Chapter 6 A DAY IN MY LIFE

Ivy dashed back into the ballroom, her heart still racing after her rendezvous with Arnold in the secluded garden. The air inside felt suffocating after the cool peacefulness of the outside. Ivy noticed Freya near the refreshment tables as she waded through crowds of guests while trying to keep her cool. Her sister's normally calm demeanor had been replaced with anxious fiddling of fingers and darting eyes.

"Freya," Ivy said quietly, keeping her tone neutral.

Freya looked up, her face a mixture of relief and concern. "Ivy," she responded, barely above a whisper. "You are back. "Did you enjoy your walk?"

Ivy nodded, a hint of uncertainty on her face. "Yes, it was refreshing," she answered warily, checking Freya's face for any signs of skepticism.

Freya forced a smile, her gaze darting about as if looking for something or someone. "That's good," she said quietly, her fingers closing around the exquisite glass cup she held. "Ivy, I... I need to go look into something. Excuse me.

Freya rushed away and vanished among the guests before Ivy could reply. Ivy felt uneasy as her stomach churned. She was familiar enough with Freya to know when something wasn't right, but at the moment she couldn't focus on it. Things had gone in a direction she hadn't expected, and she wanted time to collect herself before being investigated anymore.

After that, Ivy snuck by her sister and entered the ballroom, where the muffled sounds of conversation and the blending smells of fragrances filled the air. Ivy instantly felt her father's severe glare on her, so she forced a grin to cover up her inner struggle. While she greeted guests and struck up conversations, she was fully aware of the scandal that was simmering beneath the surface.

Prince Edward was set to call it a night and finish the ball festivities, which would see the end to an exciting and fascinating night in Ivy's life. Just before he made his announcement, the Taylor's had seen their way out and headed home.

Warm light streamed into the room as the gentle glimmer of morning painted the canvas in the hue of gold. With her brush in hand, Ivy traced the outline of the landscape she was painting with her eyes as she stood in front of her easel. Her family's estate's garden view was a source of inspiration as well as a diversion. Her thoughts strayed back to that fateful night in the garden and the passionate exchange she had with Arnold. The sensation that had made her tremble, the feel of his touch, his lips on hers, tormented her in bursts.

She attempted to dispel the idea with a shake of her head. She could only express her feelings on canvas without fear of rejection or condemnation in her paintings, which served as her haven. She put her brush into a green and blue mixture, hoping to capture the movement of leaves rustling in the breeze. Ivy had always found consolation in drawing, which her mother had fostered since childhood. It was one of the few escapes she had from her duties as a daughter and sister.

Ivy's family had their own expectations of her, much like the brushes on her palette-each with its own purpose, every bristle meant to leave a mark. Her father demanded obedience, her mother stressed decorum, and her sister Freya expected her to be an ally. It was a delicate balance, trying to meet their expectations while chasing her own dreams. As Ivy continued painting, she couldn't help but let her thoughts slip back to that night with Arnold. The memory played in her mind like a film on repeat-his voice, his touch, and the confusing yet exhilarating feelings that followed.

Her brush moved more rapidly, the strokes becoming rougher, more intense as she recalled their shared passion. She had thought it was just another encounter, a fleeting moment in a life dictated by social events and family obligations. Yet, something about Arnold had lingered. He had sparked something within her that she couldn't easily ignore, even though she didn't want to acknowledge it.

"In the garden again?" Freya's voice broke through Ivy's concentration. Ivy turned to find her sister standing in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Yes," Ivy replied, trying to maintain her composure. "It calms me."

"Is that what you call it now? Being haunted by some...passionate affair?" Freya raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "You've been distracted ever since the Mayfair ball."

Ivy's cheeks began to flush. "What are you trying to say, Freya?", "What passionate affair?"

"Really?" Freya moved closer, inspecting the painting. "Your brushstrokes say otherwise. Look at this-it's wild, untamed, like your thoughts." She glanced at her sister, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Have you been thinking about him? Arnold Wellington."

Ivy froze, her heart skipping a beat. How could her sister have guessed? Freya was always perceptive, but this felt almost invasive. "It's not what you think," Ivy stammered, turning back to her painting, avoiding her sister's gaze.

"Maybe it's not. But you should know," Freya continued, her tone shifting to one of seriousness, "he's engaged."

The words hit Ivy like a cold splash of water. She turned to face Freya, her face pale with shock. "Engaged?" she whispered, feeling her world spin. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air heavy.

"Yes," Freya nodded, her expression softening. "To Lady Isabella, daughter of Prince Edward. It was announced at the ball, though not everyone caught wind of it. Father heard it from one of the guests today."

Ivy turned back to her painting, gripping the brush tightly. She had known Arnold belonged to a different world, a world filled with alliances, deals, and societal obligations. But knowing he was already promised to another made everything more complicated. The passion they had shared in the garden suddenly felt like a bitter memory, a mistake that shouldn't have happened.

Freya placed a hand on Ivy's shoulder. "You can't let this consume you, Ivy. You've always been strong, focused. Don't let one man ruin what you've built for yourself."

Ivy nodded and swallowed hard, trying to contain the wave of emotions that was surging within her. She mumbled, "I know," as she looked at her painting. It was meant to represent the serenity she wished for, but instead it mirrored what was going on in her heart.

Ivy devoted herself entirely to her painting as the day went by as she attempted to bury herself in her painting. She created abstract paintings, landscapes, and portraits, each of which represented a distinct aspect of her inner turmoil. She tried, though, and she was unable to get the memory of Arnold out of her head. He seemed to have left his mark on her own being, defying forgetting.

Arnold, on the other hand, was battling his own thoughts. As the son of Lord Wellington, he had always embraced his role as a charming playboy. Affairs came easily to him; each encounter a thrill without consequence. Yet, something about Ivy was different. He had assumed their encounter in the garden would fade into the background of his many conquests. But it hadn't. He found himself not able to forget that night, remembering the way she gazed upon him, the softness of her lips and the intensity of their connection.

He shook his head while being annoyed with himself. "Get a grip, Arnold," he muttered under his breath. "She was just another fling."

But even as he tried to dismiss his feelings, he couldn't stop thinking about her. His days were filled with meetings and social events, yet his mind always wandered back to Ivy. It was infuriating. He had never let himself be so affected by a woman before. He was Arnold Wellington, heir to a vast fortune, with the world at his feet. He had no time for foolish emotions.

Yet, he couldn't resist. After an especially trying day of family pressure and social duties, he found himself heading to Ivy's family estate in the evening after vigorously making findings on the Taylor's. He had no idea why he would go so far to see her or what he would say to her. All he knew was that in order to make sense of this twisted emotional mess, he needed to meet her.

As he approached the estate, he saw her. It was evening and Ivy was still in the garden, sitting at an easel, her brush moving gracefully over the canvas. The sight of her absorbed in her art struck something deep within him. She looked so at peace, so unlike the chaotic storm inside him. For a moment, he hesitated.

"What was he doing here?" Ivy glanced upward, her pupil widening in surprise as she noticed Arnold only a few feet away. Her beating heart skipped a beat as waves of emotions swept over her: shock, resentment, and perhaps love. She rose up and laid her brush down, her gaze locked on him.

Her voice was steady as she asked, "What are you doing here Arnold?" despite all that was going on inside of her head and heart.

He said, raking a hand through his hair, "I don't know." "I just...needed to see you."

Ivy crossed her arms, her gaze unwavering. "Why? To remind me that you're engaged? To make this whole situation even more confusing and painful than it already is?"

Arnold sighed, stepping closer, his expression earnest. "I didn't come here to complicate things. I just... I can't stop thinking about you, Ivy. And it's driving me mad."

Her heart pounded at his words, a sliver of hope creeping into the confusion. "You're engaged, Arnold," she said quietly, the reality of the situation grounding her. "You have responsibilities, a life planned out for you."

"I know," he replied, frustration evident in his voice. "But what happened between us-it's not something I can just forget. Can you?"

Ivy looked at him, her heart battling with her mind. She wanted to say yes, to push him away and bury the feelings that threatened to consume her. But she couldn't. Because, in all honesty, she was also unable to forget. That night's memories lingered like an unnerving tune that was tough to shake.

She uttered, hardly audible above a whisper, "I don't know." "I've tried to disregard it, but it isn't that basic."

Arnold took a step closer, his eyes searching hers. "Then maybe we shouldn't forget. Maybe we need to figure this out, together."

They paused for a moment, the outside world drifting away from them. Only the two of them were entangled in a web of dread, desire, and something more that they weren't quite ready to define.