You really shouldn't be looking.

But you can't help yourself. His golden hair sweeps across his forehead, the candlelight glinting off it, strands of it falling into his eyes, and his eyes follow you around the room while he talks to the footmen, and he thinks you don't notice. You smile at him, and his eyes light up when you go to talk to him – who wants to talk about parties when you can talk about politics?

You can almost hear the smile in his soft Irish voice when he talks to you about your opinions. He's kind hearted, and values your opinion, and doesn't just see you as a pretty face, the way the gentlemen around the room do. You remember the time he gave you the leaflets, and the weird fluttering in your stomach when he talked to you about his beliefs. You remember that he inspired you to wear that gown and the way he looked at you through the window, when he didn't think you'd see him. You remember the night he carried you out of that fight, remember how that was when you fell in love with him. You remember the fight that night with Papa, and how you meant every word you said.

And then you remember that you're from different classes, and society expects you to marry one of the arrogant men in the room

And then you remember that you don't give a damn what society thinks.

I'm going to attempt to make a fanvid. Wish me luck!