Chapter 7
The Hunt Ball
The grand ballroom of Blackwood Manor shimmered with a thousand tiny lights, each one reflecting off the polished floor and the glittering gowns of the assembled guests. Eleanor, feeling a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach, smoothed down the silk of her own dress, a deep emerald that matched the color of her eyes. Buster, ever watchful, lay at her feet, his tail thumping a soft rhythm against the wood, a comforting anchor in the sea of unfamiliar faces. Tonight was the annual Hunt Ball, a tradition as old as the manor itself, and one Eleanor had always looked forward to, though this year felt different. A subtle tension thrummed beneath the surface of the gaiety, a feeling that had begun with the mysterious letter and had only deepened with each passing day.
Mr. Harrington, a vision in his impeccably tailored black coat, materialized beside her as if summoned by her thoughts. His smile was as smooth and polished as his manners, and his eyes, a startling shade of blue, seemed to hold hers a moment too long. "Miss Vance," he murmured, his voice a low, resonant hum. "You look radiant this evening. Blackwood Manor is fortunate to have such a captivating hostess."
Eleanor managed a polite smile, though a shiver traced its way down her spine. There was a possessiveness in his gaze that unsettled her, a subtle claim that felt more like a threat than a compliment. "Thank you, Mr. Harrington. It is always a pleasure to welcome our neighbors."
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