"I miss your voice because it is a symphony; your scent because it is a treasure; your smile because it is a jewel; your hug because it is a masterpiece; and your kiss because it is a miracle." Matshona Dhliwayo

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XXVII.

Cressie watched as a servant tied the ribbon of Zara's dance card around her wrist. Zara was positively elated as the next step was to be introduced to the hosts of the evening.

Cressie knew them immediately. Of course, she had expected to see one of them, any of them, as this was an Ashwood ball. She had expected the Duke and Duchess, but the duke's brother was as fine a host as any. And he and his wife certainly would not remember meeting Cressie five years earlier.

She felt relieved if anything. The very idea of attending an Ashwood ball had tied her stomach up in knots, and she felt all sort of apprehension and dread at faltering, at breaking behind the perfectly disguised mask of indifference she had applied to her face and body all these years.

Cressie thought that if anyone were to know her, it would have been the duchess. But thankfully, she was not here. She took a breath and refocussed her attention on Zara, and gently guided her towards Lord Jack Beresford and his wife, Lady Claire.

Zara curtseyed deeply, and Cressie followed suit. Jack smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgement, and Cressie could have sworn that Claire appeared a little out of place. Her charade was not as well-practised as Cressie's was.

"You are both very welcome to the Ashwood ball, Mrs Delaney, Miss Delaney," Jack greeted them formally. "Have you travelled far to be here in attendance this Season?"

Zara looked to Cressie for approval, and Cressie nodded encouragingly for her niece to answer.

"My aunt and I have travelled from my uncle's home in Yorkshire, my lord," Zara replied, nerves lacing her voice.

"My, what a journey," remarked Claire, sounding genuinely shocked. "I certainly hope you find your happiness in London, Miss Delaney. I must say, your gown is absolutely lovely. Is it by Belle Desjardins?" she inquired.

"Yes!" gushed Zara. "Oh, thank you, my lady," she added quickly, realising she had not accepted the compliment politely. "I am a great admirer of Miss Desjardins' craft."

"As am I," replied Claire with a wry smile. "I do have a rather precious attachment to her as my sister-in-law. She is married to my brother, Mr Peter Denham."

Denham. Crack.

Cressie flinched. Visibly, uncontrollably, and rather dramatically.

Zara could not continue her conversation with Claire as her attention quickly reverted to Cressie. She latched onto Cressie's arm as she gasped. "Oh, are you alright, Cressie?"

"Cressie?" Claire repeated in a questioning tone, her brows furrowing in confusion as her blue eyes began to inspect Cressie's face.

Cressie averted her eyes, instead offering her niece a look of assurance. "Yes, yes, I just lost my footing for a moment. Perhaps I ought to sit down."

"Alright." Zara nodded.

At that moment, the next invited guests had arrived and were being announced, and Cressie and Zara were being ushered along by a servant. Cressie was thankful to be away before Claire connected her name to the distant memory that seemed to be teasing her mind in that moment.

"Shall we find a chair?" Zara turned her head to look around the ballroom to find a vacant seat.

"No." Cressie shook her head. "It must have been a momentary lapse. I am quite fine. We ought to begin your evening. I am certain the gentlemen here will be eager to gain your favour and a place on your dance card." Cressie, herself, took a breath. It was fine. She was fine. Her mask was intact, and she had a job to do.

Zara nodded, her smile returning to her face. As they began to operate inside the ballroom, she was quick to reconnect with a few of her school friends, who were able to begin the task of the introductions. Zara was introduced to Mr Gilbert Avery and Mr Frederick Dixon, both of whom were handsome, young gentlemen who took an immediate shine to the beautiful debutante.

Cressie, herself, formed acquaintances with the mothers of Zara's school friends, who were quick to inform Cressie of the virtues and values of Zara's upcoming dance partners.

"Mr Avery comes from an excellent family, I am so informed," Mrs Liston, mother of Mary, uttered to Cressie. "Good connections but I have heard their fortune has somewhat dwindled this last decade. The elder Mr Avery is to blame. It is now the responsibility of the younger Mr Avery to marry well."

Cressie nodded in understanding. She would be keeping her eye on that young man, then. She felt suddenly foolish in calling them 'young men' when there was a high likelihood of them being several years older than her. She was most definitely the youngest chaperone in the room by at least two decades.

"Mr Dixon, I hear, has a modest income of about three thousand a year," added Mrs Beswick, mother of Charlotte. "But he is heir to both his father and his maternal uncle. I believe their lands combined are worth some ten thousand a year." Mrs Beswick's eyes were practically dancing as Mr Dixon claimed her daughter for the next dance, as Zara was escorted by Mr Avery.

Mrs Liston grinned with satisfaction as another young gentleman came to claim her daughter for his dance. "And that is Mr David Ferris, of the Shropshire Ferrises," she informed them both. "He has just inherited twenty thousand pounds from his grandmother."

"How fortunate he was that she died right in time for the Season!" exclaimed Mrs Beswick.

"From your lips to God's ears, my dear," agreed Mrs Liston ruthlessly.

As the women talked, despite their scheming and gossiping, Cressie felt herself relax a little into her role. She was able to let go of the shock at hearing the 'Denham' name and she had not seen or spoken to the hosts at all since their entrance.

Even if Claire had pieced together her memories, perhaps she did not care to reacquaint herself with Cressie. It was the best possible outcome.

Zara returned to Cressie after each dance, a little more flushed every time, and gushed over each one of her partners. There was a delighted sparkle in her eyes as she became swept up in the romance and grandeur of the evening, and Cressie listened diligently to the information provided to her by the mothers.

Zara was clearly a very desirable prospective wife, owing of course to her name and fortune. She was not without a partner for several hours.

But as the clock neared midnight and the band took a hiatus for refreshment, the guests mingled and meandered into the palatial dining room. Zara hung on Cressie's arm as she spoke about the dazzling eyes of her previous partner as they followed Mrs Liston and Mary, and Mrs Beswick and Charlotte.

The tables were laden with divinely presented savoury and sweet dishes. Guests stood about with silver plates piled high with the exquisite food, and Cressie did not know quite where to look. She had not seen so much food in a very long time, and it was quite overwhelming.

Mr Avery appeared at Zara's side rather gallantly and offered her his arm so that he might assist her in putting together a plate. And the minute Cressie wasn't by Zara's side, the overwhelming feeling quickly began to consume her.

It was the food. There was so much of it. And it all felt prohibited and illegal and wrong. She felt as if she were to touch any of it, he would know, and she would be vilified and cursed and made to feel as though she was worth nothing at all.

Cressie's lower lip trembled uncontrollably for a brief moment as her composure waned. She wanted to leave, to run, to be anywhere that wasn't here. Except she couldn't. She had a responsibility. Her life was not her own. It had never been. It had once belonged to her mother, and now it belonged to Everett, and he had loaned her to his niece. She was property, and always would be, and she could not lose her composure before dishes of biscuits.

This was not a new discovery for her. She had come to terms with it long ago. It was just the food. The food had been shocking for her, and she was already in a heightened state after meeting with Jack and Claire again. This night would be over soon, and she would be able to sleep, and when she would wake, Cressie was certain her mask would be firmly back in place.

"Do you know who that gentleman is?" Mrs Liston asked Mrs Beswick.

Cressie barely heard them.

"No. Did you know I was wondering about him myself? I noticed him earlier. Fine young man, very handsome and well looking. A little tall, but Charlotte could always have some heeled slippers made if he had a fortune to tempt." Both mothers laughed deviously.

"I noticed him earlier as well," Mrs Liston replied once she had regained control of her laughter. "He hasn't danced at all! But he has been looking this way very often. He is only human, though, and my Mary is looking very lovely."

"Perhaps he is shy," theorised Mrs Beswick. "We ought to find someone to make an introduction. I wonder who knows him. I wonder if they know of his family or his income? Mrs Delaney, do you know him?"

"Pardon?" Cressie's voice sounded like a crackly whisper. She promptly cleared her throat and feigned a slight cold.

"That gentleman there, do you know him?" Mrs Beswick repeated, subtly gesturing in the direction behind Cressie.

"I highly doubt it," Cressie replied, without bothering to turn. "It has been many years since I have been in London."

"I would wager he is very rich indeed," Mrs Liston declared quietly to them both. "Don't you agree? He has not been attaching himself eagerly to the young ladies with dowries. It is highly likely he has no need of a dowry. What's to say that he is not spending this evening observing the young ladies, waiting to find the prettiest one? He does himself a service by mysteriously refusing to dance with anyone. Whomever he calls upon tomorrow will be very fortunate indeed."

"Yes, yes, I quite agree," Mrs Beswick said with wily enthusiasm. "And as you noticed, the gentleman has been looking this way quite often. Charlotte has received quite a bit of attention herself. He must see that she is quite the prospect."

The poor gentleman, whomever he was, ought to run away if he knew what was good for him. These women knew nothing about him, not even his name, and they were quite prepared to sign their daughters over to him. Had her own mother had similar conversations with the other mothers during her Season? Had she spoke of Everett in such a way?

Cressie felt foolish for even wondering. Mrs Martin had spoken about Everett in this way directly to Cressie. His money had been enough to erase any doubt in Mrs Martin's mind as to his character. Cressie would never be so naïve.

Cressie turned her head then, determined to see this man, to know his face so that she could steer Zara clear. "Which one is he?" she asked Mrs Liston and Mrs Beswick quietly. They all appeared the same to her.

"He is by the urn of flowers near the door," Mrs Liston replied quietly. "Carefully now, he is looking this way." She averted her eyes nonchalantly as she went to peruse the offerings on the tables. Mrs Beswick followed her.

Cressie's eyes found the urn featuring an elegant arrangement of greenery and chrysanthemums. There was a figure standing beside it, a tall figure dressed just as sharply as every other gentleman in the ballroom. Except that he was not like every other gentleman in the room. She could tell that immediately by the way that he carried himself. The way he stood, taller than everyone, but not looking down, sparked something deep within her.

She knew it immediately. She did not need to see his face to know. Except she did so unwittingly. Her eyes found his with a mind completely their own. And there they were. Oceans. And for a moment, Cressie felt that if she never saw the sea with her own eyes, the colour of his would be enough. His eyes were the same as they always had been, and they were trained solely on her.

His eyes had not changed, but his face had. His figure had.

Jem.

He looked older, more mature, with a wise brow and a stronger, more defined jaw. He looked like carried a great weight, a great many responsibilities to place the lines there permanently.

It was Jem.

Faint lines crossed his forehead, while his dark hair was cut neatly in the style of a gentleman. There was still curl to it, as though it would fall into his eyes if he ran his hand back through it.

Jem was here.

He had grown into his limbs, his torso was now broad like his shoulders, and his arms and legs appeared proportionate, when once that had made him prone to clumsiness.

Jem!

He was as handsome this evening as he had been the morning that she had left him sleeping soundly. And as that memory consumed Cressie's mind, she realised that she had not been breathing. And it was too late. As her overwhelmed head became starved of air, Cressie stumbled, falling, and her mind fell away before she hit the floor, eclipsing her world in total darkness.

----

Um, passing out at a party is a perfect way to ruin everyone's vibe, Cressie! 

Hope you enjoyed it!! 

It's school holidays!!! That means I'll be able to get a few extra bonus chapters up for you over the next two weeks! What a term. I'm exhausted. I had a stroke of genius yesterday though. I gave each of my kids a disinfectant wipe and told them that whoever came back with the dirtiest wipe got a sticker.

My room has never been so clean hahahahaha. I gave them all a sticker, don't worry! 

Alright, bed time for me! Vote and comment xxx