Chapter 29
The Ravenswood ballroom blazed with the light of a thousand beeswax candles, its gold-leaf moldings reflecting the brilliance of the evening. Edmund stood near the base of the grand staircase, his heavy signet ring cold against his finger.
“You look like a man walking to his own execution, Ravenswood,” Julian murmured, stepping close while keeping his eyes fixed on the approaching guests.
“I am,” Edmund replied quietly, his gaze locked on the double doors. “Or worse, watching someone else be punished for my cowardice.”
Every significant family in London seemed to have answered the invitation. Lady Sophronia Quill held court near the orchids, her booming laughter carrying over the string quartet.
“My dear earl!” Sophronia declared as she swept past Edmund. “What a triumph of an evening. Though I must say, the tension in this room is thick enough to slice with a butter knife. Do try to look less like a mourner at your own wedding.”
“I shall endeavor to appear more festive, Lady Sophronia,” Edmund said tightly.
Lady Margaret stood composed at his side in deep amethyst silk. “She is right, Edmund. Keep your posture straight. The ton is watching every twitch of your jaw.”
“Let them watch,” Edmund muttered.
Across the room, Mr. and Mrs. Ashwell hovered near the entrance.
Sir Gerald stared fixedly into the middle distance, his jaw locked in grim resignation, while Eleanor clutched her fan like a shield.
Near the wall, Phoebe Cavendish watched the room with the calculating gaze of a chess master surveying a compromised board.
The doors swung open, and Cecily Vane arrived. She wore shimmering crimson silk, moving with the unhurried grace of a victor. She caught Edmund’s eye across the floor and offered a knowing smile.
“She looks entirely too confident,” Julian noted, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.
“She believes she has won,” Edmund said. “She thinks the board is hers.”
Then, the crowd near the entryway parted.
Corinna walked in beside Aunt Phoebe, wearing a gown of deep sapphire. There was no excessive lace, just a quiet, striking dignity that eclipsed everyone else in the room. Her gray eyes scanned the massive space and locked instantly onto Edmund.
Edmund stopped breathing. He held her gaze, pouring every ounce of his truth into the distance between them. Corinna gave a microscopic nod before looking away.
The evening proceeded correctly for exactly one miserable hour. Edmund endured polite handshakes, hollow congratulations, and a bloodless quadrille with Vivienne. When the grand clock chimed the hour, Edmund caught Julian’s eye. Julian gave a sharp nod.
Edmund stepped directly into the center of the polished dance floor and raised his hand. The music scraped to a jarring halt.
The silence in the ballroom became absolute. Hundreds of faces turned toward him.
“My lords, ladies,” Edmund said, his voice carrying clearly to the furthest corners of the room. “I must ask for your attention.”
A ripple of nervous tension moved through the crowd.
“For the past two months, this room, and indeed this entire city, has been entertained by a lie,” Edmund began. “I am Edmund Ashford, Earl of Ravenswood. And I have behaved with absolute, inexcusable dishonor.”
A ripple of murmurs swept through the room. They had all read the scandal sheets. They had all whispered the rumors over tea and cards for a week. But hearing it confirmed, in his own voice, in front of the entire ton, was an entirely different kind of scandal.
“I hid behind a false name,” Edmund continued, his voice rising, refusing to let the murmurs drown him out.
“I hid behind the coat of my own secretary because I was afraid. I was afraid of the duties I inherited, and I trusted so little in my own worth that I believed I needed a disguise simply to observe the family I was contracted to marry into.”
He turned his body to face Corinna directly.
“But the person who has paid the highest price for my dishonor,” Edmund said, his voice dropping into a rough register, “is the one person in this room who deserves it the least.”
Corinna’s lips parted, her gray eyes widening in shock.
“Corinna Ashwell knew absolutely nothing of my deception,” Edmund declared. “She was entirely innocent. She suspected everything, she warned me of my own foolishness, and she showed more integrity in a single chess game than I have managed in an entire Season.”
He took a step toward her. “I am in love with her.”
Sir Gerald Ashwell’s mouth fell open in utter disbelief.
“I have been in love with her since a dark garden, and a pond, and a ball where I caught her before she fell into the water,” Edmund confessed. “I love her for her brilliant mind, and her quiet courage, and her absolute refusal to perform for a society that demands it.”
He turned slightly to face the wider room. “I would sooner surrender my title, end this engagement publicly right here and now, and face every consequence this city can invent, than marry another woman while Corinna Ashwell is standing in the same room.”
The ballroom remained paralyzed.
A rustle of crimson silk broke the quiet. Cecily Vane stepped forward, wearing a look of condescending pity.
“My lord, please,” she said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. “The grief of your father’s passing has clearly unsettled your mind. You are speaking absolute nonsense to protect a girl who has obviously manipulated your fragile state. You must let your family escort you—”
“Be quiet, Cecily.”
The voice shook slightly, but it carried across the floor with the force of a whip. Vivienne Ashwell stepped into the center of the room.
“The rumors printed about my sister are false,” Vivienne announced, her voice gaining strength. “Every single word of them was entirely fabricated.”
Cecily’s false smile froze. “Vivienne, darling, you are upset—”
“I am not your darling,” Vivienne snapped.
She turned slightly, looking across the room at Corinna.
“Corinna is the best person I know. She is brilliant, and she is kind, and I have spent years being entirely too small, and too vain, to admit it. But I will not stand here and let her be ruined because I was foolish enough to trust a snake.”
Vivienne turned her blazing gaze back to Cecily.
“It was Lady Cecily who sent the anonymous note threatening to expose Edmund weeks ago. I saw the exact same elegant, deliberate handwriting on a note Cecily wrote to me regarding this very ball. I recognized the phrasing the moment I saw the pamphlet’s wording this morning. ”
“That is an absurd accusation,” Cecily hissed, her composure finally fracturing.
“I said nothing then, because I wanted the title,” Vivienne admitted, the stark honesty stunning the room. “But I am saying it now. Cecily Vane wrote the lies. And I will not marry a man who belongs to my sister.”
The room turned on Cecily. Hundreds of eyes locked onto the woman in crimson silk with absolute, undisguised disgust. Cecily stood very still, surveying the wreckage of her scheme. She lifted her chin, turned on her heel, and walked toward the grand entrance. The crowd parted in dead silence.
The doors closed behind her with an echoing thud.
The room exhaled in a massive, collective release of tension. Edmund did not hesitate. He crossed the polished floor, the crowd parting for him, and stopped directly in front of Corinna.
“Corinna,” Edmund asked quietly, his voice pitched just for her, though the silence ensured everyone heard. “I am not asking you for the sake of your family. I am not asking you to satisfy the ton, or to repair a scandal.”
He reached out and took her trembling hands in his.
“I am asking,” Edmund whispered, his blue eyes burning with absolute devotion, “because I cannot imagine a single morning for the rest of my life that would not be infinitely improved by your presence in it. I want your hand on the opposite side of a chessboard, every day, until I die. Corinna Ashwell, will you marry me?”
Corinna looked up at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears.
“Yes,” she said.
The room erupted into a deafening roar of applause and shocked, delighted gasps.
Lady Sophronia burst into emotional commentary, aggressively fanning herself.
Lady Margaret closed her eyes briefly, her face settling into an expression of profound relief and love.
Phoebe raised her champagne glass high into the air.
And on the edge of the dance floor, Julian stepped closer to Arabella, taking her hand. She looked up at him and smiled, letting him hold it.