Guests stream past me, and the room steadily fills.

Two women walk past, one of them bumping into me but not apologizing. They seem to be lost in conversation.

"—paid the man five thousand pounds so she could marry Mr. Rallsmouth, you know."

"The duke?"

"Yes. Apparently, her father had high ambitions for her. Wanted the girl to marry a peer. It took a bit of financial persuasion to change his mind."

What? Alex paid Emily's dad off?

I won't tell you what I had to do, he'd said.

How could I have forgotten that?

I don't know how much five thousand pounds is, but it sure sounds like a fortune.

I'm still standing in the entry, half dazed by this news, when Emily finds me. "Oh, Rebecca, you look beautiful!"

I force a smile, even though I want to burst into tears because she's called me Rebecca. We're so close now. We've been through so much. She should be calling me Callie.

I wish I could tell her, I wish I could explain, but tonight is not the time. We're celebrating. I can't ruin this night for her. But hearing her say that word is like having my lies thrown back in my face. I don't have to ask to know she's never lied to me. That's just not her style.

She curtsies and I take in the details of her crimson gown: scalloped hemline, cap sleeves, embroidered bust, all of it vibrant against her richly dark hair, which has been pulled up above her head with a black butterfly-shaped clip. She's a bright splash of color among the rest of the room. But the dress can hardly compete with the sparkle in her eyes; she's positively gleeful.

"Thank you," I say, and curtsy back, even though I'd rather just hug her.

"Isn't it the grandest thing you've ever seen? And all in my honor. Her Grace was quite annoyed to rush it, but we've already got our special license and wish to wed two days hence."

"You're going to he married in two days?"

She nods. "Yes, for there is no reason to wait when we wish it so badly."

"Cool. Er, wonderful," I say.

The ballroom is filling, but I still see no sign of the one person I want to see most. The person who commands a room like no other. What is he doing? This is his house. He's got to be under this roof somewhere, so why is he not in this room?

I need to kiss him tonight. I want to. I can't keep screwing things up and then waiting for them to magically get better for me. Rebecca would never do that. She'd probably march right up to him and admit that she likes him. Old Callie? She'd shrink into herself and hope everyone forgot she existed at all.

And I can't be that person anymore. Alex sees me. And I don't want to be invisible ever again.

"Shall we get refreshments?"

I nod to her and follow her to the array of goodies weighing down the tables. I don't even ask what any of it is; I just grab a plate and a few items and retreat. I'm used to eating mystery food now. Once I opened my eyes a bit, it turned out to be pretty good. Well, most of it anyway. Some of it's still kind of sketchy.

I don't snack for long, though. Once Alex enters the room, I forget I'm even hungry and nearly drop my plate. A helpful servant scoops it up from my hands.

I see him in profile, his long lean body in stark shades of black and white: knee-high socks, dark, well-fitted pants, a jacket the color of midnight, and a snowy-white cravat as pressed and starched as ever. I'd think he looked entirely too formal, except my own dress is at least as fancy. Today, it's appropriate.

As much as it would he great to see him in a T-shirt, jeans, and hall cap, the formal attire simply suits him.

He surveys the room as the others take notice of his presence, hut before they can bombard him, his eyes sweep across to me and then stop. His lips give way to the slightest of smiles, and then he's heading straight toward me, leaving a gaggle of disappointed faces in his wake.

"Do I look okay?" I whisper to Emily, unable to take my eyes off of him long enough to check.

She squeezes my hand. "You look..."

"Stunning," Alex finishes as he arrives in front of me.

"Your Grace," I say, for the first time, and curtsy.

He looks amused that I've addressed him so formally. "My lady." He bows, a deeper bow than I've ever seen him do.

I rise and look him in the eye again. "I thought you said I wasn't a lady."

He smirks. "I thought you said you were."

We smile at one another, and the room fades around me.

"Save the next dance?"

I nod.

"Wonderful. I shall find you then."

And then he leaves me with Emily, and I finally know what a swoon is as I grab her elbow.

"I thought he might ravish you right here on the floor," she says with a giggle.

"Emily!"

"What?"

And then I can't help it; I burst into a fit of giggles with her, until my sides ache and I can hardly breathe. A few guests stare as they pass us — I'm betting such behavior is frowned upon — but I find that I don't even care. It's been so long since I've had a friend who made me feel like I could be myself. Ironic, since I'm Rebecca here, but it's still invigorating and exhilarating, and all we're doing is standing here laughing like total lunatics. It's definitely against Victoria's Rules for Proper Young Ladies.

But I don't care. I am me. Whether that is someone they like or someone they despise, I am who I am, and that's the truth.

When have I ever been this sure of myself?

"Is everything all right?" Emily stops giggling.

"Yes. I—" I pause, taking a breath. "I'm... better than all right." I glance around at the beautiful, sparkling ballroom and then back at Emily's smiling face. "I'm perfect."

Chapter 30

"Denworth is coming this way," Emily says, barely a heartbeat later.

"What? Where?"

Emily nods at an older gentleman marching toward us, and my heart leaps into my throat. He's shorter than I'd imagined, with a thin build under his colorful red jacket. His hair is a salt-and-pepper style that somehow looks aristocratic and noble. And then I look at his face.

Oh God, he looks...

Perfectly happy? That can't be right.

"What do we do?" I whisper, but it's too late for Emily to respond. He's six feet in front of us. Then three... then...

"Miss Thornton-Hawke," he says, bowing in front of her.

"My lord," Emily says, and curtsies. I manage to mumble the same and follow her lead. "Thank you for your attendance in support of my new engagement. I know how difficult it must be for you."

I study his face. He is older, that's for sure. Old enough to be my dad. But he has this kind sparkle to his eye. I don't feel scared or intimidated like I thought I would be if I ran into him.

"Yes, it was certainly not easy to let go of such a charming and beautiful young lady. Best wishes in your marriage."

I swallow, hard.

He's nice. As simple as that. The caricature I'd built up in my head was completely off-base. He actually wants what's best for Emily, even if he ends up getting the short end of the stick.

Emily still deserved the choice of her husband, of course, but obviously Alex wasn't trying to force her into marrying a lecher or anything, either.

And he probably knew that. If Denworth is a member of Alex's "polite society," Alex had probably met him. And knew he was a good guy. That explains a lot.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "I hope your evening is an enjoyable one."

"Likewise," he says. Then he nods toward the two of us and walks away.

All I can do is watch him retreat. Emily wouldn't have been downright miserable with him. Would she have been in love? Unlikely. But he is not what I thought he'd be. Far from it.

"He doesn't seem upset about the broken engagement," I finally say, after a long moment of silence.

"No, he doesn't, does he?" She smiles, more to herself than to me. "I was surprised he would come, but then I think it was to squelch any further gossip. By giving his approval, he makes it appear as if it were mutual."

"Oh. That makes sense."

She nods. "And no doubt he's back in the marriage hunt."

I smile. I hope he finds someone who will make him happy. I guess he deserves that.

Before I can think of it any more, the song transitions, and butterflies swarm my stomach as if they're a mob of angry bees. I haven't even begun to search for Alex before he arrives at my elbow, escorting me toward the floor. The crowd parts as we walk through. I really am Cinderella tonight, about to dance with my prince.

We take our place in the formation, and I realize for the first time it's Victoria at the head, demonstrating a dance. She's glowing. This is her thing, this high-society hostess stuff. I've never seen her beam from ear-to-ear like this.

Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

Once the dance has been demonstrated, Alex bows to me and I curtsy, and it begins. We put our palms up to one another and walk in a small circle. I feel his eyes on me in an intense stare. It warms my cheeks.

Once back to my starting place, I drop my hand and turn in the opposite direction, and the move is repeated, palm to palm. I hate that there are gloves between us. I hate that I can't just wrap my arms around his neck and dance with my cheek against his shoulder like I would in the twenty-first century. If I had the guts, that is.