A recipe of love

Ball

The grand ballroom sparkled with opulence as chandeliers cast shimmering light across the elegantly dressed attendees. The air hummed with the sound of music, laughter, and idle conversation. Margaret, alongside her mother Elizabeth and sisters Beatrice and Alice, stood near the entrance, surveying the crowd. Elizabeth, her expression taut with determination, gave her eldest daughter a pointed look.

"Margaret, darling," Elizabeth said, her voice barely concealing her impatience. "There is the Duke of Ashbourne. He is a fine match, immensely wealthy. You must go and speak to him."

Margaret's expression hardened, her lips thinning as she resisted the urge to retort. The Duke was known for his immense fortune, yes, but also for his cold disposition and reputation as a difficult man. She had no interest in conversing with him, or any man her mama deemed suitable solely for his financial standing.

"Mama," Margaret said, her tone cool, "is wealth all you care for?"

Elizabeth's eyes flashed with indignation. "Of course not, Margaret. I care for your future. You are not a girl any longer. You must think of marriage, of stability. It is what I want for you."

Margaret's anger simmered beneath the surface, though she kept her expression composed. "You mean what you want for yourself, don't you, Mama?"

Elizabeth stiffened, her face momentarily betraying her frustration. "How dare you insinuate that, Margaret! I care for your well-being."

Beatrice, ever the dutiful daughter, chimed in. "Margaret, Mama is right. It is high time you found someone. A match like the Duke could ensure not just your security but the entire family's."

Margaret glanced sharply at Beatrice, her younger sister's eagerness only adding to her ire. She felt the weight of expectations pressing down on her, and it infuriated her. "I am perfectly capable of deciding for myself, Beatrice," she said with quiet defiance.

On the other end of the spectrum, Alice, younger and far more interested in the social aspect of the evening, was twirling her fan distractedly, her eyes scanning the room for potential suitors. She wasn't concerned with matters of wealth or status—at least, not in the same way their mama and Beatrice were. Moments later, a young man approached Alice, bowing gracefully.

"May I have the honour of this dance, lady Alice?" the gentleman asked, his voice polite.

Alice beamed, clearly flattered, and accepted his hand, leaving Margaret and Beatrice standing with their mama.

"See?" Elizabeth remarked, her eyes following Alice and her partner. "Alice is making connections. Beatrice is right, Margaret, you must do the same."

Margaret clenched her hands into fists at her sides. She longed to escape the pressures of this evening, to break free from the constraints of her family's relentless pursuit of advantageous matches. But before she could respond, her mother steered her toward a group of wealthy men engaged in conversation near the edge of the dance floor.

Among them was a tall, broad-shouldered man with silver hair streaking through his dark locks. His face was handsome in a rugged way, lines of age and wisdom etched around his eyes and mouth. He stood out from the others not just by his physical presence but by the way the men deferred to him in conversation. His name was Mr. Edmund Lennox, one of the wealthiest landowners in the region, known for his vast estate and successful business ventures. He was older—perhaps in his late forties—but still carried an air of vitality and strength.

Elizabeth's eyes gleamed with recognition. "Margaret, Mr. Lennox is a most distinguished gentleman. You should introduce yourself."

Margaret swallowed her frustration, resigned to the fact that she could not escape her mother's machinations this evening.  Mr. Lennox approached her with confidence.