As the evening stretched on like a cat luxuriating in a sunbeam, Isabella found herself playing host to a parade of eligible, if somewhat overly perfumed, gentlemen. She couldn't help but indulge in a small but well-deserved moment of smug satisfaction as she noted the green tinge of envy coloring the cheeks of the younger debutantes who, in all honesty, didn't hold a candle to her.

     No sooner had she finished a spirited spin around the dance floor with the endearingly bumbling Lord Finley than she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to find herself face-to-face with Lewis. 

     "Might I trouble you for this dance?" he inquired, a look in his eyes that fell somewhere between hope and longing. After a moment's hesitation, she took his hand and allowed herself to be swept away.

     As they navigated the treacherous currents of the ballroom, Isabella could feel the eyes of the crowd following them like a school of very judgmental fish. They came to a stop in the middle of the room, just beneath the chandelier that sparkled like a constellation of tiny, overworked stars. 

     They danced, their movements so in tune with one another that it felt as though the intervening years had simply melted away. In that moment, they were no longer the bruised and battered souls that life had made them. They were simply Isabella and Lewis, dancing as they once had among the flowers in the greenhouse.

     The song drew to a close, and for a heartbeat, they stood there, still connected, their gazes locked. "Lewis," Isabella whispered, her eyes darting to the floor. "Please let go."

     The look he gave her was one of a man who had been handed a dictionary only to find that every word in it was 'sorry.' "Isabella, I know I've hurt you, and I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but—"

     "Lewis, not here. Not now," she interrupted, her voice barely audible above the rustle of silk.

     He let out a sigh, heavy with the weight of a thousand unspoken words, and released her.

     It was only when she turned a corner, exiting the house through the rear patio that she noticed Lewis following behind. "Why are you trailing me like a lost puppy?" she asked, her voice brittle as she hastened her steps. "People will talk."

     "Let them talk," he replied, his expression hardening as he closed the distance between them.

     The question she'd been bottling up like a genie burst forth, clamoring for freedom. "Why are you still with her? Why are you still frolicking about town with both of them?" She said, stopping in her tracks.

     Isabella pivoted and observed as Lewis halted, his forward momentum arrested by the force of her words. After a moment, he spoke, "I'm glad Frankie finally did something for himself," he conceded. "He's given up a great deal for me, including leaving his home and life in the Caribbean to assist me in procuring funding for my work. It's the least I can do to repay his loyalty all these years."

     Surprise flickered across Isabella's face. She'd always pegged Frankie as little more than a two-bit opportunist cut from the same cloth as his brother. "We had a rather overdue heart-to-heart last night," Lewis went on. "I always knew Frankie was smitten with my wife, but we'd never discussed it. Now we have, and we've reached an understanding"

     "And that would be?" she inquired, her heart pounding like a drum in her chest.

     "That I was never truly in love with Morgana, and I never will be. My heart is pledged to someone else," he said, taking another step in her direction.

     As Lewis leaned in, intent on closing the gap between them, a tall figure materialized from behind the patio trellis. "Ah, there you are," the man said to Isabella, his voice cutting through the charged silence. He stepped forward and offered his hand to Lewis.

     Lewis's gaze flicked from Isabella to the outstretched hand. After a moment's hesitation, he clasped it in a firm handshake.

     "I'm Sir Alexander," the man announced, his smile as amiable as a well-fed Labrador.

     Lewis managed a strained smile in response, although his eyes refused to meet Isabella's. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he muttered.

     Isabella slid closer to Alexander, taking his hand in hers as if to stake a claim. "Alexander, this is Lewis, an old... friend. Lewis, I'd like you to meet my husband."

     The word lingered in the air between them like a ripe fruit, laden with unspoken significance. Lewis's smile faltered, and he nodded stiffly. "Your husband. Of course," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

     Isabella's eyes flashed with a mixture of triumph and sadness, and she held her head high as she and her husband walked away, leaving Lewis to stand alone in the dark.