- - -
Delilah didn't know how much she'd drank, only that since she was still conscious, it clearly wasn't enough.
The lights in the refreshment room dazzled her eyes, and her head spun. Another gentleman came to ask her for a dance, and again she refused. Such was the pain of being society's most eligible bachelorette. She couldn't even suffer in peace.
Valentina was dancing with her fiance, and Annalise had been swept away by a respectable foreign merchant. She was glad they didn't see her like this, for they alone could always tell that she was inebriated, and would certainly urge her to stop and go home. In fact, she'd made them swear that they'd force her to return whenever it happened, but that felt silly now. It would never do, as the solitude with nothing but her own thoughts would utterly destroy her.
Delilah fanned her flushed face with a hand. She was grateful for the lightness of her dress, crafted from the finest grey silk, to resemble that of the Drowned Maiden. A classic character from The Affairs of Abbeyton Manor, she loved a man who didn't care for her, and on his wedding day, she threw herself into a river. She became a ghost and haunted her beloved for the rest of his life, until he died and she faded away in her own misery. A pathetic and weak girl, Delilah had always considered her.
"Have any of you seen Lady Catherine?"
Outwardly, there was no change at all to Delilah's demeanor. Yet the familiar voice made her heart pound, and from the corner of her eyes she could see that he was standing by the door, talking to a few other gentlemen, so close that she only needed to cross the room to get to him. Before she could rein herself, in a dream-like haze, she did exactly that.
"May I have this dance, Lord Damian?"
It did unspeakable things to her heart to witness the smile and laughter he directed towards his friends slip off his face when he turned to her, but it was all right, for her soul had numbed and frozen over a long time ago, when she'd laid her whole being at his feet, and he'd refused to take any of it. She should've given up then, but she didn't know how, and she hadn't managed to learn. Thus, she stood before him, her body so cold that she felt no longer real.
"Certainly."
He never turned down her requests, but her dignity, employing the help of Valentina and Annalise, had successfully prevented her from asking for some time. She didn't know what she was doing, only that she couldn't breathe, and though the man in front of her worsened that, she must have more of him.
Lord Damian escorted her to the ballroom. He was still the best dancer she'd met, of all the gentlemen she'd danced with. The most handsome, the smartest, the most humorous, the most powerful, the most suitable. Hadn't she done enough to deserve him? In fact, wasn't she the only one worthy of him?
'I believe it will not surprise you to learn that I love you. However, I do not know if you realize that my feelings have reached such an extent that I am willing to throw away all my remaining pride to beg for even a trace of affection from you.'
Has she merely thought these words, or spoken them aloud? As Damian's lips curled into a cruelly pitiful smile, Delilah feared it had been the latter.
"Really, Lady Delilah. My answer has not changed, and I do not know what more you could possibly want from me to rid you of this desperation. A month ago, I would've gladly been your lover, but I still would not marry you. Now that I have met someone I find particularly interesting, I can not do even that, but I will be your friend, and I shall tell you that this boldness is unbecoming of you. While I am presently enraptured by the sincerity and openness of another individual, we both know these aspects go against your nature."
"And what is wrong with that?" As if proving his point, her voice was perfectly calm, concealing the wreckage underneath.
"Nothing, indeed, except that I've had enough of masks and lies from my sister alone. I would like nothing better than to escape it all, and I've finally found exactly that. I doubt it'll last, but even when it ends, I would not like to tether myself yet, for I simply grow bored too easily. Don't cry, Lady Delilah. They complete the costume, and it is lovely, but if you were sober, you would resent those tears."
He pulled her to the side and wiped them away with his handkerchief. In her numb state, she hadn't noticed that tears were falling from her eyes. When they'd stopped, and she felt sure that her voice would not tremble, she spoke.
"Then, I apologize for bothering you again. I wish you all the happiness in the world."
Damian smiled, and Delilah prayed that he would look at her like that forever, though every moment was as much torture as it was serene. Yet the song ended, someone else walked through the doors of the ballroom, and the spell broke. Damian's eyes lit up, almost like how he used to look at Valentina, and he bade Delilah farewell.
Delilah didn't look, for she'd confirmed Lady Catherine's objective inferiority a long time ago, and was tired of being perplexed. Her mother had taught her that envy was a result of one's own deficiency, but that was too much of an insult for her to bear. Instead, she glided proudly out a side door and entered the first room she knew to be empty, which turned out to be a spare bedroom.
She crumpled onto the bed, wanting to sob violently, but realized that Damian was right, and that she wouldn't do so. She did not even weep, but just laid there, thinking about him and his perfection. The boy that had made her feel desire more intensely than she'd ever felt anything in her composed life. The love that burned and consumed her. The conclusion she'd reached long ago, that she knew she must accept someday.
However pathetic it may be, she would live with it. If she never loved another like this again, then she would be content to love him from afar, like a ghost, until she, too, faded away.
- - -
Damian had always thought of Lady Delilah's strange fixation with him as mildly amusing and flattering, but all thoughts of her vanished when he saw Catherine enter the ballroom with Kyle.
He frowned, but quickly wiped it off of his face as he approached them. For some reason his friend refused to explain, he seemed allied with Valentina in preventing his relationship with Catherine. It was inexplicable, as he did not appear interested in her at all, but he did so many baffling things that Damian had long given up wondering.
"Where have you been, darling? I was looking for you everywhere, asking people if they've seen the prettiest swan girl."
Catherine giggled, her cheeks reddening. "I was just a bit tired, so Lord Kyle took me to a quieter drawing room."
She did look more frail every time Damian saw her, but he had more pressing concerns at the moment. He looked at Kyle with a tight-lipped style.
"Oh? Did he?"
"We were in the company of several very respectable ladies, who were merely more fond of reading than they were of dancing."
Damian relaxed. He knew the circle he spoke of, and while its ladies were somewhat peculiar, they were indeed very decent and proper. He smiled and took Catherine's hand.
"Then, you mustn't rob me of your company any further."
He was about to profess romantic lines capable of making any lady swoon, but Kyle coughed. He shot him an irritated glance, and met forlorn brown eyes, even gloomier than usual, like a sad puppy. Damian sighed and raised an eyebrow.
"Can we talk, Damian?" asked Kyle. "Only for a moment, I promise. Privately, if you wouldn't mind, Lady Catherine."
Catherine agreed readily and went to stand a good distance away. Damian crossed his arms.
"What's this about, Kyle?"
Kyle hesitated, looking down at his shoes. "...Are you serious about Lady Catherine?"
"As serious as I am about any other girl. Why? You can't possibly be in love with her, I'd know if my best friend was finally interested in someone. In fact, I don't even think you like her. Besides, you've been melancholic long before we met her, though I daresay she intensified it quite a bit. Are you finally going to tell me what's going on?"
Kyle grimaced and shifted on his feet, looking more depressed than ever. "Well, it's just, she's such an innocent girl. You shouldn't break her."
The hesitation, the despondency, and the quiet and wavering voice suddenly painted a picture far too familiar to Damian, but the idea was so absurd that he refused to even acknowledge it.
"We've been friends for half our lives. I know this isn't about Catherine, and if you don't want to tell me what's bothering you, it's fine. You can tell me whenever you want, but you know I hate letting a lady wait. If you have something to say, spit it out."
"Nothing, then! Sorry, go dance with Lady Catherine." Kyle bit his lip, his complexion pale. "Happy birthday."
Damian tilted his head, uneasy, but nodded.
When he began to dance the night away, he soon forgot about Kyle's troubles. His last thought of him was that he would like to always have him as a friend.