Part II -- The Price Of A Dream (1)

That Sunday morning after church, Kitty accepted Arthur's invitation to sail on his yacht. The day was golden, the sea calm, and the vessel gleamed like polished ivory against the sparkling waves. Other nobles from neighboring counties were aboard, their laughter and clipped accents filling the deck, glasses tinkling with champagne. Kitty, never accustomed to such company, felt her chest tighten with a mix of awe and discomfort.

Arthur moved with practiced grace among his peers, offering small smiles, attentive words, and subtle gestures that earned nods of approval from the assembled gentry. To the villagers' eyes-or even to most eyes-he was the picture of charm and power. But Kitty saw the fissures beneath the veneer: the way he straightened too often, the restless flicker in his hazel eyes, the faint impatience in his smile when someone disagreed with him. It was all a performance-Arthur Wyndham, Lord Ballyfarren, looked every inch the noble, but Kitty could sense the truth beneath it: a man as insecure as any peasant, desperately craving approval, hiding his shortcomings behind titles and gold.

As the yacht cut through the gentle waves, Kitty clutched the railing, her green eyes scanning the other passengers, the sparkling water, and the endless horizon beyond. She had been sheltered all her life, her world limited to her parents' cottage and the small village she grew up in. Now, thrust into this glittering world, she realized that the only way to secure her freedom-to chase her dream of ballet-was to understand this man, to anticipate his moves, to play along.

She didn't yet know how she would do it, but for the first time since her parents' deaths, a flicker of possibility stirred in her chest. Kitty could play his game. Somehow, she would find a way.

Afterwards, the courtship picked up pace. He courted her with a dizzying rhythm: flowers, chocolates, evenings at grand parties where Georgina Wyndham-Arthur's own sister-watched from the corner with eyes that burned with jealousy.

A month in, the jewelry began to appear. Kitty told herself she was barricaded against him, but the glitter of gemstones, the silken dresses, the lavish parties-how could an eighteen-year-old girl not be dazzled? For once, she was the one stepping into crystal-lit halls in gowns worth more than a year's wages in her little village, drawing whispers not of pity but of envy.

"Ah sure, look at her now-didn't take her long to bow to the big house, did it?"

"On her way up to the manor, so she is-great lady Byrne, God help us."

"Arrogant wee thing's finally found her match."

The sly remarks drifted after her on every lane, sharp as thorns, half-mocking, half-awed. And though Kitty felt each sting, she also savored them-proof that the village was watching, proof she was rising above it.

And the sweetest victory of all: Georgina, who once dismissed her as a nobody, now had to watch her brother parade Kitty about as his betrothed. In that unspoken war of glances, Kitty reigned.

Yet none of it was what she truly wanted. Arthur was her golden ticket-her chance at escape, her fragile hope of a dream come true. Two months into his courtship, Kitty had discovered her own charm-the way a smile or a laugh could bend him closer. But for all her cleverness, she hadn't yet managed to steer his desire toward the freedom she craved.

Unbeknownst to her, Arthur was restless too. Lord Ballyfarren, a mere stub among English nobility, now walked through ballrooms as if he belonged, Kitty's beauty blazing at his side. She was no painted village girl; her elegance was effortless, her bearing so natural it seemed she had been raised in a palace all her life. She dazzled, a jewel in his arm, and whenever his gaze slipped from her, young lords would circle, drawn to her like bees to golden honey. It made Arthur swell with pride and bristle with agitation in equal measure. That simmering mix-possessiveness and awe-was what finally drove him to act. And so, one night, aboard his yacht under the watch of the stars, he decided to secure her.

Dinner was set on the deck. Lanterns swayed in the evening breeze, casting golden ripples across the black water. The sea whispered against the hull, a lullaby almost tender. In the candlelight, Arthur held out a ring: The emerald glowed green as the Atlantic itself-green as Kitty's own eyes, catching the candlelight and holding her breath captive in its mirrored depths.

"Be my wife, my darling cat," he said, voice thick with promise. "I will give you the world."

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