FOU – Chapter 5

The following day, a modest ball was hosted at Viscount Langton’s estate in honor of Cedric’s visit. It was a humble affair, with only a select number of neighboring nobles and upper-class acquaintances invited.

Due to the short preparation time, the event lacked formality. The ballroom floor was small, and the limited guest list made it necessary for every member of the host family to attend. Naturally, this included Dylan and Emily Langton.

At present, the sisters stood by the drinks table at the far end of the room, engaged in animated conversation. Cedric, positioned across the room, was exchanging pleasantries with the guests gathered around him. Still, his gaze often drifted to the Langton sisters, especially as their discussion grew increasingly expressive.

A curious thought struck him.

What would happen if he were to walk across the room at this very moment and ask Emily Langton for the first dance?

Traditionally, the first dance of the evening held special significance. Declining such an invitation was considered a grave discourtesy.

For a host to refuse a guest, it would be practically unthinkable.

The corner of Cedric’s lips lifted with mischief. If he were to approach Emily Langton right now and ask her to dance, how would Dylan handle the crisis?

He found the thought intriguing.

“Excuse me,” he said aloud, having noticed the orchestra conductor step into position.

Without hesitation, he crossed the gently crowded floor, heading straight to the Langton sisters.

“Good evening, Miss Dylan, Miss Emily,” he greeted.

It took a lot of effort not to laugh. Dylan’s expression was a spectacle of horror. Her face was twisted into a dramatic grimace of distress— It was a look so comical and so unguarded, that Cedric found himself tempted to provoke her further, just to see how she might respond.

He turned then to Emily, softening his expression into a courteous smile.

“Miss Emily, would you do me the honor of—”

“Oh my. Your Lordship. I so, so dearly would very much love to dance,” Dylan interrupted, as expected. “Unfortunately, no one has asked me.”

Dylan’s eyes seemed earnest in a different sense. Cedric glanced at the dance card attached to her wrist. It was surprisingly blank. At the very least, she had not lied about being without a partner.

“It would be wonderful,” she continued, her voice lilting, “if some generous gentleman were to ask me first.”

Dylan’s blatant remark was directed straight at Cedric.

Such barefaced insinuation was unbecoming of a lady raised in genteel society and was considered pathetic. Yet for a gentleman to reject a young lady so visibly eager, particularly at her family’s own event, would be an even greater breach of decorum.

Cedric extended his hand towards Dylan with a practiced smile.

“Well then, shall we dance?”

“Gladly,” Dylan replied, her voice airy and melodious. “How very kind of you.”

Emily, observing with sparkling green eyes, beamed at Cedric and gave a discreet, triumphant thumbs up. He simply acknowledged the baffling encouragement with a faint nod before escorting Dylan to the dance floor.

The orchestra began a gentle waltz.

It was only then, as the first bars of music filled the room and they began to move, that Cedric truly grasped the meaning of Emily’s earlier gesture.

It had not been a cheer— it had been a warning. A prayer, perhaps, for the integrity of his feet. Within the first minute, Dylan managed to step on him twice.

“Sorry,” Dylan mumbled, shrinking uncomfortably. When she straightened her shoulders again, the real conversation began.

“There are plenty of eligible ladies in the capital’s social circles. Why must it be Emily?”

“It must,” Cedric simply replied. “It needs to be a Langton daughter. I need Langton blood.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed at his blunt declaration.

“That’s an awful thing to say about Emily. You speak as if she were a tool, not a person. Oh— sorry.”

Another apology, another crushed toe.

“It’s alright. It’s a bit of a stretch to say I see her as a tool. After all, it’s not uncommon for noble marriages to be based on family interests.”

“She’s different— Oh, sorry— She’s still full of dreams. She loves romantic novels. Even though she denies it, she dreams of fated love every day.”

“And you don’t?”

The question caught her off guard, and she blinked at him.

“I… read them too. Just the bestsellers, though.”

Their steps grew as awkward as the conversation.

“Anyway, if it’s about bloodline, aren’t there more aristocratic families than the Langtons? Even there aren’t— oh, sorry. The family doesn’t need to be that prestigious, does it?”

“There’s no family quite like the Langtons.” Cedric replied, leaving the real reason unspoken… which was his grandfather’s obsession with having his heir wed the granddaughter of his first and only love.

“It’s shameful to admit, but the Langtons are in financial trouble— Oh, sorry. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Sutherwick is financially stable, so it’s fine.”

“They’re also incredibly unlucky.” Dylan continued.

“I’m fortunate enough to balance that out.”

“Oh, and… Your Lordship is not Emily’s type.” Dylan stated proudly.

“I am confident that my character will win her over.”

Dylan gawked at him, her mouth parting ever so slightly. A disbelieving breath escaped her lips.

“Such confidence…”

The words were half-whispered, lost somewhere beneath her breath, so Cedric pretended not to notice.

There it was again— Emily was always at the center of their conversation. Cedric could no longer help himself.

“And if not Miss Emily,” he asked slowly, their gaze meeting, “would you marry in her place?”

Dylan blinked, momentarily stunned by the question. Her expression seemed to say: ‘Why on earth is my name coming up now?’

“I would be happy if you backed off,” she replied, completely missing the point.

He had asked, ‘If not your sister, how about I propose to you?’, but she seemed to have understood it as, ‘How would you feel if I didn’t propose to your sister?’.

“Oh, sorry.”

Even with the whole misunderstanding, she didn’t forget to crush his foot. Another misstep, another toe under siege. Cedric’s brow twitched in mild despair.

“Even if you step on my foot dozens of times, I won’t disappear from the Langton estate.”

“It was seven times, Your Lordship. And it wasn’t intentional. I rarely dance,” Dylan retorted with a sullen expression.

“Though it would be lovely if you did disappear,” she muttered even more bitterly. “Oh, sorry.”

Finally, the eighth stomp. Cedric’s patience, which had endured the constant pain in his foot and the meaningless debate, finally snapped.

“Is your concern for your sister truly all there is to it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Could it be,” Cedric said coolly, “that you’re simply choking on jealousy? That proposals keep arriving for your younger sister, while none come for you despite being of age?”

At Cedric’s cold question, Dylan’s lips quivered faintly.

Thwack.

This time, the blow landed squarely, sharply, with deliberate intent on his whole foot. Her heel, no longer content with the soft toe, struck him with the brutal precision of a woman pushed to her limit.

The music stalled, or perhaps his pain made it feel that way. Cedric’s eyes widened in stunned disbelief, and then narrowed.

She was smiling—just a little. One corner of her mouth was lifted up in defiance.

As the dance faltered and the room’s energy shifted, Dylan rose on her toes, stepped close—so close that their hair might have brushed—and whispered in a low, husky tone against his ear,

“That last one was on purpose.”

And with that, she left him.

She crossed the ballroom with quick steps and vanished through the nearest door. Cedric, still dazed, stared after her retreating figure, wincing at the fire still burning in his foot.

‘So, except for the last one, the rest really were all accidents.’

 

A woman storming off mid-dance was enough to halt conversation across the whole room. Heads turned, and eyes landed squarely on Cedric. Left with no choice, he followed after Dylan, who had headed towards the garden.

“Miss Dylan.”

Only when he had ventured deep into the garden, did he find Dylan sitting on a bench. She tilted her head at his approach, and after a long, drawn-out sigh, she spoke.

“You don’t have to apologize. Let’s just say that we’re both at fault for what just happened.”

It was a bold statement from someone who had just crushed another person’s foot in a room full of people. Cedric sighed and sat down next to her.

“You said it was on purpose.”

“That was because Your Lordship— Ugh, never mind.”

The sound of crickets chirping filled the air. After a brief pause, Dylan spoke again.

“Listen… I might seem strange. It might even look like I’m jealous and trying to sabotage your marriage to Emily. It’s an unpleasant thing to say, but I understand.”

Dylan’s voice trembled slightly.

“But that’s not it. I just care so much about my sister. All I want is for her to be well. It’s not that I think you’re a bad person. I know you’re a wonderful marriage prospect.”

Cedric listened to her without saying a word.

“I just… wish it weren’t Emily.”

“Then would it be acceptable… if it were you?” he asked.

“Huh?” Dylan’s head jerked up.

“If I proposed to you instead of Miss Emily, would that be alright?”

Dylan frowned at Cedric’s nonchalance. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“You never know.”

“That’s absurd,” Dylan scoffed.

“You wouldn’t propose to me with Emily around.” She said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Her tone suggested it was self-evident, like as if stating the sky was blue. The implication pricked Cedric in an odd way. ‘Why would she assume so little of herself?’

“Why not?” He asked.

“Well, first of all, I’ve been terribly rude to you.”

“A bold and confrontational woman might be my type.” He stated

“Hmm… I’m not as pretty as Emily.”

“I’m not particularly fond of blondes. I prefer darker hair… Like yours.” He said with confidence.

“And I’m… old.”

“You’re still younger than I am.” This time his lips curled up slightly.

Each protest was neatly dismantled. Dylan’s confusion only deepened. Cedric couldn’t help but smirk.

“Are you having fun teasing me right now?” Dylan finally seemed to catch on as she looked at Cedric’s face.

Only then did it dawn on him— he was enjoying it. Seeing the woman who had once lashed out at him now caught up in her own net… It was satisfying. A sense of twisted victory surged in him.

He shrugged, feigning ignorance.

“Well, I’m not teasing you, but it could be that I became interested in your proactive, assertive, and unrelenting spirit.”

“Stop joking,” Dylan groaned, horrified at the honeyed nonsense he was spewing. Cedric’s grin only widened.

“Even your stern tone is charming. When we danced… your heels, ruthlessly embracing my instep. It felt… almost exhilarating—”

“I told you that was an accident!” Dylan protested, but Cedric ignored her.

“I might have had these thoughts after chasing after you. The moonlight is beautiful, and here we are, alone. And so, I suddenly felt compelled to ask—”

“I’m getting goosebumps, so please stop—”

“Miss Dylan Langton,” he intoned, voice solemn, “Would you please mar—”

“I knew it!”

The last line wasn’t Dylan’s, but a piercing voice that tore through the garden. Both Dylan and Cedric turned sharply toward the hedge.

Standing amid the perfectly trimmed shrubbery was Emily Langton, flushed and breathless.

“I told you! His Lordship was after you!” she cried, pointing at her sister. “I knew you two would end up like this! Eek!”

“Wait, Emily. That’s not—”

But it was too late. Emily had already bolted, lifting her skirts and sprinting with the agility of someone who had never fainted in her life. Her delighted shrieks echoed as she disappeared toward the ballroom.

“Dad! Brother! Hailey! Dylan just got proposed to by His Lordship!!”

“Wait, Emily. Wait, wait!”

Dylan chased after her desperately, but Emily had already disappeared into the mansion with a cry of delight. Cedric remained seated on the bench, listening to the receding chaos.

“She’s remarkably fast for someone who gets anemic after walking thirty steps,” he murmured.

People whispered, their voices a murmur as they observed Emily burst into the ballroom. They either held their fans close to their mouths or lifted their drinks to hide their lip movements, but their whispers couldn’t be silenced.

“His Lordship just proposed to Dylan in the garden!” Emily exclaimed breathlessly. “Father— Oh my, it was so romantic.”

Viscount Langton’s gaze turned to flint.

” ‘Dylan, you are thrillingly provocative and charming. On this beautiful moonlit night, I must propose to you.’ That’s what His Grace said!” Emily continued, lowering her voice to mimic Cedric’s deep baritone.

Gasps erupted from the crowd at the dramatically distorted quote.

‘No, that’s not what he said at all!’

Dylan clutched her chest and gasped for breath. How had her little sister, who was so frail since birth, become swifter than a deer?

She wanted to scream that it wasn’t what they thought, but the words were caught in her throat.

Struggling to regain her composure, she stumbled towards Robert and Emily, her feet dragging against the floor. Things were going very, very wrong.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Dylan?” Emily beamed, her eyes lightning up with excitement.

“No. That’s… uh, no… huff…” Dylan managed, shaking her head with desperate insistence. Her adorable little sister had completely misunderstood everything.

She’d suspected something was fishy when she walked out, but she hadn’t realized Emily had been following them. Now, the entire ballroom had turned to stare, every eye pinned on her. She inhaled deeply, trying to collect herself.

Her life had been one of quiet camouflage— tucked between a dashing older brother and a sister beautiful enough to make poets weep. She had learned to comfortably live in their shadow, so this sudden scrutiny felt alien to her..

“I’m not lying! Father. It’s true. I heard it with my own ears. It was as clear as the sound of rain,” Emily insisted, visibly wounded by their disbelief.

“Emily… what you heard was true, but it was all just… a joke,” Dylan said, waving a hand weakly in dismissal.

“A joke? He proposed to you as a joke?” Viscount Langton’s voice dropped to a deadly register.

Oh, no! It was a slip of the tongue.

By the time Dylan realized her poor choice of words, Robert’s expression had already frozen. A man of honor did not trifle with proposals, especially not to a naive country girl… and most certainly not to Robert Langton’s daughter.

“I, that’s not it—”

“If it’s not it, then how did such words come about?” Her father’s tone sliced clean through her, and for a moment, Dylan couldn’t say nothing.

‘Because I told him not to propose to Emily.’

But of course, she couldn’t say that. It would ignite the situation into something worse: a sordid tale of sisters quarreling over the same man, and that would fan the gossip fodder for decades to come.

“You can’t answer?” Robert asked grimly. “Then let’s hear Cedric’s answer.”

Oh no! Damn it!

At Robert’s words, Dylan turned around, and there Cedric was— leaning against the doorway, absurdly handsome and impossibly composed. Even in the middle of this debacle, he looked every inch the romantic hero.

‘Why was this handsome man so unfazed even in such a messy situation?’

Unlike Dylan, who was still clutching her aching ribs, Cedric stood perfectly at ease. There was even a faint smile on his lips.

No, wait… A smile? He’s smiling now? Why was this man still smiling?

She glared hard at him. He was the one who had spun those ridiculous words in the first place, setting this whole farce in motion. Yet here he stood, posture relaxed, face unreadable save for the faintest trace of amusement on his lips.

Whether he knew about her feelings of injustice or not, Cedric gracefully walked towards the center of the ballroom. The whispers around them grew louder as he approached.

Why, you ask? Because even his walk was breathtakingly handsome!

Blue eyes. Jet-black hair. A jaw so sharp it could have been carved from stone. Broad shoulders, a tall frame and a long stride.

This was the kind of man you’d describe with the most flowery and embarrassing adjectives. A man without a single flaw— at least on the surface. A man exquisitely created to break hearts.

But Dylan Langton felt nothing. Not a flicker. Not a flutter.

Why? Because he belonged to someone else.

No matter how handsome a man was, if he had a wedding ring on his left ring finger, he was off-limits. Untouchable. And so was the man before her.

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly married, but he had a destined partner. Therefore, he was someone else’s man. Dylan was not one to covet what belonged to others.

That was the truth. There was a book— a romance novel with a typical love story between characters from different social classes, along with a predictable and inevitable plot.

And Cedric Hayworth? He was the male lead in that story.