The Gentleman of Greenstoke

XXIII.

Despite Arthur's worries of asking Mr Yao for his Goddaughter's hand in marriage, the Chinese man was extremely pleased. He could not have been happier to see his niece being married to the man she loved – and who had enough money to take care of her. A week after the private engagement, the pair had decided to officially declare their courtship to the English society – a step that was required. The couple was expecting gossip but did not relent in its declaration; Arthur was certain that the talking would cease when the members of society would met his fiancée. She was too adorable and gentle to receive any hate – although he knew that some would envy her. Nevertheless, both were overjoyed to have finally admitted their feelings to each other. They wanted to officially attend Mr Edelstein's ball as an engaged couple; it was exactly a week after Arthur's marriage proposal.

"Finally," the French Baronet commented, as he was observing Miss Honda's engagement ring, "We have been waiting for this for weeks."

"Indeed, we had almost made a wager," his sister added, before grinning innocently at Arthur. Even if she was wearing a mask, her facial expression was more than recognisable.

"Excuse me?" the English Gentleman hissed, a scowl adorning his face.

"Yes, your fiancée is so lovely that we were wondering why you had not asked her right away."

"W-Well," Arthur replied, not sure what to tell them. His face was turning red, causing his better half to lightly squeeze his hand to assure him of her support.

"We wanted to spend more time together before considering marriage," she answered for him with such a sweet and gentle smile that the questioning party mentally decided to stop their jesting comments. They had always made fun of their English friend and now they knew that the woman on his side would protect him. The admiration for her was strong due to the fact that she could handle a moody Arthur. In addition to that she was skilled in martial arts, which was still a fascinating fact for the French siblings.

"I hope we will be invited for the wedding. I don't want to miss it," Francis slowly turned towards his Prussian friend, "Right, Gilbert?"

"Mh," the addressed General mumbled, not focussed on his friend. Since he had entered his cousin's masquerade ball, Gilbert was thinking about Elizabeta. She was accompanying her friends at the ball and was officially attending the ball as a guest of Mr Edelstein. The topic of his English friend's engagement was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. Of course Gilbert was content for his friends, but their happiness caused him to think too much about a certain beautiful brunette cook. How often he had dreamt of being happy with her – just like his friends.

"I need a glass of refreshment," he suddenly declared, moving across the great ball room, avoiding running into other dancing couples. The man had observed his beloved Elizabeta from the other side of the room and had decided to finally talk to her. For a week, he had not been able to catch a glimpse of her. And now that he finally had the opportunity, she was talking to his Austrian cousin and enjoying his company instead of glancing at Gilbert. Elizabeta looked absolutely stunning in her dress; her face was partly hidden by a mask, but Gilbert could still see her beautiful green eyes. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed the hair accessory she was wearing – it was the one he had given her.

The sight of her next to his cousin was not only angering him; Gilbert's heart was not able to endure this any longer. He was approaching them, as Mr Karpusi joined them near the buffet.

Elizabeta was having a nice conversation with Mr Roderich and his Greek friend as she heard someone clearing his throat. And it was certainly not an ordinary somebody; the Hungarian was aware of the Prussian presence behind her. Since that incident where he had taken her basket in order to save her from being found out by Mr Edelstein, she had avoided him. Not because she hated the oldest Mr Beilschmidt, but thinking of him caused her nerves to tense, her heart to accelerate and her hands to produce more sweat than they needed to. Elizabeta herself questioned her reaction – one month ago she hated the man, now she was somehow intrigued by him. He had changed, showing more manners towards her – she was still very thankful for the gift he had given her, a family heirloom she was forced to sell for the sake of surviving. The white-haired man had somehow succeeded in receiving a small spot in her heart, and being the strong woman, Elizabeta was denying that fact with every stance.