Chapter 11: A night to remember

The Palace gleamed under the soft glow of countless chandeliers as debutantes and their families gathered in the grand hall. Tonight marked the beginning of the season, a moment every young lady in society dreamed of—a royal debut before Queen Victoria herself.

Emma stood among the other debutantes, her heart pounding beneath the delicate lace of her white gown. Eleanor stood behind her, a steady presence, offering reassurance with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder.

"You'll be magnificent," Eleanor whispered.

The line moved forward, and soon Emma was at the front, facing the monarch. Queen Victoria sat on her gilded throne, her sharp gaze assessing every young woman who approached.

Emma stepped forward, curtsying deeply, her head bowed. Her nerves threatened to overtake her, but she remembered Eleanor's words, the years of preparation, and the sacrifices that had brought her here.

"Rise," the queen commanded.

Emma obeyed, lifting her head to meet the monarch's piercing eyes. For a moment, silence hung in the air as Queen Victoria studied her. The other debutantes shifted uneasily, wondering what this pause meant.

Finally, the queen spoke, her voice resonant. "You have been chosen."

A ripple of gasps filled the hall.

"For the first time in nearly a decade," the queen continued, "I name a Diamond of the Season. Miss Emma Hastings, step forward."

Emma's breath hitched. She glanced back at Eleanor, whose face was a mix of pride and astonishment, before stepping closer to the throne.

Queen Victoria leaned slightly forward, a rare smile gracing her lips. "You carry yourself with grace, intelligence, and beauty. You are a credit to your family."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Emma managed, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions within her. She curtsied again, the room erupting into applause.

Eleanor's eyes glistened with unshed tears. This was more than she could have ever hoped for. Her daughter was now the most sought-after young woman in England.

But the night was far from over.

The queen hosted a grand ball in the palace's opulent ballroom. The walls shimmered with gold accents, and the polished floors reflected the glow of hundreds of candles in crystal chandeliers.

Emma entered the ballroom on Eleanor's arm, the crowd parting instinctively as they walked through. Every eye seemed to follow her, admiration and curiosity etched on their faces.

"She's stunning," someone whispered.

"The Diamond of the Season," another murmured.

Emma caught sight of Harrison among the crowd, his gaze fixed on her. Their eyes met briefly before she quickly looked away, her heart thundering in her chest. She couldn't allow herself to think of him—not tonight.

From the corner of her eye, Emma noticed Clara, resplendent in a crimson gown that seemed deliberately chosen to draw attention. Clara's expression was cool, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of disdain as she observed Emma.

"She's quite the spectacle, isn't she?" Clara said, her voice low but audible enough for Harrison to hear.

"She is," Harrison replied simply, his gaze never leaving Emma.

Clara's lips tightened. "Don't forget, Harrison, appearances can be deceiving."

As the music began, gentlemen approached Emma one by one, each vying for a dance. Eleanor stood to the side, watching with pride as her daughter captivated the room.

Clara made her way to Emma during a brief interlude, her smile sharp and calculated.

"Miss Hastings," Clara said, her tone saccharine. "Congratulations on your title. It must be overwhelming to receive so much attention."

Emma met her gaze evenly. "It's certainly an adjustment, but I find the attention... manageable."

"How lovely," Clara replied, her smile not reaching her eyes. "I do wonder, though, how much of it is genuine and how much is simply the novelty of the queen's choice."

"Novelty?" Emma asked, her tone calm but edged.

"Well," Clara said, her voice dropping slightly, "you are rather... unconventional for Mayfair. Surely you've noticed."

Emma smiled, her composure unshaken. "Unconventionality can often be a sign of strength, wouldn't you agree?"

Before Clara could respond, Beatrice appeared at Emma's side, her eyes flashing with indignation. "Emma, come, you must meet Lord Cavendish. He's been positively insistent on speaking with you."

"Of course," Emma said, allowing Beatrice to lead her away. As they walked, Beatrice whispered, "She's insufferable. Don't let her ruin your night."

Later, as Emma danced with a variety of gentlemen, one particularly bold admirer caught her attention.

"Miss Hastings," he said, his tone smooth. "You've enchanted the queen, and now you've enchanted me. Surely this is fate."

Emma arched an eyebrow. "Fate? Or flattery?"

"Perhaps both," he replied with a wink, pulling her slightly closer than was proper.

Before Emma could respond, Harrison appeared at her side.

"Forgive me," Harrison said curtly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "May I cut in?"

The other man hesitated but eventually stepped back, clearly recognizing the Viscount of Ashbourne.

As Harrison led Emma to the floor, she hissed, "That was unnecessary."

"I disagree," he said, his voice low. "You looked uncomfortable."

"I can handle myself," she retorted, though her irritation was tinged with gratitude.

For a moment, they danced in silence, the tension between them palpable. Harrison's hand on her waist felt both familiar and forbidden, and Emma struggled to maintain her composure.

"You look beautiful tonight," he said finally, his voice soft.

Emma glanced up at him, her heart skipping a beat. "Thank you."

From across the room, Clara watched them, her grip on her glass tightening.

As the ball began to wind down, Emma stepped out onto a balcony for a moment of solitude. The cool night air was a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the ballroom. She leaned against the marble railing, the sounds of the orchestra faint in the distance. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to dream of a simpler life—one where love was uncomplicated, and choices were her own.

"Enjoying the view?" a voice cut through the silence, sharp and mocking.

Emma turned swiftly to find Clara stepping onto the balcony, her gown shimmering under the moonlight. The smile on Clara's face didn't reach her eyes, which glittered with triumph.

"It's a lovely night, isn't it?" Clara began, feigning sweetness as she approached. "Though I must say, it must be exhausting keeping up with all the attention. I can't imagine what it's like to be the Diamond of the Season."

Emma stiffened, her grip on the railing tightening. "It certainly has been an eventful evening," she replied evenly.

"Oh, I'm sure it has," Clara said, her tone turning sly. "You know, I do admire your courage, Miss Hastings. Stepping into this world with such... grace." She paused, letting the words linger. "But I hope you're not mistaking all this admiration for something permanent. After all, not every gentleman's intentions are sincere."

Emma met Clara's gaze, unflinching. "I'm aware of society's complexities, Miss Clara."

Clara's smile widened, pleased with herself. "Good. Because it would be a shame to misinterpret kindness for something more. Take Harrison, for instance."

At the mention of his name, Emma's composure faltered ever so slightly. Clara noticed and pressed on.

"You see, there's no need for me to entertain suitors," Clara said, her voice dripping with false modesty. "Harrison has been promised to me for a very long time. Our families have always been close, and everyone knows how fond his mother is of me. It's only a matter of time before everything is made official."

Emma's breath hitched, her heart sinking. She kept her expression calm, but Clara's words struck a chord.

"I thought it would be best for you to know," Clara added, her eyes gleaming. "Harrison is a good man, but his duty lies with his family. And I am perfectly suited to be Viscountess Ashbourne. We'll make quite the match, don't you think?"

Emma forced a polite smile, though the ache in her chest was undeniable. "If that is what he wishes, then I'm sure it will be a perfect arrangement."

Clara laughed softly, triumphant. "Oh, Miss Hastings, you're ever so gracious. I admire that about you." She turned to leave, pausing at the doorway. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

Emma stood frozen on the balcony, Clara's parting words replaying in her mind. The night air did little to cool the fire of jealousy and confusion that raged within her.

"She's been promised to him?" The words echoed, sharp and relentless.

The door behind her creaked open, and she instinctively stiffened.

"Emma," Harrison's voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of his emotions.

She didn't turn to face him. "Did you come to remind me of Clara's claim on you?"

He sighed, stepping closer but keeping his distance. "It's not what you think."

Emma finally turned, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Then tell me, Harrison. Is there or is there not an arrangement between you and Clara?"

Harrison ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "There is—but it's not what I want."

"Not what you want?" Emma repeated, her voice rising. "Then why allow it? Why let her flaunt it in front of me?"

"It was my father's wish," Harrison admitted, his voice raw. "He believed Clara was the perfect match for our family. I didn't have the heart to refuse him then... and now it feels impossible to undo."

Emma shook her head, stepping away from him. "So, you'll marry her out of obligation? How noble of you."

"Emma, you don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly," she interrupted, her voice trembling. "You'll choose duty over everything else, just like everyone in this wretched society."

Harrison closed the gap between them, his hand catching her wrist gently. "And what would you have me do? Disobey my father's memory? Ruin Clara's reputation? It's not that simple."

Emma tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, though it remained tender. "Let me go, Harrison."

"I can't," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Emma, I can't let you go."

She stopped struggling, her breath catching. "Why?"

"Because you are all I think about," he confessed, his dark eyes locking with hers. "Every room I walk into, I look for you. Every decision I make, I wonder how it would affect you. I've spent my life trying to be what everyone expects of me, but with you... I just want to be myself."

Emma's heart pounded, but she shook her head. "And yet, you're bound to someone else."

"I don't love her," Harrison said firmly. "I never have."

"Then why—"

Before she could finish, he closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. For a moment, the world faded, leaving only the two of them beneath the stars.

When they broke apart, Emma stared at him, her emotions a tumultuous storm.

"This changes nothing," she whispered, her voice shaky.

"It changes everything," Harrison replied, his forehead resting against hers. "Because now you know the truth."

Emma stepped back, her tears finally spilling over. "The truth doesn't matter if you still plan to marry Clara."

Harrison's jaw clenched. "I'll find a way to end it. I swear to you."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Emma said softly before turning and walking back inside, leaving Harrison alone on the balcony, his heart aching with the weight of his choices.