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The soft hum of the ballroom wrapped itself around Lady Amelia as she stepped gracefully into the grand affair, a vision of poise and elegance. The atmosphere shimmered with the vibrancy of London’s elite—the rustle of fine silks, the clink of champagne glasses, the muted laughter of courtiers exchanging veiled secrets behind ivory fans. The chandeliers overhead sparkled, casting delicate prisms of light over the polished marble floors and the assembled guests. All eyes, it seemed, were on Amelia tonight. She was no longer the free-spirited young woman she had once been, but Lady Amelia Roserton—Duchess, wife to one of the most powerful men in London.
Her gown, a shimmering ivory with intricate embroidery, clung to her tall, statuesque form, the very picture of wealth and status. Her blonde hair, a cascade of soft waves now streaked with the faintest touch of silver, was pinned elegantly, with not a strand out of place. Amelia knew how she looked to others: every bit the perfect duchess, a portrait of grace and duty. Yet, beneath the polished surface, her heart was elsewhere, far from the shallow compliments of the *ton* and the sharp eyes assessing her every move.
It was Eloise who held her attention tonight, as she always did. Standing near the towering arched windows, bathed in the silvery glow of moonlight, Lady Eloise Bridgerton seemed untouched by the constraints of society. Her gown, a delicate cornflower blue, caught the light, shimmering faintly with each of her movements. Her auburn hair had been artfully arranged, yet there was something delightfully undone about her—something wild that no amount of coiffing could tame. Amelia watched as Eloise spoke animatedly, her hands gesturing with passion, likely in the midst of some witty critique about the absurdities of high society.
A soft smile tugged at Amelia’s lips, though it was laced with a bittersweet ache. Eloise, so much younger, so full of life, had always been the one unafraid to challenge the world. The one who questioned the rules, who mocked the masks that everyone else so carefully wore. Amelia envied her, adored her. Even now, after all this time, after her marriage to Lord Roserton—a man who had given her everything she was supposed to want—Eloise was the person who stirred something deeper within her.
Their bond, from the beginning, had been unlike any other. It was a closeness neither of them could ever name, not in a world where such feelings were forbidden. Eloise had always been the flame, and Amelia, despite her better judgment, had always been drawn to it. But now Amelia was no longer simply herself—she was Lady Roserton. Her marriage had brought her security, respect, a title, and the life she was expected to lead. It had also brought an unbearable distance from the one person who made her feel alive.
As she glanced across the room, Amelia felt the weight of her husband’s presence. Lord Roserton was deep in conversation, his expression one of cool authority as he discussed some matter of business with another lord. He was a kind man, generous and respected, but blind to the storm of emotions brewing within his wife. To him, Amelia was the perfect wife: composed, dutiful, everything the ton demanded of a duchess.
But her heart? Her heart now belonged to someone else.
Suddenly, Eloise’s eyes found hers. Across the expanse of the ballroom, their gazes locked, and for a single, breathless moment, the carefully constructed world Amelia had built around herself began to crack. Eloise’s eyes, always so expressive, gleamed with something rebellious, something daring. The moment was fleeting, but it was enough to make Amelia’s pulse quicken, enough to remind her that Eloise had always been able to see through the masks Amelia wore for everyone else.
She tore her gaze away, forcing herself back into the role expected of her. She mingled with the lords and ladies, exchanged pleasantries, and laughed at the appropriate moments. All the while, her thoughts remained tethered to every stolen glance from Eloise, every brush of their eyes. The weight of propriety grew heavier with each passing minute, the restraints of duty coiling tighter around her chest.
Finally, she saw Eloise move. Restless as always, Eloise cast one last glance around the crowded ballroom before slipping quietly toward the exit. A spark of something dangerous ignited in Amelia’s chest as she watched her go. She knew this was foolish, knew it could never lead anywhere, yet her feet seemed to move of their own accord.
Murmuring a soft excuse to the group gathered around her, Amelia slipped away, her heart pounding in her chest as she navigated through the clusters of people. She was aware of the whispers following her, the curious eyes that tracked her sudden departure, but she didn’t care. Her pulse quickened as she stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the sounds of the ballroom fading behind her.
She found Eloise standing at the garden doors, her hand already poised on the latch. At the sound of Amelia’s approach, Eloise turned, a soft smile curling at the corners of her lips. “You’re following me,” she said, her voice carrying that familiar lilt of amusement, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief.
Amelia’s breath caught in her throat. In the soft glow of the moonlight streaming through the windows, Eloise was even more beautiful than Amelia remembered—wild, unrestrained, unapologetic. “You left,” Amelia murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, the words trembling on her lips.
“And you followed,” Eloise replied, stepping closer, the space between them shrinking as the tension grew thicker.
The world around them seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them suspended in this moment. The pulse in Amelia’s throat thrummed louder, and the temptation to give in, to let go of all the pretences, pulled at her. She was Lady Roserton—she was a wife, a duchess, bound by a life she had chosen. But right now, in the presence of Eloise, none of that seemed to matter.
“Come with me,” Eloise whispered, her hand reaching out, palm open, inviting.
Amelia’s heart waged a silent war. She could feel the invisible chains of duty pulling her back, warning her of the consequences, the scandal, the ruin. But then she looked into Eloise’s eyes, and all the rules, all the expectations, faded into the background.
Without a word, she took Eloise’s hand.
The cool night air enveloped them as they stepped out into the garden, the soft scent of jasmine mingling with the crisp breeze. Moonlight bathed the path ahead, guiding them deeper into the garden, away from the prying eyes of society, until they reached a secluded corner, hidden from view by the high hedges and tall trees.
Once they were alone, Eloise turned to face her, her expression soft yet searching. “It’s suffocating in there,” she said quietly. “All those people, all that pretending.”
Amelia’s chest tightened. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely holding back the emotion that threatened to spill over. “I know.”
For a long moment, Eloise just looked at her, as if trying to decipher every unspoken word, every repressed feeling. “Do you regret it?” Eloise’s voice was low, filled with quiet intensity. “Marrying him?”
The question sliced through Amelia like a blade, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to say no, wanted to say that her life was everything she had hoped it would be, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, her throat tightened as the truth she had buried for so long clawed its way to the surface.
“I don’t regret him,” Amelia said at last, her voice trembling with the weight of the admission. “But I regret what it cost me.”
Eloise’s eyes darkened, and before Amelia could take another breath, Eloise was closer, the warmth of her breath brushing against Amelia’s cheek. “What did it cost you?” Eloise’s voice was barely a whisper now, soft and full of pain.
Amelia’s heart pounded in her chest, her pulse quickening as her gaze dropped to Eloise’s lips. “It cost me you,” she confessed, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
For a moment, Eloise didn’t move. The world seemed to still around them, the air between them heavy with everything they had never said. Then, as if drawn by an undeniable force, Eloise leaned in, her lips brushing against Amelia’s, soft and hesitant at first.
The kiss deepened, growing urgent and raw as years of repressed longing surged to the surface. Amelia’s hands tangled in Eloise’s hair, pulling her closer, her heart racing as the world fell away. It was just the two of them now—no titles, no expectations, no rules. Just them.
When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, Amelia rested her forehead against Eloise’s, her heart aching with the truth they couldn’t escape.
“We can’t,” Amelia whispered, her hands still clutching Eloise’s dress, unwilling to let go.
“I know,” Eloise replied, her voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t pretend anymore.”
Neither could Amelia, not here, not now. In this stolen moment, the boundaries of propriety, of duty, felt like distant shadows. But reality would return—it always did.
Tears welled in Amelia’s eyes as she fought to keep her composure. “Just for tonight,” Eloise murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Amelia’s temple. “Stay with me, just for tonight.”
Amelia closed her eyes, the ache in her chest almost unbearable. She should say no. She should walk away. But instead, she took Eloise’s hand once more, her fingers lacing through hers as they swayed together, moving in a slow, silent waltz under the moonlight.
They danced, knowing that when dawn came, they would return to their separate lives—one bound by duty, the other by yearning. But for now, for this one night, they had each other.
And for now, that was enough.