Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 96695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Yeah. No pressure.
Three
The Winthrop Spring Gala was one of the biggest events of the season, as the elegant and rich Winthrop family welcomed hundreds of guests into their home in Frostbourne to show off their exquisite marble ballroom, delicious food, and perfectly cultivated gardens.
It was an honor to attend with all the “best” families, wearing their finest attire. It was an absolute crush, which was what every hostess desired. There were even whispers that members of the royal family might make an appearance. Servants with the very sharpest magic skills directed platters of food and champagne through the crowded room with an artful flair and flawless execution, making it seem so perfect and effortless. People twirled across the dance floor, and beautiful music filled the air. Everything about the ball was perfect.
And Hugo was bored to tears.
The thrill of being at the Winthrop ball had worn off quickly. He appreciated the glittering ballroom and the exquisite orchestra their hosts had hired to play music for dancing. The champagne was the best he’d ever tasted, and the amuse-bouche had nearly made him moan in ecstasy. Even his father would have been impressed with their cooking.
Yet the sights and sounds dulled in their luster as the pressure to find a husband among the myriad candidates weighed on his shoulders. The future of his family depended on his success.
Hugo stood on the fringe of the dance floor, his stomach roiling with indecision. He held a flute of champagne in one hand, but he didn’t dare take another sip. He was afraid the alcohol would go straight to his head, and he’d say something mortifying.
Men and women danced and twirled in front of him. The men were all dressed in classic black suits with highly starched, perfectly white cravats tied in complicated knots, and pristine white gloves. The young, eligible women were all in pale pastel dresses filled with flounces and explosions of lace.
The only thing everyone had in common was a floral boutonniere or corsage to show the gender of the partner one was searching for. A person wearing a pink flower indicated that they were looking for a woman as a partner, while a blue flower demonstrated a desire for a male partner. What surprised Hugo was the high number of purple flowers, which announced that the wearer was open to either a male or a female partner.
His own mother had prodded Hugo to consider acquiring a purple boutonniere for the gala, hoping that fishing from both pools would increase his odds of finding a good match. However, Hugo denied her request and opted for a delicate blue rose with a tiny sprig of baby’s breath.
Despite his mother’s wishes for him to find a spouse, his sexuality was not flexible in that way. He’d known from an early age that he was attracted to men, and there was no way around it. He would not marry a woman just because she came with a sizable dowry and a title, only to doom them to a cold, unfulfilling marriage.
Since arriving at the ball, he’d done his duty and selected three elegant, handsome gentlemen and invited them to dance. They’d made polite conversation, though Hugo had struggled a bit to keep up with the attempts at small talk while also concentrating on the complicated steps of the dances. He’d managed two quadrilles and a waltz. He was avoiding all polkas and galops so as not to embarrass himself or his partner. The idea of attending the Winthrop Gala had been a shock and had not given him enough time to practice with Dorian, who was a much better dancer. Even Augustine could make his way across a dance floor with more grace than Hugo.
After completing the requirement set by his mother that he must invite at least three candidates onto the dance floor, two others had invited him out.
And yet, he couldn’t deny feelings of disappointment building in his chest, threatening to suffocate him. All the gentlemen of the gala, regardless of whether they were wearing a blue flower or a purple flower, were handsome and charming in a proper, reserved manner, but not one of them held a spark he’d hoped to find. Their conversations while dancing were mechanical and detached. It was as if they were all going through the motions of civility without caring about the other person.
It also didn’t help that Hugo was painfully aware that everyone attending the ball was much better off than his family. Where possible, he avoided anyone who possessed a title rather than risk being snubbed. He aimed for men who came from a merchants’ families or landed gentry who might be distantly related to a knight or squire. Yet, even they would gasp in horror if they learned of his family’s financial predicament.
Even without their money woes, he felt as if he were a common daisy among exquisite roses. There was nothing special about him. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Thin-ish lips. His chin was nice, though, with its sharp cut into a defined jaw.