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As Count Smithan's words fell, a group of young nobles eagerly volunteered, while the most handsome among them remained still, adopting an aloof demeanor that suggested they were above the fray.
"Everyone, please be quiet. I haven't finished speaking yet," Count Smithan said again.
"As for who will be the dance partner, let my daughter choose for herself," he added with a smile, glancing at Monroe.
Monroe nodded, scanning the crowd before her gaze settled on a strikingly handsome young man.
"That's Duke Phil's grandson," the Castle Steward introduced.
This grandson of Duke Phil had a face that could make any girl swoon, and he was quite pleased with himself. Standing there, he exuded an air of superiority and exclusivity, convinced that he was the only suitable partner for Monroe. If she didn’t choose him, it could only mean that her judgment was flawed.
When Monroe looked his way, Duke Phil's grandson felt a surge of pride, though he maintained a composed expression.
After observing him for a moment, Monroe walked toward him. The moment she approached, the young man could no longer hold back his eagerness; one hand was placed behind his back while the other reached out, ready to take Monroe's hand.
Monroe slowly came to a stop and extended her gloved hand to rest upon his.
At this sight, other noble youths sighed in disappointment, their faces filled with regret.
"You are not my choice for a dance partner," Monroe said with a smile as she withdrew her hand after just a brief touch with Duke Phil's grandson.
With those words, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The other noble youths perked up at the prospect of still having a chance, but Duke Phil's grandson's expression fell instantly; he felt as if he had plummeted from heaven to hell, utterly bewildered.
"Why?" he asked in confusion.
"Because it just doesn't feel right," Monroe replied with a smile.
"It doesn't feel right?" Not only Duke Phil's grandson but others around him also looked perplexed.
"Yes, it simply doesn’t feel right. I’m sorry," Monroe said apologetically.
As everyone regained their composure, they shrugged off the unusual reason for rejection; after all, excuses for declining were often bizarre.
Monroe resumed her search through the crowd and soon fixed her gaze on Bowen Charles.
Upon seeing her look in his direction, Bowen Delson straightened his posture. Being chosen as Monroe ’s dance partner in front of everyone would be something to boast about; Bowen Charles relished that feeling of victory.
However, his expression soon darkened as Monroe repeated her earlier actions and did not select him again.
"Are you playing with me?" Bowen Delson snapped. His family background was even more illustrious than Monroe's. After she briefly touched his hand and then withdrew it again, it seemed like a blatant tease—no wonder Bowen Delson was upset.
"I confirmed the feel of your hand; you are not my choice. I’m sorry," Monroe replied with a smile.
"Ha! Even if you’re rejecting me, you don’t need such a ridiculous excuse. What can you feel through those gloves? Besides, hands are all quite similar; what difference does it make? Miss Monroe Lily, if you’re looking for reasons to refuse someone, please find a more suitable one. Don’t treat us like fools!" Bowen Delson’s temper flared. He had already been in a foul mood from earlier at the racetrack and was not about to let this indignity slide without protest.
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