The moment Caesar and Marianne had taken to the dance floor, a ripple of whispers had started to spread through the room, quiet at first, then growing as more eyes turned to watch the unexpected pairing. It was not lost on anyone that the Duke, renowned for his aloof nature and penchant for keeping the company of high society, had chosen a woman of common birth—his childhood maid, no less—as his first dance partner of the evening.

  The gossips buzzed like bees in a hive, too curious to keep the speculation to themselves.

  “Did you see that?” Lady Emeline whispered to her friend, her eyes widening with disbelief. “The Duke chose her, of all people. She’s no noblewoman. I heard she was raised as a servant in his household. How could he—”

  “She is the one?” her companion, Lady Vivienne, interrupted with a soft gasp, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed Marianne from across the room. “I thought she was a tutor for the Marquis’ children now. But to dance with the Duke like that... Is she really so close to him? I thought he was far too... above her.” She lowered her voice as though the very thought of such an arrangement was scandalous.

  The two women exchanged knowing glances, each drawn to the subtle tension between Marianne and Caesar. They were standing far too close, too comfortable, for a mere servant and master. It was all the confirmation they needed.

  “Perhaps that’s why she’s gained such favor with the nobility,” Lady Emeline mused, her voice low and conspiratorial. “She’s certainly caught his eye.”

  “I don’t know about favor,” Lady Vivienne replied with a slight sneer, “but attention, certainly. That’s the kind of thing that’s talked about in circles like these. And the Duke—he has never once given his attention to someone beneath him. Not like that.”

  The whispers continued to swirl, loud enough for Caesar to catch snippets of them as he led Marianne across the floor. He didn’t acknowledge the growing tension in the room, though he could feel the eyes of the nobility drilling into him, questioning him, wondering about his motives. But why did it matter?

  At least, that’s what he told himself. It shouldn’t matter.

  His gaze flickered down to Marianne, noticing how the others kept their distance from them, still hesitant to approach now that he had so clearly marked her as his choice. He couldn’t help but feel a quiet satisfaction in that. If they thought her beneath him, so be it. She had been his for years—long before titles and noble bloodlines had ever come into the picture. Marianne was his, in the way only a childhood companion could belong to someone—so why should it matter what anyone else thought?

  And yet, there was a gnawing discomfort deep in his chest, a sudden awareness of how far their worlds had drifted apart. The murmurs, though fleeting and shallow, reminded him of that distance, the kind that couldn’t be bridged with a simple dance.

  When the music ended, Caesar led Marianne off the floor with a lingering touch on her hand, much longer than necessary. He was reluctant to let go of her. For a moment, as the last notes of the waltz faded into the air, he felt almost like he had returned to a place he’d lost long ago—a time before titles, before distance, when they had simply been Caesar and Marianne.

  But the moment was over.

  As they reached the side of the room, Caesar quickly surveyed the crowd. The nobles were still staring, many of them gossiping openly now that he and Marianne had become the center of attention. He could feel their eyes, heavy with questions, and it stirred a sense of frustration in him that he couldn’t quite explain. What was it to them? What did it matter who he danced with?

  Still, he couldn't afford to let the gossip run rampant. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—let it damage the reputation he had worked so hard to build.

  “I hope I didn’t keep you too long from your other admirers,” Caesar said smoothly, offering Marianne a polite smile, though there was an undercurrent of something else in his voice—a thinly veiled frustration. His hand still lingered at her elbow, as if he hadn’t quite finished with her.

  Marianne’s smile was graceful, but there was a glimmer of something unreadable in her eyes. “No, Your Grace. It was... a kind reprieve.”

  Her response was polite, distant even. Caesar noted the formality of her words and the subtle shift in her demeanor, but he didn’t press. He wasn’t entirely certain what he was feeling at that moment, but he was sure of one thing: he wasn’t quite ready to let her slip away again. Not when he had finally gotten this close to her again.

  The night continued around them, the music playing and the people mingling, but Caesar’s thoughts were elsewhere. Marianne, for all her grace, was not a woman easily dismissed from his mind.

  As the evening drew to a close, he found himself seeking her out more than once. She seemed to have withdrawn, standing at the edge of the gathering, her gaze distant, her posture calm yet reserved. He saw her talking briefly with the Marquis' wife again, but it was the way she stood there, silently observing the others, that tugged at his chest.

  He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to speak with her again, away from the prying eyes and gossipy whispers. He wanted to ask her how she was—how she had been since the day she left Alderson—and why, despite everything, she had never written to him. He wanted to know about her life, her thoughts, and yet, every time he opened his mouth, the words seemed to fail him.

  But it wasn’t just that.

  There was an undeniable pull, something that went beyond their shared past and the familiarity of their childhood. Something about Marianne, the woman she had become, was dangerously captivating. She was no longer the simple, innocent girl he had once known; she was a woman who can capture anyone with her comforting presence. And as much as he tried to tell himself it was nothing more than curiosity, he knew better.

  It was more than that.

  “Would you walk with me?” he asked, his voice low but firm, as he approached her once more. He had made up his mind. He needed to speak to her. To have a real conversation, away from the prying eyes of the ballroom.

  Marianne’s gaze met his, and for a split second, he saw something flicker in her expression—surprise, perhaps, or something more. But it was gone almost as quickly as it came, replaced by her usual calm.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied, though her voice was carefully neutral, carefully guarded. She allowed him to lead her toward the garden doors, away from the clamor of the ballroom and into the cool night air.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  The moment they stepped into the quiet of the garden, Caesar felt a brief sense of relief, as though the outside world could no longer reach them. There was a faint rustle of leaves in the evening breeze, the soft murmur of fountains in the distance, but everything felt quieter here. More intimate.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Caesar began, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty despite his earlier resolve. He looked at her, his gaze intense, as if searching for something—an answer, perhaps, or a glimpse of the woman he had once known. “How have you been? Truly.”

  Marianne stopped walking, her gaze meeting his for a long moment. There was a pause, and then she smiled, though it was faint, guarded.

  “I’ve been well, Your Grace. It’s been... a change of pace, but I am well,” she replied, her tone measured.

  He wanted to press further, to ask about her life since she had left Alderson, but something in her voice stopped him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he could feel the distance between them. She had become a stranger in some ways.

  But still, he couldn't help the thought that had been growing inside him, something he had tried to ignore: I want to know her again. I want to be a part of her life again.

  And in that moment, despite the uncertainty and the weight of the questions left unspoken, he knew he would find a way to make that happen. Even if he had to convince her, even if he had to prove it to her, he couldn’t let her slip away a second time.

  For now, he would tell himself it was for the sake of friendship. But deep down, Caesar knew better. This was something else entirely.

  As Caesar led Marianne further into the quiet garden, the distant hum of the ballroom faded, replaced by the cool night air and the soft rustling of leaves. The contrast was immediate—here, in this secluded space, there were no watchful eyes, no whispers to prick at her skin. It was just them.

  Marianne took a deep breath, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to loosen. The stifling, overbearing presence of the high society had made her feel like a rare bird in a gilded cage, observed from every angle. But here, with Caesar, the weight seemed to lift.

  She glanced at him, noting how his tall form cast a long shadow beneath the pale moonlight. He was still the Duke, with all the authority and composure that title demanded. And yet, there was something different about him tonight. Less guarded, more... open? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was simply that they were alone, without the constraints of expectations and society’s eyes weighing them down.

  They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments, the soft crunch of gravel beneath their feet the only sound. Marianne could feel the air around them shift—less formal, less forced—and she allowed herself to relax, if only slightly.

  “Thank you for the dance,” she said softly, breaking the silence. Her voice was genuine, but there was a hint of something else in it—a quiet gratitude, even if she didn’t fully understand it herself.

  Caesar gave a small, amused smile. “You don’t need to thank me,” he replied. “It was the least I could do, considering the spectacle those young men were making of themselves.”

  Marianne laughed quietly, the sound light and unburdened. “They meant no harm,” she said, though the amusement in her voice was clear. “But I suppose I do not enjoy being the center of such... attention.”

  “You never have,” Caesar said, his tone unexpectedly soft. “You’ve always preferred the quiet, the company of few rather than many.”

  She looked at him, surprised by the accuracy of his words. For a moment, it felt as though the distance that had come between them in the years since her departure had closed slightly.

  “That’s true,” she admitted. “I suppose I was never one to revel in the spotlight. It’s a bit overwhelming at times, especially in a place like this.”

  There was an understanding in his eyes, a flash of something that reminded her of their childhood. Back then, he had often been the one to seek refuge from the crowds, and she, his trusted companion, had always been able to offer him that escape. But that was then, and this was now.

  “And yet, you handled it better than I would have imagined,” Caesar said, his voice a touch lighter. “You have a way of disarming people. I always wondered how you did it.”

  Marianne smiled faintly, a small hint of nostalgia creeping into her expression. “I suppose it comes with practice. After all, I did spend years taking care of you, Duke Alderson.”

  His name on her lips felt different now, as though it had more weight than it had before. She could feel the subtle shift in their dynamic, the way her words lingered in the air between them.

  Caesar glanced at her, his gaze lingering on her face as if he were studying her. The moonlight highlighted her features—soft, unassuming, yet undeniably beautiful. She had changed in many ways since they had last seen each other, but there was still the same gentleness in her eyes, the same warmth that had made her so approachable, so kind.

  “I don’t think I ever truly thanked you for everything you did for me,” he said, his voice quieter now, more introspective. “You were always there. Always... looking out for me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

  Marianne looked at him, startled by the sincerity in his voice. She had always cared for him, of course, but the way he spoke now—so earnestly—was different. She saw a side of him that she had not expected, one that seemed almost... vulnerable.

  “You were never a burden to me, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice gentle, trying to reassure him. “It was my duty. And I was glad to do it.”

  He stopped walking and turned to face her, a small frown creasing his brow. “And you were happy? Truly happy?”

  Marianne hesitated. It wasn’t an easy question to answer—not when so much had changed, and so many things had gone unsaid. She had been happy in those simpler days, yes, when they were both children, when their friendship had been uncomplicated and pure. But the years had complicated things. Life had complicated things.

  “I was content,” she said at last, her tone carefully measured. “I found purpose in my work, in being there for you when you needed me. But...”

  The words hung in the air, and Caesar took a step closer, his expression gentle, but there was something intense in his eyes now. “But?”

  She looked up at him, feeling a sense of unease in the pit of her stomach. “But things change. People change. I had to leave because it was the right thing to do... for both of us.”

  He nodded slowly, though his eyes seemed to narrow slightly. “And now?”

  Her gaze fell to the ground, unsure of how to respond. “Now... I’m not sure. It’s difficult to say.”

  The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Caesar could sense her hesitation, the way she was holding back. He had no desire to push her, but the truth was, he didn’t quite understand what was happening between them now. After all this time, after everything that had changed, he still found himself drawn to her in a way that felt both familiar and new.

  “I suppose we’ve both had our share of changes, haven’t we?” Caesar said after a moment, trying to lighten the tension. “You, with your role as a tutor. Me, with the responsibilities of the Duchy. But there’s one thing I’ve realized—there’s no reason we can’t talk, like we used to.”

  Marianne raised an eyebrow, surprised by the suggestion. “Talk?” she asked, her voice almost playful.

  She met his gaze, and for the first time since their reunion, she allowed herself to relax a little. His words, though simple, were a balm to the worries she hadn’t even realized were weighing on her heart. She had left Alderson in search of a life outside the confines of the Duke’s mansion, outside the role she had played for so many years. But now, with Caesar standing here before her—older, different, yet still the same in some ways—she felt a flicker of something she had long buried. The warmth of their shared history. The comfort of an old friendship that still had roots, even if it was uncertain where it might go now.

  “I would like that,” she said softly, her voice more sincere than she had meant it to be. “I think... I think we both need time to figure things out, but I don’t see why we can’t talk. Like we used to.”

  Caesar’s smile deepened, a flicker of hope shining in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve missed our conversations.”

  Marianne returned his smile, though it was tinged with sadness. They were both standing on the precipice of something new, something unknown, but at least they could start again, one step at a time.

  As the evening wore on, they continued to walk through the garden, speaking of small things—of books, of music, of the changes they had each seen in the world around them. There was no rush, no pressure. For the first time in a long while, Caesar felt a sense of peace settle over her, as though, perhaps, this moment was enough.

  It was just a conversation. But for him, it felt like a beginning.