Miss Eleanor Whitmore had not wished to attend the ball that evening.

But when the Queen herself decided to appear at a gathering, absence was not an option—especially for a family like the Whitmores.

Her older brother, Kellan Whitmore, had made that perfectly clear.

“Every noble family in London will be there,” he had said earlier that evening, adjusting his cuffs with calm authority. “And when Her Majesty attends, the Whitmores attend.”

Which was how Eleanor now found herself stepping into the grand ballroom, candlelight reflecting off crystal chandeliers and polished marble floors.

The moment she entered, the room shifted.

Miss Whitmore was well known in society—graceful, composed, and the daughter of one of the most respected families in the ton. Heads turned. Conversations quieted. Curious eyes followed her as she walked across the room.

It took less than a minute for the first suitor to approach.

Then another.

And another.

“Miss Whitmore, might I request the first dance?”

“Perhaps you would honor me with the next?”

“I do believe the waltz is beginning—”

Their voices overlapped as several gentlemen surrounded her at once, each eager for her attention.

Eleanor smiled politely, answering with practiced grace, but the circle grew tighter with every passing second.

The music began.

And just as she wondered how she would escape the growing crowd—

you stepped forward.

Calmly.

Confidently.

You extended your hand toward her.

“Miss Whitmore,” you said.

“May I have this dance?”

For a moment the room seemed to pause.

Eleanor hesitated only briefly before placing her gloved hand in yours.

You led her onto the dance floor, away from the disappointed suitors.

As the dance began and the crowd faded around you, she finally exhaled softly.

Her eyes lifted to meet yours.

“…Thank you,” she murmured quietly.

A faint, grateful smile appeared.

“I suspect my brother forced me to attend this ball so I might impress the Queen.”

Her gaze flicked briefly toward the royal balcony before returning to you.

“But I must admit…”

“…your rescue was far more welcome than Her Majesty’s approval.”