The ballroom shimmered with candlelight, casting a soft glow over the clusters of guests in lavish gowns and expertly tailored suits. The scent of roses and fresh-cut greenery filled the air, blending with the strains of violins that floated through the hall. Emily moved through the crowd beside her aunt, her face carefully composed despite the fluttering of nerves in her stomach.

Though she tried to engage politely with those around her, her thoughts kept drifting to Benedict. The memory of her dream, of his hand tracing her cheek, of his voice low and teasing in her ear, lingered. She felt a blush creeping up her neck just thinking about it, an odd mix of embarrassment and anticipation making her feel almost feverish.

Aunt Margaret led her through the crowded room, navigating their way between polite conversation.

"Ah, there he is," she said, smiling. Emily's heart fluttered and her mind turned to Benedict once again. Allowing herself to be pushed further into the room, Emily tried to compose herself for the meeting.

"Lord Fife!" Emily's head snapped up in something close to horror. "How lovely to see you here this evening."

Emily's heart sank, as it dawned on her this was her aunt's preference. This man. Emily had spent only a few moments in his company but felt the same level of passion towards Lord Fife she would a wet fish.

"Ladies," he drawled, and Emily felt her skin crawl. How could one word sound so…repulsive.

"You do look radiant tonight - I believe Miss Hawthorn is the prettiest girl in this room." He grinned at her, clearly expecting her to swoon at the compliment. It took everything in Emily's power not to wrinkle her nose in disgust.

"Thank you, Lord Fife," she responded flatly.

He extended his hand to her. "Would you do me the honor of the next, Miss Hawthorn."

There was no polite reason for her to decline, so Emily begrudgingly took his hand and the pair made their way to the floor.

Emily stood opposite Lord Fife, bracing herself for the next ten minutes. It took only 30 seconds before Emily contemplated walking off the dance floor, propriety be damned.

"You know, Miss Hawthorn, I do believe you might be the most fortunate woman in this room."

"Oh?"

"Someone so beautiful can only be a fortune," he said, clearly pleased with himself.

"Uh huh."

"I do believe we will be the envy of every single man and woman here," he glanced around the room, as if looking to confirm his theory.

"Indeed?"

"Someone so beautiful as yourself could only be considered a catch - something I pride myself on being too."

Emily did not respond.

"I am sure any young lady would feel honored to stand where you do. I have a good number of estates, and a grand income. I do believe my future wife will find herself in quite an enviable position."

Lord Fife's hand pressed against her back just a little too firmly and Emily wanted to flee the room.

"How…flattering you must find yourself." Emily was certain he did not even notice the bite to her words. "You must be very proud of your…achievements."

He gave a self satisfied chuckle. "I doubt there are few men who would not. My estates also boast some of the best hunting grounds in England. You know, my hunting grounds are among the best in the country. I had one young buck last season—what a magnificent creature! Took me a full hour to track him down, but, naturally, I was victorious."

"I am sure."

Her mind began to drift as Lord Fife continued to prattle on about his hunting ability. Looking around the room, she spotted Benedict standing in conversation with his younger brother at the side of the ballroom. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, feeling the blood pounding in her ears as she recalled her dream the previous night.

Despite the dance coming dangerously close to Benedict, he did not glance her way. Emily fought to contain the disappointment building in her chest.

As the dance drew to a close, Lord Fife leaned in towards her. Unlike when Benedict did the same the day before, Emily found herself leaning away from him.

"I must say, Miss Hawthorn," he murmured, "I'm quite certain we would make an enviable pair. The other men of the ton—why, they'd be beside themselves with jealousy, seeing me with such a rare beauty on my arm."

Emily fought the urge to cringe. "That's… very kind of you, my lord," she managed, unable to meet his gaze for fear that her distaste might show.

"Indeed," he replied, oblivious. "There are few who could match my status. Why, if I decided to court you seriously, I daresay the whole of London would be in a flutter. And you, of course, would be the envy of every young lady here."

The dance ended and Emily was spared having to respond. Lord Fife walked her off the dance floor, and Emily smiled and nodded.

"Please excuse me - I believe I am in need of a refreshment," she said before turning and walking away. He was odious.

Emily, lemonade in hand, sought refuge on the terrace. Large torches had been lit but the gardens beyond remained in darkness. She wondered if she could hide out in them for the remainder of the evening.

Glancing down to her left, she noticed a group of men stood in conversation. Realising Benedict was among them, her heart fluttered. Yet, despite facing her, he had yet to acknowledge her.

She knew it would not be polite to interrupt the group of men, so instead, she stood alone, waiting.

It took several moments, but eventually he did approach her. But something seemed different. Off. He was colder in his conversation and it confused her.

"Miss Hawthorn," he greeted her with a slight bow. His tone was polite, but restrained, lacking the familiarity she'd begun to crave. "You look… radiant this evening."

Emily's cheeks flushed at his words, though she sensed they lacked his usual sincerity. "Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton. The evening has been… enjoyable," she replied, though the forced smile on her lips felt brittle.

"It looks as though you have had quite an active evening so far. Lord Fife certainly seemed to be quite attentive."

Emily laughed. "Oh to be sure, he is completely enamored - but only with himself." She glanced over her shoulder to the ballroom where he stood, holding court. "Did you know he has a number of estates, all of which have vast hunting grounds and that he himself is an excellent hunter." She smiled but the look Benedict gave her seemed unreadable.

"To be sure, he would make a fine match for any young lady." Emily stared at him, surprised by his apparent approval of the insufferable man.

"Perhaps one who is hard of hearing. He did not stop talking the whole time we danced. I am not sure he asked a single question about myself."

Benedict shrugged, but stayed silent. Emily looked him up and down.

"Have I done something to offend you?" She asked suddenly.

Benedict seemed caught off guard by the directness of the question, but quickly replaced it with an insincere smile. "Not at all, why ever would you think that?"

She stared at him, knowing he was lying.

"I have just spent the first part of my evening being trapped with an odious young gentleman, and I use the term loosely, while hoping I might have a more pleasant conversation with yourself. And yet now you stand before me, acting just as he did. At least he was not coward enough to hide his true feelings as you appear to be."

Emily could feel her voice rising and tried to control her temper.

"I do not know what I have done to make you behave in such a way, Mr Bridgerton. I believed us to be friends. My apologies. I shall not make that mistake again."

Emily turned on her heel, disappearing back into the crowds inside. She could not understand the sudden change in temperament. Why were all young men so…emotional.

She returned to her aunt's side, hoping to make their excuses and leave the ball, suddenly in no mood to pretend to be merry.

"Good evening, Mr Bridgerton. Are you enjoying the dance?" One of her aunt's friends said. Emily stiffened, realising he had come to stand next to her.

Adopting a lighthearted tone, he responded, "I would be enjoying it so much more if Miss Hawthorn would agree to join me in the next."

"No thank you." There was a ripple of shock around the group.

"Emily!" Her aunt admonished. "Mr Bridgerton, she of course would be delighted."

Benedict held out his arm and Emily stubbornly refused to take it. It was not until her aunt nudged her back, she realised she had no choice and followed Benedict to the dance floor.

For the second time in one evening, she found herself standing opposite a partner she wished she could escape.

As they took their places, Benedict leaned in with a slight smirk, his voice soft enough for her ears alone. "Well, Miss Hawthorn, I'm honored you didn't flatly refuse me this time."

Emily forced a smile, her voice tight. "How very gracious of you, Mr. Bridgerton. It's not every day I have the pleasure of dancing with someone who goes out of their way to make me feel… dispensable."

His smirk faded, replaced by a faintly wounded look. "I didn't intend to make you feel that way."

"No?" she arched a brow, skepticism coloring her tone. "Then I suppose I must be mistaken. I simply thought that you'd suddenly decided I was no better than—oh, say, Lord Fife."

He chuckled, though there was no humor in it. "I wouldn't insult you like that, Miss Hawthorn."

"Are you sure?" She kept her tone light, though there was a challenging glint in her eye. "Because you seemed quite approving of him a moment ago. I almost expected you to push me right into his arms."

Benedict looked away, the muscle in his jaw tightening. "Perhaps I was mistaken in thinking you would see the wisdom in keeping your options open, Miss Hawthorn. After all, Lord Fife would be quite the—"

"A catch?" she interrupted, unable to help herself. "Yes, yes, I've heard. Several estates, vast hunting grounds, the envy of every young lady… He's practically perfect. It's a wonder he isn't drowning in admirers."

He gave a rueful smile, though his eyes softened as he looked at her. "And yet, you don't seem particularly impressed."

"Should I be?" she asked, holding his gaze with steady defiance. "Perhaps you, with your unshakable wisdom, can explain why I should find his every self-absorbed word endearing."

"Perhaps I misjudged how much you enjoyed his company." He shrugged, feigning indifference, though there was a glint of something in his eyes—a hint of jealousy, or perhaps regret.

Emily couldn't resist pressing further. "Oh, no, I quite loved every moment of it. His monologue on his hunting prowess was positively riveting."

Benedict chuckled, his cool demeanor cracking ever so slightly. "I'm sure you found it… enlightening."

"Oh very enlightening," she said, not willing to let him off the hook so easily. "I love hearing about how grateful I should be that any young man pays me the slightest attention."

He paused, eyes searching hers. There was a hesitation before he added, "Is that how you feel about my attention?"

But Emily was still angry and in no mood to placate insecure gentlemen who were prone to fits of disponsancy.

"I did not realise I had the honour of receiving such attention from yourself."

Benedict fell silent. Emily realised she had no inclination to be the one to break the silence and they continued for several minutes that way.

"Forgive me Miss Hawthorn," He said, finally breaking their silence. "It appears I have offended you this evening."

Emily laughed, unkindly. "Oh no, that will not do as an apology. You do not get to ask forgiveness for having offended my good sensibilities. You may ask forgiveness for your own actions and nothing else."

Benedict's mouth opened, just ever so slightly. Good, she thought. Let him be shocked into leaving me alone.

The dance drew to a close and Benedict escorted her to the edge of the dance floor before bowing and promptly departing her side.

Pride stung slightly, Emily returned to her aunt's side before begging a headache and asking to return home.