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Chapter 3

"The Earl and Countess of Grantham and Lady Mary Crawley" The booming voice of the butler announced. Robert looks around. Ember Hall is a beautiful place, with its grand pillars, colourful flowers, and dazzling chandeliers. The large Christmas tree, adorned with candles, ornaments, and twinkling lights, adds to the festive charm, making the ballroom even more enchanting and magical for the season. The spirited voices of many lords and ladies are drowned out by the music.

"I told you we where late!" Isabella hissed, gesturing with her gloved hand to the party on the on the dancefloor. He sighs. "We aren't late, we are just in time." She grabbed his arm with a huff and they walk to the middle of the room. "Really, Mama, all that frowning and sulking can't be good for the baby," Mary remarked casually, glancing at her mother. Her words held a teasing edge, but the mischief in her tone didn't go unnoticed. Robert couldn't help but share a small, knowing smile with her. Mary and her mother, Isabella, had never been particularly close. They were too alike in some ways—both headstrong, both unyielding—but their differences kept them at odds more often than not. Isabella had never been the nurturing sort, at least not with Mary.

He remembered the pony he had given Mary for her 10th birthday. She had been thrilled, her joy so infectious it lit up the whole house—except for Isabella, who had spent weeks complaining. Every time Mary came home muddy but brimming with stories about her adventures with the pony and her father, Isabella would scold her. It didn't matter how much Mary tried to share her excitement, her mother rarely listened. It often felt as if Isabella didn't even care. Mary, however, never let it bother her for long. His little girl has always been resilient.

They walk together to greet their hosts, the Earl and Countess of Emberfall. It's the first time Robert has seen them since their daughter's funeral. Lady Margaret Ashbourne, née Fields, died giving birth to her second child, the long-awaited heir to the Ashbourne estate. Her death was followed by another devastating blow just months later, when her grieving husband, Lord Ashbourne, also passed away. Their young son, Andrew, now holds the title of Baron of Ashbourne, while he and his seventeen year old sister, Elizabeth, are being raised by their grandparents. The Earl and Countess, determined to provide a stable and loving home for their orphaned grandchildren, have thrown themselves into the task of making everything as perfect as possible.

Robert can only imagine the depths of their sorrow. He exchanges a few polite words with the Earl and Countess before his gaze shifts to his wife. She is stunning in a light blue sequin dress that shimmers under the chandelier, her blonde hair styled into an intricate bun atop her head. He's pulled back to the night he proposed to her, a night when he had convinced himself he was in love, this person with almost the same enthralling look as now. Yet, standing here now, he knows how wrong he had been.

"Oh, Robert, I see Lady Raven. I haven't seen her since her third wedding. I must go and say hello to her." And off she went, disappearing into the gathering with her usual lively stride. His wife had always had a soft spot for gossip, a trait he couldn't help but find ironic. Especially now, he mused, as she carried another man's child in her belly—a secret that they share between the two of them.

He turns to his daughter, who stares into the distant with a deep frown on her lovely face. "Will you do me the honour of dancing with me, milady?" He said with a exaggerating bow. Mary looks at him dumfounded for a moment, before giving her father a little bow, her brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "My pleasure milord." And with that he leads her into a waltz.

Cora stands on the balcony, the same one she met Robert for the first time. She needed to get out of there, the hard noises of the orchestra and the chatter makes her head hurt. She stares to the sky, it was filled with thousands of shining stars. Each one more beautiful than the next. Ever when she was a little child she loved to look at the little lights. Her father told her that if she ever felt lonely she just had to look at the dark void filled with those shining stars and imagine that thousands of angels were looking after her, making her feel less lonely and more loved.

"What the hell are you doing here?!" Her husband Richard came up from behind her. She gives a little squeak turning swiftly around to face him. His slick blonde hair is now messy, sticking to his forehead due to his sweating when he drinks to much. His stormy green eyes bore into her indigo ones, making her breathe harder, her chest moving quickly up and down. "I just wanted a breath of fresh air, all the noise was giving me an headache." She said, hoping he would be reasonable with her. He looks at the rise and fall of her chest, barely hidden by her low-cut bodice. He licks his lips, giving her a nervous feeling. The music that could be heard from the ballroom stopped, making him snap out of his fantasy and back into reality. Richard grabs her upper-arm roughly and brings her inside. "You are the Marchioness of Silverton, you are supposed to stand still, look pretty and be one of the most respected and admired woman in the county. Got it?" He kisses her cheek when she nods slowly.

Minutes later, after her husband had wandered off to join his gentlemen friends, she stood quietly behind one of the ornately decorated pillars, sipping champagne on her own. The golden liquid was crisp, and she savoured it slowly, appreciating the rare moment of solitude. Ever since she became a married woman, she had discovered the subtle privileges of being a wallflower. While she occasionally enjoyed the spotlight and the attention it brought, she found a quiet relief in stepping back from it now. With a husband like Richard, she no longer felt the need to maintain the exhausting pretence of being little Miss Perfect. She could finally allow herself to relax, to be something closer to who she truly was—flawed, quiet, and unbothered by the opinions of society. Of course, her indifference irked both the watchful eyes of others and Richard himself, but she found she cared less and less.

She moved around the pillar, carefully balancing her empty flute in one hand, intending to set it down on the side table. But as her blue eyes accidentally locked with the eyes she had secretly dreamed of for years, her heart lurched. In a fluster, she darted back behind the pillar, pressing her back against it as if it might shield her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed he hadn't noticed her awkward retreat.

Unfortunately, that hope was short-lived. "Lady Silverton?" His unmistakably smooth voice reached her ears, sending a fresh wave of panic coursing through her.

Her eyes snapped open, and there he was, peeking around the corner with a curious and worried expression. Flustered, she gave him a sheepish little smile, her cheeks betraying her. "Hello, Lord Grantham," she managed, gripping the pillar for support.

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