swept back in a style that somehow made him look both aristocratic and approachable. But it was his expression that made her chest tighten, a careful blankness that reminded her of her own armor. He was hurting, too.

Their eyes met across the crowded room. For one suspended moment, everything else faded. the music, the guests, the weight of propriety. There was only him looking at her with such raw longing that it physically hurt. Then someone stepped between them, and the moment shattered. Juliet forced herself to turn away, to focus on the footman’s question about champagne, to do anything except acknowledge the way her body wanted to cross that ballroom and throw everything away for one more conversation.

The evening progressed. The soprano Dominic had hired performed beautifully, her voice soaring through Italian aras that left the audience breathless. Couples walted, champagne flowed, and everyone agreed the Thornwick Gala had reclaimed its reputation for excellence. Juliet should have been proud.

Instead, she felt numb. Miss Thorne. She turned to find the Duke of Thornwick himself, Dominic’s father, standing behind her. He was an older, sterner version of his son, with the same hazel eyes, but none of Dominic’s warmth. Your grace, she curtsied deeply. I wanted to thank you personally for your work on this event.

Lady Cordelia speaks very highly of your organizational skills. You’re very kind, your grace. My wife tells me Dominic assisted with the preparations. His tone was neutral, but his gaze was piercing. I trust he was professional in his conduct. It was a test. Juliet recognized it immediately. The polite inquiry with teeth designed to determine whether she had designs on the air. Mr.

Ashworth was most helpful, she said carefully. His suggestions for the entertainment were particularly valuable. I’m sure they were. The Duke studied her for another moment. Your Lady Cordelia’s companion, I understand. Yes, your grace. A respectable position for a young woman of good character. He paused.

I hope you intend to remain in Lady Cordelia’s service for the foreseeable future. The message was clear. Stay in your place. Don’t reach above your station. I have no plans to leave Lady Cordelia’s household, Juliet said, keeping her voice steady. She’s been very good to me. Excellent, the Duke nodded once. Enjoy the gala, Miss Thorne. You’ve earned it.

He walked away, leaving Juliet feeling as if she’d been slapped. Not rudely. The Duke had been perfectly polite. But the warning was unmistakable. Whatever Dominic felt, his family would never accept her. The Duke of Thornwick had just made certain she understood that. Juliet. She spun to find Dominic behind her, his expression dark.

How long have you been standing there? Long enough to hear my father being an ass. He looked furious. I’m sorry. He had no right. He had every right. This is his house, his event, his world. Juliet glanced around, aware of eyes turning toward them. We shouldn’t be talking. I don’t care. Well, I do. Your father just made it very clear what he thinks of me.

I won’t make things worse by causing a scene. Then dance with me. What? Dance with me? Dominic repeated louder now, drawing more attention. One dance publicly so everyone can see that I don’t care what anyone thinks about propriety or station or any of it. Dominic stopped. But he was already offering his hand, the same gesture she’d made weeks ago in desperation, now offered in defiance.

Around them, conversations paused. His parents were watching, their expressions unreadable. Lady Cordelia looked worried, and Viccount Merrick, lurking near the refreshment table, wore a smug smile that made Juliet’s stomach turn. “Please,” Dominic said quietly, for her alone, “dance with me.

I know you told me to stay away, and I’ve tried, but I can’t watch you stand here looking like you’re dying inside and do nothing. Dancing won’t fix anything. No, but it might remind us both why we’re miserable. It was the worst possible idea. Dancing with him now in front of everyone would only fuel gossip and make both their lives harder.

The sensible thing, the right thing, was to refuse politely and walk away. Juliet took his hand. The orchestra was playing a waltz, something slow and sweet that made her throat tight. Dominic led her onto the floor with the same confident grace he’d shown at the Bellingham ball. But this time there was no playfulness in his expression, only intensity.

You’re going to regret this, she murmured as they began to move. “I regret nothing about you. That’s the problem. Your father can disapprove all he wants. I’m not him.” Dominic’s hand tightened on her waist. I’ve spent the last 10 days trying to forget you. Trying to convince myself that you were right.

That walking away was the sensible choice. Do you know what I realized? That I was right. That I don’t want to be sensible. Not about this. His eyes held hers. You make me want to be reckless, Juliet. To choose something real over something safe, and that terrifies me, because I’ve never wanted anything enough to risk losing everything for it. Then don’t.

Don’t risk anything. Just let this go. I can’t. You have to. They turned, and Juliet was suddenly painfully aware of how close they were, how his thumb brushed against her spine through the thin silk of her gown, how she could see the gold flex in his hazel eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way he looked at her like she was something precious and impossible.

“What if I chose you?” he asked quietly. “What if I told my father that I don’t care about his disapproval? that I’m courting you openly regardless of what society thinks. Then you’d be a fool. Probably. His mouth quirked slightly. But you haven’t answered the real question. What question? Would you let me? If I chose you, really chose you publicly and irreversibly, would you choose me back? Juliet’s breath caught.

It was the question she’d been avoiding for weeks, the one that had no safe answer. Because the truth was terrifying. Yes, God help her. Yes, she would choose him despite the consequences. Despite the impossibility, despite knowing it would likely destroy them both. But she couldn’t say that. Couldn’t give him permission to ruin his life for her.

It doesn’t matter what I choose, she said finally. Because you’re not going to do it. You’re going to finish this dance, thank me politely, and move on with your life. You’ll marry some appropriate young lady your parents approve of, and in 5 years, you’ll barely remember my name. You’re wrong. Am I? Yes, because I’ve already made my choice, Juliet.

The question is whether you’re brave enough to make yours. The music swelled toward its crescendo. Around them, other couples walted, oblivious to the small tragedy playing out in their midst. Juliet felt like she was drowning, like every breath was a struggle against the weight of wanting something she couldn’t have. “I’m not brave,” she whispered.

“I’m just trying to survive.” Then let me help you do more than survive. The waltz ended. They stood facing each other in the center of the ballroom, neither moving until polite applause reminded them they had an audience. Dominic stepped back, releasing her with visible reluctance. Thank you for the dance, Miss Thorne. Mr. Ashworth.

Her voice was steady despite her shaking hands. He walked away. Juliet stood frozen for a moment, then forced herself to move, to smile, to return to her duties as if her world hadn’t just tilted irrevocably. She made it through another hour before Vicount Merrick cornered her near the terrace doors.

“That was quite a performance,” he said, his tone oily, the air dancing with the companion. “How very democratic.” “Excuse me, Lord Merik. I have work to attend to.” “Of course you do work. That’s what you’re calling it?” He moved closer, blocking her path. Everyone’s talking, you know, about how Ashworth has been visiting Lady Cordelia’s house daily, about how the two of you have been closeted together for hours. About what that means.

It means we were organizing this event, does it? Because it looks rather different from where I’m standing. It looks like a young woman of no particular fortune or family trying to trap an heir into marriage. His smile was cruel. And before you protest, know that I’m not the only one thinking it. The Duke himself is concerned.

I heard him tell his wife that he needs to handle the situation before Dominic does something foolish. Cold dread settled in Juliet’s stomach. You’re lying. Am I? Test it yourself. See how long Ashworth’s affection lasts once his father intervenes. Merrick leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. Men like him don’t marry women like you, Miss Thorne. They use them and discard them.

I’m simply trying to save you from inevitable heartbreak by spreading vicious gossip, by offering you an alternative. His hand found her wrist, squeezing just hard enough to hurt. I’m still willing to overlook your indiscretions. Marry me, and I’ll protect your reputation. Refuse, and I’ll ensure everyone knows exactly what kind of woman you are. Let go of me.

Not until you agree to. The lady said, “Let go.” Dominic’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He stood behind Merrick, his expression colder than Juliet had ever seen it. Merrick released her wrist, turning with a sneer. Ashworth, how convenient. Come to defend your conquest? I’ve come to suggest you leave now before I forget I’m supposed to be civilized. This is none of your concern.

Everything about Miss Thorne is my concern. Dominic stepped closer, and despite being roughly the same height as Merrick, he suddenly seemed much larger. You’ve been spreading rumors about her, threatening her. That ends tonight. Or what? You’ll challenge me? Don’t be ridiculous. Your father would never allow My father, Dominic, interrupted softly, doesn’t control my actions.

Neither do you, so I’ll say this once more. Leave Miss Thorne alone. If I hear you’ve spoken to her again, spread another rumor, or even looked at her wrong, I will personally ensure that every creditor you owe calls in their debts simultaneously. Do you understand? Merrick’s face flushed dark red. You can’t. I can.

I will. Test me. For a long moment, they stood locked in silent confrontation. Then Merrick stepped back, straightening his coat with jerky movements. You’ll regret this, he spat, both of you. He stalked away, leaving Dominic and Juliet alone on the terrace. The music from the ballroom drifted through the open doors, inongruously cheerful.

“Are you all right?” Dominic asked, his anger immediately shifting to concern. Did he hurt you? I’m fine. Juliet rubbed her wrist where Merrick had grabbed her. You shouldn’t have done that. Defended you from a man who was clearly threatening you. Made everything worse by creating a scene. There was no scene.

No one saw except us. His jaw tightened. What did he say to you? Nothing I haven’t heard before. Juliet, he said your father is going to handle the situation, that he’s concerned about you doing something foolish. She forced herself to meet his eyes. Is it true? Dominic didn’t answer immediately, which was answer enough.

My father did speak to me, he admitted finally. After he saw us dance, he suggested that my association with you was becoming inappropriate and that I should distance myself before people got the wrong impression. the impression that you care about someone beneath your station. The impression that I might actually choose my own life instead of the one he’s planned for me.

Dominic moved closer until they were standing in the spill of light from the ballroom. Juliet, I need you to understand something. My father isn’t a villain. He’s not cruel or deliberately unkind. He simply believes there’s a natural order to things, and stepping outside that order brings chaos. He’s right. No, he’s afraid. Afraid of change.

Afraid of scandal. Afraid of anything that disrupts the comfortable world he knows. Dominic took her hand, the same hand Merrick had bruised. But I’m more afraid of spending the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I’d been brave enough to choose you. Dominic, please. I love you. The words were simple, devastating.

I’m in love with you and I’ve tried not to be because it’s inconvenient and complicated and everything you’ve said is true, but I don’t care anymore. I’d rather have one year of real happiness with you than a lifetime of appropriate misery without you. Tears burned Juliet’s eyes. You don’t know what you’re saying.

I know exactly what I’m saying. I’m saying I choose you over my father’s approval, over society’s expectations, over every single comfortable assumption I’ve ever made about my life. He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her bruised wrist. The question is whether you’ll choose me back. Everything in Juliet screamed to say yes, to throw caution away and grab this impossible chance at happiness with both hands.

But years of survival instinct of learning that wanting too much led to ruin held her frozen. I can’t, she whispered. Can’t or won’t. Does it matter? Yes. His voice broke slightly. Because if you don’t feel the same way, I’ll walk away. I’ll leave you alone. Stop making your life difficult. Disappear completely. But if you do feel the same way and you’re just afraid. Of course I’m afraid.

The words burst out before she could stop them. I’m terrified, Dominic, because yes, I love you. Yes, I want to choose you. But I also know how this ends. Your family will hate me. Society will crucify us both. And eventually, you’ll realize what you gave up, and you’ll hate me, too. I could never hate you. You say that now.

I’ll say it every day for the rest of our lives if you let me. He was pleading now. All his usual confidence stripped away to reveal raw vulnerability. Juliet, I’m not asking you to have all the answers. I’m just asking you to try to give us a chance instead of deciding we’re doomed before we begin. The music in the ballroom shifted, the orchestra playing something that sounded like an ending.

Behind them, through the glass doors, Juliet could see guests beginning to depart. The gala was winding down. This perfect evening dissolving into memory. She thought about what Dominic was offering. a chance, not a guarantee, not a fairy tale ending, just the possibility of something real in a world designed to keep them apart.

It should have been an easy decision. The practical choice was obvious, but looking at him at his hope and fear and devastating honesty, Juliet discovered that practicality had limits. One condition, she heard herself say, his expression transformed. Anything. You don’t tell your family yet. Not until we’re both certain this is what we want.

She gripped his hand tightly. I won’t be responsible for destroying your relationship with your father unless we’re absolutely sure. Juliet, that’s my condition. Take it or he kissed her. It was brief, chased even by the standards of the day, his lips barely brushing hers before he pulled back. But it was also the most profound moment of Juliet’s life.

a choice made and sealed before she could second-guess it. I accept your condition, Dominic said softly. But Juliet, I’m already certain. Then I suppose we’ll see if certainty survives reality. They stood together on the terrace, neither quite willing to return to the ballroom and the rolls waiting for them there. In the distance, a clock chimed midnight, and Juliet thought of all the fairy tales that ended when the magic ran out.

She hoped theirs wouldn’t. The following weeks passed in a strange suspended state between hope and dread. True to his word, Dominic didn’t announce anything to his family. But he also didn’t stop visiting Lady Cordelia’s house, didn’t hide his affection, didn’t pretend Juliet was simply a convenient colleague.

They were caught in everything but name slowly, carefully, with all the proper chaperonage that couldn’t quite mask the current running between them. Lady Cordelia watched it unfold with a mixture of concern and resigned acceptance. “I hope you both know what you’re doing,” she said one afternoon, finding Juliet and Dominic in the study allegedly reviewing thank you notes from gala attendees.

“We’re being careful,” Juliet assured her. “You’re being reckless.” “But Cordelia’s tone was fond. Still, I suppose if you must be reckless, at least you’re doing it with someone decent.” After she left, Dominic grinned at Juliet across the desk. She likes me. She tolerates you. Same thing. He reached across to touch her hand.

A small gesture they now allowed themselves in private. Have I told you today that you’re impossibly stubborn? At least twice. Good. I’d hate to fall behind schedule. Their courtship was nothing like Juliet had imagined romance would be. There were no grand gestures or dramatic declarations. just small moments of surprising tenderness.

Dominic bringing her favorite tea, Juliet laughing at his terrible jokes, arguments about everything from politics to poetry that left them both energized rather than exhausted. The gradual realization that they fit together in ways neither had expected, but reality, as always, intruded. The Duke of Thornwick requested Dominic’s presence for a family meeting.

Lady Philipper wrote to Lady Cordelia expressing concern about recent developments, and Vic Count Merrick, true to form, continued spreading innuendo despite Dominic’s threats. The crisis came 3 weeks after the gala. Juliet was reading to Lady Cordelia when Morrison announced an unexpected visitor, the Duchess of Thornwick herself.

Cordelia sat up straighter. Margaret here. The Duchess swept in with the kind of grace that came from decades of managing impossible social situations. She was beautiful still, with silver hair and the same hazel eyes as her son, but her expression was troubled. Cordelia. Forgive the intrusion. She glanced at Juliet.

Miss Thorne, would you excuse us? Miss Thorne should stay, Lady Cordelia said firmly. Whatever you’ve come to say concerns her. The duchess hesitated, then nodded. Very well, I’ll be direct. My son is infatuated with your companion. He’s in love with her. Cordelia corrected. There’s a difference. Is there? Because from where I stand, it looks like disaster.

The duchess turned to Juliet, her expression not unkind, but implacable. Miss Thorne, I’m sure you’re a perfectly respectable young woman. But you must understand Dominic has responsibilities. He’s the heir to one of the oldest dukedoms in England. He can’t simply follow his heart without considering the consequences.

I’m aware of the consequences, your grace, Juliet said quietly. Are you? Do you know what it would mean for him to marry you? The scandal, the social ostracism, the way his own family would be forced to either accept or reject him. Do you understand that his father has threatened to disinherit him if he pursues this attachment? The words hit like physical blows.

Juliet felt the blood drain from her face. Disinherit. My husband believes strongly in maintaining standards. He sees Dominic’s interest in you as a youthful infatuation that must be stopped before it causes irreparable damage. The Duchess’s voice softened slightly. I don’t entirely disagree, though my reasons are different.

I don’t want my son to destroy his future or yours for something that might not survive the reality of what you’d both be sacrificing. Lady Cordelia stood, drawing herself up to her full, unimpressive height. Margaret, you’re here to intimidate this girl into rejecting your son. I’m here to save both of them from a catastrophic mistake by threatening to take away Dominic’s inheritance. That’s not salvation.

That’s manipulation. It’s protection. The Duchess’s composure cracked. Cordelia, you know what happened to my cousin? He married a merchant’s daughter 30 years ago and his family cut him off completely. He died in poverty. His wife blamed herself and their children suffered for a choice made in passion without thought for consequences. That’s not Juliet started.

I’ve watched my son fall in love with you these past months. Watched him become someone I barely recognize, someone willing to throw away everything he’s been raised for. The Duchess looked at Juliet directly. I’m not your enemy, Miss Thorne, but I’m asking you, begging you if necessary, to end this before anyone else gets hurt.

Silence filled the room. Juliet felt like she was drowning. Every fear she’d been suppressing suddenly confirmed. Dominic would lose everything. His family, his future, his entire life would be destroyed because of her. What does Dominic say about this? She managed finally. that he doesn’t care about the inheritance, that he’d rather be poor with you than wealthy without you.

” The Duchess’s laugh was bitter. “He’s 28 years old and has never wanted for anything in his life. He has no concept of what poverty actually means.” “That’s not fair,” Cordelia protested. “The boy has been working with the estates, helping tenants, helping tenants with my husband’s money. Let him try helping people with nothing, and we’ll see how long his principles last.

” Your grace, Juliet said, her voice surprisingly steady. May I speak to Dominic before I make any decision? The Duchess studied her for a long moment. Very well. But Miss Thorne, understand this. My husband will not relent. If Dominic chooses you, he loses everything, and eventually that loss will poison whatever love you share. I’ve seen it happen.

I don’t want to watch it happen to my son. She left with the same grace she’d arrived with, leaving Juliet and Lady Cordelia in shell shocked silence. I have to end it, Juliet said finally. Juliet, she’s right about all of it. I can’t let him destroy his life for me. What about your life? What about what you want? What I want doesn’t matter. It never has.

Juliet stood smoothing her skirts with shaking hands. I need to speak to Dominic. I need to The door burst open. Dominic stood there disheveled and furious as if he’d run the entire way from Thornwick house. My mother was here, he said without preamble. I saw her carriage. What did she say? Dominic, what did she say, Juliet? The truth.

Juliet forced herself to meet his eyes. Your father will disinherit you if you continue seeing me. Your family will cut you off and your mother is right. You have no idea what poverty actually means. I don’t care. You will. Eventually, you’ll care. You’ll resent me for everything you lost. No. He crossed to her in three strides, gripping her shoulders.

No, I won’t, Juliet. Listen to me. I am listening. I’m listening to your mother explain how this destroys your future. I’m listening to reality finally, instead of letting myself believe in fairy tales. This isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a choice. A choice with devastating consequences. Then we’ll face them together.

His voice cracked. Please don’t let them scare you away. Juliet looked at him at the desperation in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the way his hands trembled slightly against her shoulders. She loved him. God, she loved him so much it physically hurt. But love wasn’t enough when choosing it meant destroying him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Juliet, no, I can’t watch you lose everything because of me. I won’t.” She stepped back, forcing him to release her. Your mother is right. You’ve never experienced real hardship. You don’t understand what you’d be giving up. Then let me learn. Let me prove that I can survive without the title and the money and all of it.

How? By making you poor and miserable and full of regrets. Tears streamed down her face now, but her voice stayed firm. I love you too much to do that to you. Don’t. His voice broke completely. Don’t do this. Not because you don’t love me, but because you’re trying to protect me. I don’t need protection, Juliet.

I need you. You need a future. You are my future. No. The word felt like dying. I’m a dream. You had a lovely impossible dream. But it’s time to wake up. She walked past him, past Lady Cordelia’s stricken expression, out into the hallway where Morrison pretended not to notice she was crying. behind her. She heard Dominic call her name, heard Lady Cordelia murmur, something soothing, heard the sound of her own heart shattering into irreparable pieces.

She locked herself in her room and didn’t come out for the rest of the day. Dominic returned the next morning, and the morning after, and every morning for a week, each time being turned away by Morrison with increasingly apologetic expressions. “Miss Thorne isn’t receiving visitors,” became the standard refrain.

On the eighth day, he stopped coming. Juliet told herself it was relief she felt, not devastation. He was moving on, getting over his infatuation, returning to his real life. It was what she wanted, what she demanded even. The hollowess in her chest suggested otherwise. Lady Cordelia tried to help, brought her favorite foods, suggested outings, attempted distraction through work.

Nothing touched the numbness that had settled over Juliet like a shroud. “You’re grieving,” Cordelia said gently. “It’s natural. I’m being practical.” “You’re being miserable. There’s a difference.” 2 weeks after her conversation with the Duchess, Juliet was organizing Cordelia’s correspondence when Morrison announced a visitor, Lady Philipper Thornwick.

Juliet nearly refused to see her, but curiosity and a desperate shameful hope that she might bring news of Dominic won out. Lady Philipper entered with her usual imperious warmth, but her expression was troubled. Miss Thorne, thank you for seeing me. Lady Thornwick. Juliet gestured to a chair. How may I help you? By telling me what my nephew did to make you break his heart so thoroughly.

Juliet’s composure wavered. I didn’t. He didn’t. My dear, I’ve known that boy since he was born. I’ve watched him charm his way through life, bored by everything and everyone, treating the world like an elaborate game. Philipper leaned forward. Until you, you changed something in him, made him care about things beyond his own amusement, and now he’s she stopped, seeming to gather herself.

He’s planning to renounce his inheritance. The words didn’t make sense. What? He’s told his father that if choosing you means losing the title, he chooses you. That he’ll walk away from everything, the dukedom, the estates, his entire future rather than let you go. No. Juliet stood abruptly. No, he can’t. I ended things precisely so he wouldn’t.

You ended things to protect him. He’s refusing to be protected. Philip’s expression was complicated. Part admiration, part concern. Miss Thorne, I came here to ask whether you rejected him because you don’t share his feelings or because you’re trying to save him from himself. I Juliet couldn’t breathe. Does it matter? It matters enormously because if you don’t love him, then he needs to accept that and move on, however painful.

But if you do love him and you’re simply being noble about it, then you’re both suffering for nothing. It’s not nothing. Your brother-in-law will disinherit him. Let him. Philipper’s voice was sharp. My brother-in-law is a pompous ass who thinks bloodlines matter more than happiness. Do you know what Dominic said when his father threatened him? He said he’d rather live in a cottage with you than in a palace without you.

He said he’d finally found something worth fighting for. He’s being reckless. He’s being honest. For perhaps the first time in his privileged life, he’s being completely devastatingly honest about what he wants. Philippers stood, moving closer. I’m not here to pressure you, Miss Thorne, but I’m here to tell you that if you reject him now after he’s already chosen you over everything else, you’re not protecting him. You’re breaking him.

And if I accept him, if I let him throw his life away for me, and 10 years from now he resents me for it, then you’ll have 10 years together first, which is more than most people get. Philippa’s expression softened. Love doesn’t come with guarantees, my dear. only choices, and right now the choice is yours.

” She left Juliet standing in the drawing room, mindreeling. Dominic was going to renounce everything for her. Despite knowing what it would cost, despite her rejection, despite every practical reason to walk away, he was choosing her anyway. It was the most terrifying thing anyone had ever done for her. Lady Cordelia found her an hour later, still standing in the same spot.

Juliet, what did Philipper say? Dominic is planning to renounce his inheritance. The words came out flat, shocked. He’s going to walk away from his entire life. Oh. Cordelia sank into a chair. That’s That’s quite something. It’s insanity. He can’t. I won’t let him. I don’t think you have a choice anymore, child. He’s already decided. Then I’ll talk to him.

I’ll convince him that he’s being irrational. that he needs to think about. About what? Cordelia interrupted gently. About practicality, about duty. He’s thought about all of that, Juliet. And he’s still choosing you. The question is whether you’re brave enough to let him. Juliet sank to her knees, all her carefully maintained composure crumbling. I’m not brave.

I’m terrified. So is he, probably. Love tends to be terrifying. Cordelia’s hand found her hair stroking gently. But I think it’s also worth it, even when it’s complicated and painful and completely impractical. What if we fail? What if he loses everything and then realizes he made a mistake? Then you’ll have tried, and that’s more than most people manage.

Cordelia’s voice was fierce now. Juliet, I’ve lived 80 years. I’ve been careful and practical and proper every single day. And do you know what I regret? Not the mistakes I made, but the chances I didn’t take. The young man I didn’t accept because he wasn’t quite suitable enough.

The dreams I abandoned because they were too risky. Don’t be like me, child. Don’t spend your life wondering what might have been if you’d just been brave enough to try. Juliet looked up at her employer, her friend, seeing the old regrets written in her face, and suddenly she understood what she had to do. It was terrifying. It was impractical.

It would likely end in heartbreak, but it was also the only choice that felt true. I need to see Dominic, she said. Cordelia smiled. Then go. Juliet found him at Thornwick House. Getting past the butler required determination and possibly mild deception. I have urgent business with Mr. Ashworth regarding Lady Cordelia, but eventually she was shown to his study a booklined room that smelled of leather and pipe smoke.

Dominic stood by the window, his back to the door. He looked thinner than she remembered, his shoulders tense, his posture lacking its usual confident ease. I told you, he said without turning. I’m not changing my mind. You can inform my father that his threats are, he stopped mid-sentence, spinning to face her. Juliet, she’d rehearsed speeches on the walk over, practiced rational arguments and careful explanations.

All of them evaporated the moment she saw his face. “Don’t renounce your inheritance,” she said instead. Something flickered in his expression. Hope quickly tamped down. “I’m not having this conversation again. I’ve made my decision. Then unmake it.” “No, Dominic, please. You made your choice, Juliet. Now I’m making mine.

” He moved away from the window, but kept distance between them. I’m not asking your permission. I’m not asking anyone’s permission. For once in my life, I’m doing something entirely for myself. You’re doing it for me. No, I’m doing it for us. There’s a difference. His voice softened.

Juliet, I’ve spent 28 years being the perfect heir, following rules, meeting expectations, being exactly what everyone needed me to be. And I was miserable. Then I met you, and for the first time, I felt like I was actually living instead of just existing. But you’ll lose everything. I’ll lose a title I never particularly wanted and money I don’t need.

In exchange, I’ll gain a life that’s actually mine. A life with you in it if you’ll have me. Your family will either accept it or they won’t, but I’m done letting their fears dictate my choices. He finally closed the distance between them. I understand why you rejected me. You were trying to protect me from my own recklessness.

It was noble and infuriating and completely in character. But Juliet, I don’t need protection. I need you. What if it doesn’t work? What if we struggle and fight and realize we made a terrible mistake? Then at least we’ll have tried. At least we’ll know. His hand found hers, fingers intertwining. I’m not promising you perfection.

I’m promising you real. Real love, real partnership, real life with all its complications. Is that enough? Juliet looked at their joined hands, then up at his face, at the vulnerability and determination written there in equal measure. He was offering her everything she’d been too afraid to reach for.

A chance, a choice, a future that was terrifying precisely because it mattered so much. It’s enough, she whispered, his expression transformed. Say that again. It’s enough. You’re enough. We’re enough. She was crying now, but smiling too. I’m choosing you, Dominic, even though it’s terrifying and impractical and possibly the worst decision I’ve ever made.

Best decision, he corrected, and then he was kissing her properly this time, with none of the restraint from the terrace. His hands cupped her face like she was something precious and impossible, and Juliet kissed him back with years of loneliness and fear finally breaking apart into hope. They broke apart slowly, reluctantly, close enough that she could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against hers.

“I need to tell my parents,” he said quietly. “Officially.” “No more pretending or hiding or trying to avoid scandal. They’ll be furious, probably.” “Are you ready for that?” Juliet thought about the Duchess’s warnings, the Duke’s disapproval, the social ostracism they’d face. None of it had changed. They were still stepping outside every acceptable boundary, still choosing something impossible over something safe.

But she was also done being afraid. “I’m ready,” she said. The formal announcement to the Duke and Duchess of Thornwick happened that evening. Dominic had sent word requesting their presence in the drawing room, his tone leaving no room for refusal. Juliet waited beside him, hands folded to hide their trembling, while his parents entered with expressions ranging from concerned, the Duchess, to coldly furious, the Duke.

Dominic, the Duke said without preamble. I trust you’ve come to your senses. I have, actually. I’m here to inform you that I’m courting Miss Juliet Thorne. Dominic’s voice was steady, formal. With or without your blessing. The Duke’s expression darkened. We’ve discussed this. The answer is no. I wasn’t asking permission.

I was informing you of my decision. A decision that will cost you everything. So, you’ve said repeatedly. Dominic’s hand found Juliet’s squeezing gently. But I’ve realized something these past weeks. The inheritance, the title, the estates, none of it means anything if I’m miserable. And without Juliet, I will be miserable for the rest of my life. You’re 28, the Duke snapped.

You have no idea what you’re talking about. This infatuation will pass. It’s not infatuation. For the first time, Dominic’s composure cracked. I love her. Actually, love her. Not in the abstract way I was supposed to love whichever suitable young lady you eventually chose for me. Juliet makes me want to be better.

She challenges me, frustrates me, makes me think about things I’ve never questioned. She’s the best person I’ve ever known, and I’m not giving her up because you’re too rigid to accept that love doesn’t follow bloodlines.” Silence filled the room. The Duchess looked stricken while the Duke’s face had gone dangerously red. “If you do this,” the Duke said slowly, “you will no longer be my heir.

I will petition to have the title passed to your cousin Frederick. You will receive nothing, no property, no income, nothing but what you can earn yourself. Do you understand?” I understand perfectly. Dominic, please. The Duchess started. I’m sorry, mother. I know this isn’t what you wanted, but I can’t spend the rest of my life being what everyone else needs me to be.

Dominic looked at Juliet, and his expression softened. I need to be who I actually am, and who I am is someone in love with this woman. The Duke stood abruptly. Then you’ve made your choice. Don’t come crawling back when reality sets in. He stormed out. The Duchess remained, tears streaming down her face. You’re really doing this, she said quietly. I am.

And you, Miss Thorne? You understand what you’re asking him to sacrifice? Juliet found her voice. I didn’t ask for any of this, your grace. I tried to send him away multiple times, but he’s stubborn and reckless and apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Despite everything, the Duchess’s mouth quirked slightly.

That’s my son. Certainly, I love him, Juliet continued. I didn’t want to. I tried not to, but I do, and I’m done pretending otherwise. So, if you’re looking for someone to blame for this disaster, blame me. I’m the one who wasn’t strong enough to let him go. Or perhaps you were the only one strong enough to let him choose his own path.

The Duchess stood, moving closer. She studied Juliet for a long moment, then turned to her son. Your father will not relent easily. This will be difficult. I know you’ll be ostracized, whispered about. Many doors will close. I know that, too. And you’re certain? She looked between them. Both of you. Yes, Dominic said simply.

The Duchess nodded once decisively. Then I suppose I should start planning a wedding. Dominic’s expression transformed. Mother, I don’t agree with your choice to abandon your responsibilities. I think you’re being reckless and impulsive and will likely regret various aspects of this decision. She smiled, watery, but genuine.

But I also remember being young and in love, and I remember how my own parents tried to stop me from marrying your father because he was considered too political, too controversial. I didn’t listen to them. And our marriage, for all its difficulties, has been good. You’re saying I’m saying I won’t abandon my son for choosing love over duty.

Your father will come around eventually. He’s stubborn but not stupid. She turned to Juliet. Miss Thorne, I apologize for my earlier behavior. I was trying to protect my son from heartbreak. But I see now that sending you away would have broken his heart far more thoroughly than any social scandal. Juliet couldn’t speak past the lump in her throat.

The Duchess of Thornwick, elegant, powerful, intimidating, was accepting her, not grudgingly or conditionally, but with genuine warmth. “Thank you,” she managed finally. “Don’t thank me yet. You’re about to discover that being part of this family is an exhausting business, but the Duchess’s eyes were kind.

Still, you seem stubborn enough to survive it, and heaven knows Dominic needs someone who won’t let him get away with nonsense.” After she left, promising to handle your father, Dominic and Juliet stood alone in the drawing room, the future stretched before them, uncertain, complicated, but undeniably theirs. “Well,” Dominic said finally.

“That went better than expected. Your father threatened to disinherit you. He was always going to do that. My mother’s approval is the real victory,” he pulled her into his arms. “We’re really doing this, you and me, against the world.” Terrifying thought. Best thought I’ve ever had. He kissed her forehead, ready to scandalize society.

Juliet laughed, despite herself. I suppose I don’t have much choice now. You could still run. I’d understand. No, you wouldn’t. You’d chase me down and refuse to leave until I agreed to marry you. True. His grin was unrepentant. I’m very persistent. Impossible, she corrected. You keep saying that like it’s a bad thing. It wasn’t. Not anymore.

Dominic’s impossibility, his refusal to accept limitations, his stubborn insistence on choosing joy over duty, had saved them both. He’d shown her that sometimes the practical choice was the wrong one, that love was worth fighting for, even when fighting seemed foolish. “I love you,” she said simply. “I know,” his expression sobered.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving you didn’t make a mistake choosing me. I didn’t make a mistake. We made a choice together. Together, he agreed. I like the sound of that. So did Juliet. 3 months later, on a crisp winter morning, Juliet Thorne became Juliet Ashworth in a ceremony that scandalized half of London and delighted the other half.

The Duke of Thornwick did not attend, remaining conspicuously absent in what the gossips called a principled stand, and everyone else recognized as stubborn pettiness. But the Duchess was there, radiant in silver silk, standing beside Lady Cordelia and Lady Philipper, as witnesses to what society was already calling the romance of the season.

The ceremony was small. Dominic had wanted something intimate rather than the grand spectacle expected of an heir’s wedding. They spoke their vows in the same church where Dominic had been baptized, surrounded by the people who actually mattered. family who’d chosen love over propriety, friends who’d refused to abandon them, and a few carefully selected guests who understood that sometimes the best stories were the ones that broke all the rules.

I, Dominic James Ashworth, take thee, Juliet Margaret Thorne. His voice was steady, eyes locked on hers, every word a promise and a choice. I, Juliet Margaret Thorne, take thee, Dominic James Ashworth. She was crying but smiling too, finally allowing herself to believe in fairy tales that had happy endings precisely because the characters refused to follow the script.

When the vicar pronounced them husband and wife, Dominic kissed her with such thorough enthusiasm that Lady Philipper stage whispered, “Save some passion for the honeymoon, dear boy!” making everyone laugh. The breakfast afterward was held at Lady Cordelia’s house, the same drawing room where Juliet had first tried to send Dominic away.

now decorated with winter flowers and filled with people whose love had made this impossible thing possible. The Duke of Thornwick did not attend, but late in the afternoon a messenger arrived with a letter. Dominic read it once, then again, his expression complicated. Finally, he handed it to Juliet without comment.

Dominic, I cannot condone your choice to abandon your responsibilities for personal sentiment. I maintain that you are making a grave error that will cost you more than you currently understand. However, your mother has made it abundantly clear that my continued objection serves no purpose except to damage our own relationship beyond repair.

She has also pointed out rather forcefully that I married for love myself despite my own father’s objections. I am not ready to welcome Miss Thorne, Mrs. Ashworth into the family with open arms. Perhaps I never will be. But I will not disown my son over his choice of wife. However misguided I believe that choice to be, the inheritance stands.

Your position as heir remains unchanged. What you do with that position and how you manage the responsibilities you’ve so cavalerely dismissed as unimportant will determine the future of this family. Do not disappoint me more than you already have. Your father Juliet looked up from the letter. He’s still furious. He’ll be furious for years probably.

Dominic took her hand. But he’s not disowning me. That’s more than I expected. Your mother must have been very persuasive. My mother is terrifying when she wants to be. It’s one of her best qualities. He pulled Juliet close, uncaring of their audience. Does it change anything that I’m still the heir? Should it? I don’t know.

I told you I’d give it all up for you. I meant it. I know you did, but I’m glad you don’t have to. Juliet rested her head against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath her cheek. We’re going to have to navigate your family forever now. Deal with their disapproval and judgment and all the complicated politics of being part of their world.

Yes, that’s going to be exhausting, undoubtedly, his arms tightened around her. But we’ll do it together, and when it gets too exhausting, we’ll escape to our own home and remind each other why we chose this madness. Their own home, a modest estate Dominic had purchased with money from his investments, far enough from Thornwick House to establish independence, but close enough to maintain family ties.

It wasn’t grand or particularly fashionable, but it was theirs. I’m going to hold you to that, Juliet warned. Please do. He kissed the top of her head. I’m going to need regular reminding that marrying the impossible Miss Thorne was the best decision I ever made. Mrs. Ashworth, she corrected. Mrs. Ashworth, he agreed, and the joy in his voice made her chest ache in the best possible way.

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other, while around them their small gathering of family and friends celebrated love that had refused to follow rules. Lady Cordelia was arguing with Lady Philipper about something involving roses. The Duchess was laughing at a story from one of Dominic’s friends.

Even Morrison, standing guard near the refreshments, looked pleased. It wasn’t a fairy tale ending where everything was perfect and easy. The Duke would remain difficult. Society would gossip, and they’d face challenges neither could anticipate, but it was real. It was theirs, and it was enough. “Ready to face the world as Mrs.

Dominic Ashworth?” Dominic asked. Juliet looked up at her husband, her impossible, stubborn, wonderful husband, and smiled. With you, always. The end. Thank you for staying until the end. This story was about choosing love even when it’s terrifying. About finding someone who makes you braver than you thought possible.

If this moved you, let me know in the comments. Like if you stayed for the whole journey.