The Painter's Amour

His Promise

"Don't make promises that you can't keep." – Elizabeth Hoyt

8. His Promise (Julian)

"Don't you want a lady with you, Mr. Hartwell?"

A beautiful Baroness solicited with interest as she and her friends waited for me to ask one of them to be my lady for the night. The ball hadn't even started and I was already being preyed upon by the female guests. However, unbeknown to them, I didn't find it a pleasure to be accompanied by a woman. After all, I always liked the presence of men since I first knew.

"I'm afraid to say that I prefer to be alone, for now," I replied with a smile, not crushing their hopes but not giving enough too.

"Please do excuse me," I freed myself from their lustful eyes and went to the east side of the room, passing by a gathering of nobles. The high sconce on the wall hailed me in and I graciously pressed my back against the concrete.

The grand ballroom of the Ashworth estate mansion immediately assaulted my sight. Inhaling a deep breath, the cool scent of the night invaded my body and spread chills inside. It must be dark now outside since the crystal chandeliers on the ceiling was appearing brighter than an hour ago.

The giggling noises of women gossiping and the sweet-nothing words from gentlemen filled the air around the ball, overwhelming the calming melody of the classical orchestra which was playing on the other end as the conductor continued to steer the music into his command whereas the attention of the people were directed elsewhere.

Colorful gowns wore by the women were creating many rainbow reflections on the marble floor, fashioning the already quaint atmosphere picturesque. I proceeded to cross my arms to my chest and merely allowed myself to be at ease with my mind drifting away from realism.

Today was Lady Amelia's birthday and I was obliged to attend as part of the Ashworth's household but instead of celebrating with delight, here I was spending my time alone, quite depressingly. It was all because of a fine reason that tonight she'll be in her ripe age to be married.

Indeed, she will finally be able to marry Dante, the man we both loved.

Pang of ache punched me square in the chest at the mere thought of it. However the saddest part was the fact that I can't help but have this little hope in me. This little hope that there might be a one in a million chance that he'll choose me over her even though I knew that it was simply close to impossible. I tried to persuade myself to stop hoping for it but my foolish heart just refused to listen. Such a silly tale, I swore.

"But it's not silly of me to hope for something right?" I questioned to no one as I bit my tongue in grief.

Besides, he himself said that he liked me so that was enough promise that there was a possibility in the future, a thin possibility, that he'll return this love I had for him. I could feel an ember of hope tethering in my heart tightly as a sad smile formed in my lips. I was about to dismiss myself when the hairs on my skin suddenly stood, sensing someone's eyes focusing on me.

I guided my eyes through the countless figures ahead, searching the other pair of eyes that was looking at me and there I saw a young man standing on the same posture as I on the opposite side of the ballroom.

The distance gave me difficulty from assessing his facial features other than his fairly curly hair in shade of ebony and his habiliment which was a black lounge suit similar to mine. But the only thing that enticed me of him was how handsome he was even from afar. I looked away, hoping to not be attracted to some stranger.

Was there a need to stare at me? I frowned, deciding not to ponder into it but to my own surprise, I found myself looking back again at the man. He caught me looking at him and he smiled. Before I could react, the loud applause rang into my ears and I was instantly drew to the source of excitement. Turning my head, there I saw the man I deeply loved dressed in a gray English suit and looking more charming than I remembered.