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♛❞
I gradually release a trembling sigh at the sight of mingling gentlemen and gentlewomen, feeling my uneasiness stir the blood in my body in a distressing pattern. As soon as we strolled into Lady Trowbridge's staircase, I unconsciously held onto my brother's hooked arm tightly to ease the uncomfortable sensation as people's attention slowly fell on me. I cannot reprimand them for being the slightest curious since the resurfacing of the Imperial House of Russia's very Grand Duchess was most unanticipated— especially after 25 years.
"Do they have to stare for so long? I had presumed they would return to their chattering after a few seconds," I hissed beneath my breath, reaching solely for Matvey's ears. My family had informed me beforehand of such occurring, but I had not known how ill at ease the staring honestly was.
My brother sighs, patting my hand softly in sympathy, "It certainly is not a pretty feeling. However, you become accustomed to it over time, practically unsusceptible to it."
"How long did it take for you?"
"Years, sister. Many, many years."
I purse my lips at his response and skim through the assemblage of gentlepersons, hopefully searching for a particular hazel-haired Viscount. And when I eventually do discover him, disappointment immediately sours my temper once more when his rear was facing me.
Oh, for heaven's sake, why must you be the only one with their back turned to me!
I notice the young gentleman he stood beside, nudging his shoulder, his sparkling champagne glass undoubtedly inclining towards me. At that, Anthony Bridgerton finally spins around, his sweet chocolate eyes instantly connecting to mine. I attempted to hold in my snort when he squinted his eyes, then did a double-take with jaws lightly dropped. His eyebrows scrunch deeply, like many times before, as he inaudibly mouthes 'Kira?' in question, to which I smile, thus affirming his skepticism. He gapes in awe silently as I descend the staircase, making me feel bashful under his undivided attention.
"Beware, sister."
Before I even had an opportunity to utter 'what,' a flock of gentlemen surrounded my brother and me, neither of them being the one I truly desired. My mind became flustered at the cluttered flattering compliments being thrown my way and requests for being counted to my dance card to reserve themselves for a dance with me. Thankfully, whilst I had forgotten to do so, Matvey scribbled for me the few potential suitors he personally favoured to fill my dance card.
"Thank you, gentleman, for your time. You can reserve a dance with the Grand Duchess at the forthcoming party," my brother shoos away the remaining grumbling gentleman, whereas those who succeeded carried a proud wide grin— they appear as though they have won a grand prize. Dread washes over me when looking through the list of countless names on my dance card since I do not recognize any of these gentlemen, and moreover, I feel unhappy not seeing Anthony's.
