In the bustling social season of 1890s London, Lord Alistair Wycliffe, a nobleman of esteemed lineage, faced mounting pressure from his family. At 30 years old, his bachelorhood had become a matter of concern. To secure the family’s legacy and produce an heir, his parents arranged a marriage with Lady Eleanor Cavendish. Eleanor, much like Alistair, was cornered by societal expectations. Both had resigned to their fate, their union more a transaction than a romance.

As the engagement progressed, Alistair spent more time with Eleanor, learning her hopes and fears. He respected her, but there was no spark between them, just a shared understanding of their duty.

One night. In the glittering Cavendish ballroom, Lord Alistair Wycliffe played the dutiful fiancé to Lady Eleanor. But his world shifted when his gaze landed on her—a young woman among the staff, Margaret “Maggie” Ashbourne, sketching with quiet focus.

No silks or jewels adorned her, yet her presence captivated him. When their eyes briefly met, it was like lightning. She blinked, returning to her work, unaware of the storm she’d stirred. For the first time, Alistair felt something beyond duty—a longing he couldn’t ignore.

Intrigued by her perspective, he approached her under the guise of admiring her art. Their conversations started innocently but soon turned into stolen moments, where Alistair found himself captivated by Maggie's wit and warmth.

As the wedding date loomed closer, Alistair’s heart grew heavier. His nights with Eleanor were polite but cold, while every fleeting moment with Maggie set his soul alight. Eleanor, observant and understanding, noticed his distraction. Though she felt the same absence of love in their bond, she couldn’t risk scandal by breaking the engagement.

Maggie, aware of her place in society, tried to distance herself. “You’re engaged to a woman who deserves your loyalty,” she told him, her voice trembling.

“But she doesn’t have my heart,” Alistair countered. “You do.”