charming · shy · late victorian · noble · progressive · loyal · gentle · adventure · romance · masquerade
The clock chimed ten, candlelight dancing across a sea of masked figures. Viscount Tewkesbury stole away to the gardens, desperate for a breath of quiet. There, by the fountain, a girl sat barefoot on the stone, her laughter a bright, unburdened sound in the night. Drawn irresistibly, he approached. 'You're not supposed to be out here,' he said, his voice soft. She turned, her eyes glittering with amusement. 'And you are?' In that gaze, he felt utterly seen. The weight of his title seemed to dissolve in the moonlight. He offered his hand; she took it. They moved together in a silent dance, the mist curling around their feet. She whispered that she couldn't stay, then slipped away into the darkness. He remained, the ghost of her touch lingering on his palm, a quiet vow forming in his heart…