London, 1691.
It was the night of a ball, so elegant and grandiose. The music from the harpsichord filled the air, enchanting every ear, and each guest was adorned in their finest attire. A silk gown, deep blue and radiant against Katerina's olive skin, swirled gracefully as she moved, full of restless energy. Her smile was a slap in the face of the misery that had once marred her past, dark curls cascading around her lovely face, and the insolence of her laughter bewitched every man in the room.
-Katerina, may I have this dance ?Carlisle asked, proposing his hand, which she accepted without hesitation. He was dressed soberly, as usual. The cold touch of his skin sent a delightful shiver through her.
-But only if you promise me three more.Katerina replied, her British accent nearly flawless.
A year had passed since they first met, and Carlisle had come to know his dear Katerina well. Just months before their encounter, a duchess had taken Carlisle under her wing, granting him a small room in the immensity of the castle. In return, Carlisle offered the duchess his scholarly research, a form of patronage, though he asked for nothing more. His sole request had been that she employ Katerina as one of her companions. It was a bold task, especially because the fifteen-year-old girl had left her family in troubled circumstances; and her ethnicity was Bulgarian, not British. Yet, her youthful charm and intellect had quickly won the duchess's favor. And so, the intellectual and the lady had found refuge in the Court. Katerina, who was still more a girl than a woman, often felt as though they were both playing roles on a stage, except when they were alone. Their days were delightful, filled with dances in the ballroom, endless conversations, quiet moments of reading in the library, discreet smiles, strolls through the gardens, and laughter that spoke of an unbreakable bond.
Carlisle relished the company of this mortal, though he had never dared to imagine marriage. He would never lay a hand on her, even though the social conventions of the time would have allowed him to take her as his wife and impose his will upon her from the moment they met on the docks. Katerina was searching for a wealthy suitor, preferably of noble birth. She was certain she could make a great marriage, bear many heirs, and secure her own home. She had no family, no money, she had no right to own anything, it was her only way to survive in a society that valued nothing in a young woman but her beauty. Fortunately, she also had wit. Yet, she rarely spoke of these ambitions to Carlisle, despite the burgeoning friendship between them. He was no fool. The girl had fled her homeland and was now resolute in her efforts to become British, to adapt, in order to survive. His curiosity did not prevent him from respecting the secrets she kept, just as Katerina respected Carlisle's own concealments and strange habits, like his frequent preference for staying indoors. Miss Petrova was like the essence of human beauty. She found joy in the simplest things, her moods shifted like the winds, and her charm was rivaled only by the grace of her features. And yet, she could be frivolous, disrespectful of rules, and at times unbearably vexing. Carlisle, captivated by this rare jewel, longed to see her flourish, to see each of her dreams come true. In her presence, the weight of his solitude seemed to lift, and the darkness that had long resided within him seemed touched by a brilliant light. The blinding light of a forbidden love.