"Ella!"

One would've thought the day would be peaceful and free of yells or bellows. Oh, but that wouldn't be the case. For tonight was the night they'd all been waiting for. It was the night of the Starklington ball. For the past few days, this ball had been the talk of the town and every mother in London made sure their daughters would be dressed in their finest ball gowns. Ella, of course, knew of this because gossip did travel fast in London.

"I'm on my way, mother!" Ella sped down the stairs, her brown eyes wide with necessity.

At the foyer, Mrs Featherington stood in a fine red gown, arms crossed over her chest. She didn't look pleased in the least.

"Ella, stop running!"

The young lady frowned. "But you wanted me to hurry!"

"You'll ruin your dress," her mother cautioned, straightening Ella's white gloves. After that, she took a step back, black eyes putting her daughter under intense scrutiny. Ella was swathed in a white gown that made her look as immaculate as a swan, a crinoline hidden under her massive skirt. Her brown hair was styled in Barley curls, and her cheeks painted in the finest blush, "Spiffing! I'm sure you'll be married to a Duke before this season ends."

Ella's stomach knotted in impossible angles at the mere thought of that. All she had on her mind was Lord Robert Stark. She couldn't wait to see him and let the man know of her interests-which she knew her mother would find absurd. But the woman didn't have to know her intentions for tonight, did she?

"Now show me how I thought you to use your fan to communicate," Her Mother commanded in a way that told her she had better answer or lose her head.

Not this again.

Blowing out air, Ella whipped out her white fan and did all the hand gestures that she knew deep down weren't impressive. But they were running out of time so her mother would have to save her scolding for later.

"Let's go." Mrs Featherington held her daughter by the wrist and led her outside the house.

Night had come, a veil of twilight covering London, night lamps flickering a warm yellow glow across the street. The Featheringtons' carriage had pulled up before the house, the black horses neighing.

In a heartbeat, Ella's mother shoved her daughter into the carriage and they were off to Starklington. Mrs Featherington didn't want to waste another bloody second.

"Remember what I told you, Ella."

"Yes, Mother."

"And what is that?"

"Always accept a dance even though the man looks like a monkey," Ella said rolling her eyes. She knew her mother couldn't wait to marry her off to a potential suitor. A tragedy it was that Ella would have to disappoint her mother's expectations. At times, she wondered if she was doing the right thing by wanting to work for Lord Robert instead of settling down and choosing a suitor just like every other girl in London.

But Ella knew she wasn't like every other girl. At the age of ten, she already knew all the laws of physics thanks to her skills in theft, let's just say a science book went missing in her father's study every week. Her interest in science was heartfelt and she knew she wouldn't have a peaceful death if she never brought about any scientific innovation. That was why tonight was important to her. And she wouldn't let any monkey-looking suitor ruin it for her.

"Don't forget that," Her mother insisted. "Now sit back, let's enjoy the ride to Starklington."

Robert was happy. Robert was glad. Robert was joyous. And Robert's pleasure knew no bounds. When his mother had spoken about a ball, he had forgotten one single fact-there would be women, lots of them. Swarmed up in the ballroom were a plethora of women of all kinds dressed in their finest gowns and trying their bloody best to trap suitors. He on the other had worn his finest black tailcoat which he had overheard some ladies comment on. Some spoke about his peculiar blue eyes. Others admired his locks of golden hair. While the unusual of the bunch adored his bloody behind! London women were spiralling out of control!

The high walls of the room were coated in white and the ceiling was adorned with murals of ancient Egypt. Crystalline chandeliers hung from above, blessing the room with its divine glow, the fine marbles gleaming with prodigality. As Robert made his way through the populace, mothers kept shoving their daughters in front of him and he deftly avoided them like they were horseshite. None of the women had caught his eyes and he needed a breath of fresh air.

"Mother, Father, Sister," He greeted his family. The Starks were perched at an end of the room, his father outfitted in a blue tailcoat, his aquiline nose speaking of his arrogance and his stripes of grey hair betraying his youth. The man's sharp blue eyes snapped wide as he took his son in one full cold look.

"Robert, what are you doing here?" Lord Stark's moustache moved as he spoke.

"I fully remember mother asking me to attend this ball." Robert feigned a thoughtful veneer making his sister chuckle heartily. His father's sharp glare put her in her place, her blue eyes trying their best to hide her amusement. Robert loved her so dearly and she did love him the same way. Both of them possessed blonde hair and she had a heart-shaped face that always brimmed with innocence.

"Robert," his mother connected eyes with him and held their gaze, her purple gown blooming with beauty, "you shall dance with a girl before this night ends and make sure you court her."

"You can save us a scandal by at least choosing one that comes from a home that possesses wealth and status," his father reminded him. That was the only thing the Duke cared about. That was why he rarely got to spend any time with Robert when he was a child. It was balls like this his father loved throwing, all for the sake of pleasing society. He owned a bloody Dukedom for Godsakes! What more could the Duke want?

"Mother, I want to dance," Sixteen-year-old Grace pleaded, looking up at her mother with big cute blue eyes.

"No."

His mother didn't even let the bloody question sink in.

"You're still young, Grace," her father said, "and besides the Princes and Dukes in this hall seem occupied with other women. Till they're done dancing, you shall remain where you are. I can't have you dancing with a low life."

"But... But," she stuttered, face looking down in defeat. Robert didn't like seeing his sister in such a state. She deserved to be happy and he would make sure of that. Seizing her by the hand, he grabbed her so quickly, her yellow gown nearly made her trip. "Brother!"

He smirked and held out a hand. "May I have this dance?"

Grace realizing her situation looked up at her tall brother with adorable blue eyes, a wide grin on her face. "Yes!"

"Robert," his mother glared with her dangerous orbs, "don't you dare." His father seemed calm and watched him, a feral glow in his blue depths. If Robert knew better, he would say the man was planning his murder. Well, he had better plan something worth his disobedience. If his parent thought they could plan his love life for him by fixing an irrelevant ball, they had a lot to answer for.

"But I will mother." He winked at her and she stepped back in shock. The music started and everyone was going to their dancing positions. "Don't you dare think I can't."

Starklington was different from what Ella had thought it to be. The place had fewer townhouses and more trees with a large expanse of rich greenery. The carriage stopped right before the Stark Mansion. It was a great edifice with two wings being held by Corinthians columns and a water fountain in the middle of the forecourt. Light music escaped the building and shafts of buttery light shot out the windows, silhouettes of people moving within the building.

"Blimey," Ella gasped, "it's big."

"Close your mouth dear or you might catch a fly," her mother warned.

At the wide entrance, two doormen dressed in tailcoats stood with hands at their backs.

"May we see your cards miss?" Doorman one asked, his dark hand stretched out.

Mrs Featherignton handed them over and the pair were invited into the foyer which was as wide as all the bedrooms in Ella's home put together. The floor glimmered with gold and the lower part of the walls were panelled with dark wood.

"May I have your coat, Miss?" Doorman two asked.

Ella was hesitant at first considering the coat was bought for her by Juliet. But after a long daring look from her mother, she succumbed reluctantly.

"Behave yourself, woman," her mother scolded into her ear as they advanced to the ballroom, the music leading the way, "We can't make any mistakes now."

Ella clenched her jaw. "Yes, mother." She didn't want what her mother wanted. Ella's priorities were set and that meant meeting Lord Robert. Reality then dawned on her that she had never met the man so she didn't know what he looked like. Oh dear, this is going to be a problem.

They entered the ballroom and her breath was cut short. The scene looked like it was drawn out of a novel. The glimmering marble, the mural ceilings, the music, the fine ladies and gentlemen chatting and dancing to their heart's content... This was a beauty to behold.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted an unusual dance pair. One looked far too young for the other. It was a blonde tall man dancing with a young girl whose height seemed to stop at his chest. Ella expected the girl to be uneasy with the age gap-surely she must've been fifteen or sixteen and the man, twenty-four or in his late thirties. Regardless, she smiled innocently and looked up at him with joyous eyes.

The man emitted an aura of protectiveness from the way he led her on the dance floor, their movements as fluid as oceanic waves. If he was intending to woo the young girl, Ella could fully understand why the girl would be infatuated with him. He was handsome; his jaw line so sharp and his dimples purely alluring.

"That is Lord Robert Stark. Or as he is famously known, the Rake of London," her mother informed, keeping her voice hushed.

"How did you know?" Ella's brows furrowed, confusion tightening her mind. How did her mother know him when this was the first time they had been to a Starklington ball?

"I always have my eyes out for good suitors."

Of course, her mother would. So this was the Robert Stark? But how would she meet him? He appeared occupied with his dance partner or if she could assume, she would say he looked in love with her. Ella wanted to walk over there and cut their dance short. But she couldn't do it. If in any case, that would damage her chances of meeting him since everyone here would deem her an improper lady.

Her heart thumped against her ribcage as she thought of ways to meet him without causing a scene. She couldn't let him go, not ever. This was the opportunity she had wished for, months ago. But something her mother said earlier struck her mind like lightning. The part about Robert being a good suitor.

"Mother?"

"Yes, dear." Her mother moved closer.

"If Lord Robert we're to court me, would you let him? You should know the reputation he has."

Her mother pouted her rouge lips as she touched Ella's curls "Oh dear, did you think I won't? Men would always be men and so we should never judge them."

A mist of rage clouded Ella's mind. This was why women weren't equal in society. They didn't think with their bloody brains. How could her mother say we should never judge them? So her mother was going to give her up to Lord Robert that easily? She didn't let the anger be perceived. Instead, she put on a fake smile.

"Indeed, mother. Men would always be men."

"Excuse me." A short man with big ears and a big stomach walked up to his mother and did a curtsy. "I would like to know the name of this fine lady. Her beautiful gown had caught my eye."

Mrs Featherington smiled like she had won the bloody lottery. Her plan to make Ella look good to attract suitors was off to a flying start, "This is my daughter, Ella Featherington."

The man looked up at Ella and she felt like knocking him in the head. "I'm Smallman Patrick."

Ella stifled a laugh. What sort of name was that?

"May I have the next dance with you?" The man asked, his small nature bursting with confidence.

Ella glanced at her mother who nodded. The young lady didn't want to dance. However, it wouldn't hurt to try. After all, this was a ball and people were meant to dance. What could possibly be worse than dancing with a man so short that you were five times his height?

"Sir Gerrard Finley has arrived!"