CHAPTER 46

At Belfoire, preparations for the grand ball intensified. Servants polished every surface, hung fresh draperies, and carefully uncrated antique candelabras. Vivienne worked tirelessly alongside them, finalizing guest lists and orchestrating a lavish menu. Her nights, however, were fraught with restless dreams—half exultant that she had invited Julian, half terrified of the tension his arrival would bring.

Lucien observed her efforts with measured approval, occasionally stepping in to offer advice or request changes. Sometimes, a spark lit between them—like when they argued over whether to serve imported French champagne or local wines, only to dissolve into quiet laughter at how trivial it seemed after all they'd endured. In those flashes of mirth, Vivienne felt the old affection stirring.

Yet a certain reticence lingered, as though both feared stepping too close to the fragile flame of romance. Lucien's polite courtesy replaced the easy intimacy they once shared. She wished he'd speak of her letter to Julian, or whether he welcomed him at the ball. But he never brought it up—perhaps not wanting to risk fracturing their tenuous peace.

As the event drew near, lavish invitations were dispatched across the county and beyond. Rumors spread that the Duke of Belfoire intended to reassert his status in style—a new era for the estate. Many speculated about Vivienne's role as hostess, tongues wagging over her scandalous infiltration fiasco, yet also praising her rumored bravery in helping unmask criminals. The ball promised to be the talk of the season.

Three days before the ball, a courier arrived with a sealed note for Vivienne. Her heart skipped: was it from Julian? She read it in her private sitting room, relief and nerves warring as she saw his name:

Vivienne,I've delayed my War Office assignment. I will come to Belfoire for the ball, arriving the evening prior.My heart remains steadfast in seeking clarity with you—and yes, even with Lucien, if he permits it. Thank you for this invitation, uncertain though it may be.—Julian

She pressed the parchment to her chest, tears gathering. He was coming. Her heart soared with mingled joy and dread. Would Lucien truly allow Julian's presence unchallenged? Would the ball become a battleground of hearts?

In a swirl of conflict, she rushed to find Lucien. He was in the main hall, inspecting floral arrangements. "Lucien," she said, breathless, brandishing the note. "Julian will attend the ball. He arrives soon."

He paused, gaze darkening. "I suspected he might. You…invited him?"

She exhaled, shoulders trembling. "Yes. I wrote to him, uncertain if he'd come. But I felt it only fair he witness this new beginning. We all deserve clarity."

Silence stretched. Vivienne braced for anger, but Lucien merely drew a slow breath. "So be it. If he attends, we shall welcome him as any guest. I won't pretend I'm comfortable with the inevitable tension, but… I won't forbid it."

Emotion swelled in her chest. "Thank you."

He glanced away, fists flexing at his sides. "Let's hope this ball doesn't unravel into more scandal. The county eyes us all. I prefer we keep drama off the dance floor."

She mustered a weak laugh. "Agreed."

With that, he resumed overseeing the flowers, posture rigid. Vivienne lingered, wishing she could comfort him, yet aware of the fragile line they walked. Julian's arrival threatened the precarious equilibrium they'd found. But it also promised an honest confrontation they could no longer postpone.

With each passing hour of preparations—dress fittings, menu tastings, rearranging seating charts—Vivienne's pulse quickened. She'd pinned her hopes on the ball forging a path forward. Either she discovered if love could be shared or found only in heartbreak. The impending swirl of music and candlelight would test the resilience of every vow they'd made—and the truths they dared to face.

CHAPTER 47

The eve of the ball arrived, a day of frantic final touches. By afternoon, Julian rode through Belfoire's gates, dust coating his travel cloak. His heart hammered as he glimpsed the manor's familiar silhouette. Memories of deception, alliances, and stolen kisses rushed back. What would greet him now? Rejection or a fragile welcome?

A footman hurried to inform Lucien and Vivienne of Lord Wakefield's arrival. In the courtyard, Julian dismounted, adjusting his coat. When he turned, he found Vivienne stepping out to meet him, a swirl of anticipation in her eyes.

"Julian," she breathed, voice trembling with relief. He inclined his head in greeting, longing to embrace her but mindful of the staff's curious stares. Instead, he took her hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles—an old courtesy laden with private emotion.

She gazed at him, tears threatening. "You came."

He managed a soft smile. "I meant what I said. I needed to see you…see if there's a future not overshadowed by subterfuge."

Before Vivienne could respond, Lucien appeared at the entrance, hands clasped behind his back. He approached calmly, though tension rippled in the air. "Julian," he said, voice controlled. "Welcome back to Belfoire."

Julian straightened. "Thank you, Your Grace."

A beat of silence. Vivienne watched them both, heart pounding. Then Lucien inclined his head, gesturing for Julian to follow. "A room has been prepared. We'll speak after you've refreshed. The ball is tomorrow night, and we want no ill rumors about a guest turned away."

Julian bowed. "I appreciate your courtesy."

With that, Lucien pivoted, leaving the footman to show Julian inside. Vivienne lingered, catching Julian's eye once more. She forced a small, encouraging smile. "I'll see you at dinner?"

He nodded, gratitude shining in his gaze. "Yes. Until then."

They parted, the tension of the courtyard replaced by the hush of uncertain reunion. Inside, the staff led Julian to a modest guest chamber, tastefully furnished. He set down his travel bag, heart racing with the realization that he was truly under Lucien's roof again—this time not as a covert spy, but as a man openly vying for Vivienne's affections. The irony wasn't lost on him.

Meanwhile, Vivienne hurried to oversee last-minute ball details, mind spinning with the knowledge that both men she loved were now in the same house again. This time, no grand deception overshadowed them, but the stakes felt higher than ever—a final test of where her heart truly lay.

That evening, a quiet dinner unfolded in the smaller dining room. Lucien sat at the head, Vivienne and Julian flanking him. Polite conversation about the upcoming ball soon lapsed into delicate silence. Vivienne sipped her soup, trying to quell her nerves. Julian occasionally glanced her way, while Lucien focused on meticulously cutting his pheasant.

At last, Julian cleared his throat. "My thanks for receiving me, despite…everything."

Lucien set down his fork, posture tense. "We've come a long way. Let us not unravel the truce on the eve of a public spectacle." He paused, meeting Julian's gaze. "Whatever personal friction remains, I'd prefer we keep it from overshadowing Vivienne's efforts. She's worked tirelessly for this ball."

Vivienne swallowed an emotional lump. "Thank you, Lucien. And Julian—thank you for coming. I—I hope tomorrow can be a night of…honesty."

The men exchanged guarded looks but both inclined their heads. The meal resumed, overshadowed by unspoken truths. When dessert arrived, no one seemed hungry for sweets. They retired early, each claiming a different corner of the manor to wrestle with their thoughts.

In her bedchamber, Vivienne stared at the moonlit window, heart hammered by the knowledge that tomorrow's ball would place them all on display—Lucien exonerated yet heartsore, Julian loyal but uncertain, and herself as hostess bridging an impossible divide. She closed her eyes, recalling the swirling waltz from nights past, how she once danced with each man in different contexts of hidden desire.

Tomorrow's waltz might bring everything to a head—love, longing, heartbreak, or possibly a daring new harmony. She prayed she had the courage to face whatever dawned at the stroke of midnight on the ballroom floor.