The Duke Asked May I Continue On Their Night — How a Forced Marriage in 1848 Became True Romance

Chapter 6

January brought the winter ball.

It was a tradition, Julian explained — older than himself, older than his father. The entire county would gather at Ashworth Park for dancing, music, and the kind of scrutiny that could strip a person to their bones.

Evelyn dreaded it.

She told him so on the morning of the event, standing in the breakfast room with her hands wrapped around a cup of tea that had gone cold. She did not know how to be a duchess in public. She did not know how to smile at people who would be judging her every move. She had spent six years learning to disappear, and now she was expected to be seen.

Julian listened without interrupting. When she finished, he said something she did not expect.

“Dance only with me tonight.”

She almost laughed. “That will cause gossip.”

“Let it,” he said. “I would rather be talked about than watch you disappear into a room full of strangers.”

The ball transformed Ashworth Park into something Evelyn barely recognized. Chandeliers blazed. Music poured through the halls. Guests arrived in waves of silk and jewels, their voices rising and falling like the tide. Evelyn stood at the top of the staircase, looking down at the sea of strangers, and felt her courage waver.

Then she saw Julian at the bottom, waiting for her.

Evelyn descended the staircase in a gown of deep blue velvet. She had chosen it herself, without consulting her aunt, without asking permission. It was the first thing she had chosen for herself in years.

Julian was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. When he saw her, he stopped breathing.

She saw it. The way his eyes widened, the way his composure cracked for just a fraction of a second. She felt a surge of power that she had not known she possessed.

They danced early in the evening. The waltz carried them across the floor, his hand firm at her back, hers resting in his with a trust that surprised her. She felt the eyes of the room on them, felt the whispers starting, and she did not care. The music seemed to exist only for them. The candles blurred into points of light, and the faces of the guests dissolved into the background.

“You are doing wonderfully,” he murmured.

“I am only following you.”

“Then I am honored.”

The words stayed with her long after the music ended. She carried them through the rest of the evening like a secret, returning to them in quiet moments when the scrutiny of the guests became too much. An older woman approached her at one point, her eyes sharp with curiosity. “You are younger than I expected, Your Grace,” she said. Evelyn met her gaze without flinching. “And you are exactly as I expected,” she replied. The woman’s smile faltered. She did not approach again.

Later, as the night deepened and the guests began to thin, Julian leaned close to her ear. His voice was meant only for her.

“You have brought warmth into this house,” he said. “I had forgotten it could feel like this.”

Evelyn looked at him, her heart unsteady. “So had I.”

When the last guests left and silence returned to Ashworth Park, neither of them wanted the night to end. They lingered by the fire in the library, no longer pretending that the closeness was accidental. The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the room. Evelyn sat on the sofa, her shoes kicked off, her hair beginning to come loose from its pins. Julian sat across from her, his coat removed, his sleeves rolled up. They talked about nothing and everything — the guests, the music, the old countess who had fallen asleep during the third waltz. Evelyn laughed, and Julian looked at her as if she had given him something precious.

It was Evelyn who spoke first.

“Julian,” she said, her voice barely above the crackle of the flames. “Do you believe affection can grow into something more?”

He turned to her fully. “I believe it already has.”

The words were simple, honest, and they changed everything.