Not long after tea, Isolda dragged Giuliana back to her bedchamber. They were behind schedule to ready her for the ball. On a usual day, the preparations began earlier in the day. But nothing about this day had been usual. Giuliana took tea after a luxurious bath as Isolda worked scented oil through her coils.

“Thank goodness you washed your hair yesterday,” Isolda fretted as she pinned the thick curls atop Giuliana’s head. “Hopefully, I can make you presentable in time.” She wrinkled her nose at her mistress’ reflection. “I think you have gotten lighter with that brightening cream.”

Giuliana leveled a glare at Isolda in the mirror. “I do not use it anymore. I doubt lightening my skin will ingratiate me to the Elite.” She examined her reflection, turning her head from side to side. “Besides,” Giuliana added, “I have a healthy glow. No one can deny that.” Isolda pursed her lips in reply. Giuliana was a beauty even if she did not fit the standards of Etria. Her warm golden skin was free of blemishes and freckles no matter now long she spent in the sun or how many pastries she ate. That latter fact she discovered after her recent indulgences.

“It seems the Duke is finally realizing your particular charms.”

Now, Giuliana pursed her lips in reply. Isolda chattered away about Lady Lecia’s ball and all the guests arriving from the country. She mentioned an upstart merchant that was recently given a title by the king- Rupert Dunstan, father to Adella.

“I heard his daughter is the most beautiful woman and he expects her to make an excellent match." Isolda whispered to Giuliana. "Keep your Duke close."

This conversation never happened previously. Before Isolda was reticent while she helped Giuliana prepare, likely because of her mistress's avoidance of idle chatter.

She raised an incredulous brow. "What does that mean?"

"She is lowborn," snapped Isolda, sliding an emerald-tipped pin into her coiffure. "She doesn’t understand the rules.”

“I’m sure even commoners understand that an engaged man is off-limits.”

Isolda shot her a look that ended any discussion of Adella. Her maid’s concern over the newcomer was confusing. Why hadn’t she said anything before? Had she shared the same worries about an upstart trying to become the Duchess?

It did her no good to compare her lives, but that was easier said than done. Her selfish and sometimes aloof attitude had seemed to change her path. Perhaps there was something to be said to living for yourself, even a little.

It was a quarter to seven when Isolda declared Giuliana fit for the ball. She had been plucked and prodded for hours before being sewn into the emerald green gown. Previously, it was a gown Giuliana never had the guts to wear.

As the Duke’s fiancée, she believed she needed to be elegant and demure in pastels and other soft shades. Jewel-tones and bold colors were strictly off-limits based on her self-imposed rules. In hindsight, her rules were idiotic and ineffective.

She arrived in the entryway just as the butler announced the Duke’s arrival. He wore an exquisite evening suit in black though the vest was embroidered with emerald green thread to match his cravat. He swept into an elegant bow as Giuliana appeared before him.

“Good evening, Lady Giuliana,” he greeted as she held out her hand to him. “You look very nice.”

She twisted her lips at his words. Six hours to get ready and all he says is ‘very nice’. This was the Duke she remembered and the tangle of anxiety that had knotted from earlier unraveled. Good. He was still the same.

She dipped into a respectful curtsy, the frantic thumping of her heart slowing. “Good evening, Your Grace.”

“Shall we?” He offered her his arm. Giuliana ducked her head and placed her hand on his forearm. It was high summer, so she didn’t take a wrap. It was still balmy in the early evening and she doubted she’d stay so late the temperature dropped. Giuliana always got home by ten, usually by feigning a headache.

They did not speak on the carriage ride to the ball. Giuliana sat with her hands clasped in her lap, eyes locked on the passing streets. Alastair watched her from across the carriage, chin resting in his hand. She had nothing to say to him and concentrated on remembering what happened at this ball.

Giuliana arrived alone and danced the first dance with the Duke. After that, she stood in the corner and twiddled her thumbs while Adella bedazzled the Elite. Giuliana also spoke with the newcomer briefly and found her tooth-achingly sweet and dim. It was a tiresome combination with her classic looks and so she was a breath of fresh air to the Elite.

But she found her odd even from that first meeting. How on earth had a group of nobles so proud of their heritage and bloodlines allowed a commoner’s daughter into their ranks? Giuliana came from nobility on both sides of her family; however, her mother was the daughter of a foreign duke. If there was anything the Elite hated more than commoners, it was foreigners.

It was after Lady Lecia’s ball that the Elite became more vocal in their whispers against her. Before, they, at least, said nothing to her face. They respected her rank as the daughter of an earl and the Duke’s fiancée. Something occurred during the ball that changed all of that. Giuliana hoped to find out. Looking back, all that changed was Adella Dunstan. But the child had no reason to fan gossip against Giuliana. Unless Isolda’s warning was based in reality.

She slid her attention to Alastair. Did Adella covet the role of Duchess-to-be or did she fall for his pretty face? Hmm, if only Giuliana had paid more attention before she died.

Their arrival was met with shocked gasps and dropped jaws. Giuliana and the Duke had been engaged for most of their lives, but he treated her with a distance befitting their station. They never entered balls or events together, always separate. And Giuliana always faded into the background in gowns of canary yellow or rose pink.

Alastair inclined his head toward hers. “We seem to be causing a scene,” he said in an inaudible voice. She gripped his arm tighter in response and he let out a breath. “Let’s greet the hostess before the dancing starts.”

“Yes, I am a favorite of Lady Lecia’s,” Giuliana replied.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t everyone’s favorite couple,” cooed Lady Lecia. She was lovely in a classic Etrian way with flaxen hair and a peaches and cream complexion. She draped herself in ruffles and lace like a porcelain doll. Her guileless blue eyes twinkled as they approached her.

“That is a gross exaggeration,” she said. Lady Lecia swatted at Giuliana’s forearm with her fan.

“Hush! At the very least, you’re my favorite couple!” She clasped her hands together and let out a wistful sigh. “Betrothed at a young age and Alastair doesn’t even look at other women. When will you get married? You’ve both reached your majority.”

Even before she died, Alastair never set the wedding date. The delay of their nuptials added fuel to the fire. She opened her mouth to give the usual reply about waiting for a sign from the goddess. But, Alastair cut her off.

“I hope in the new year. I’ve tarried too long, don’t you think, Liana?” He asked, directing his words to Giuliana. Lecia’s hands flew to her mouth, and she squealed.

“How wonderful!” She bounced up and down, drawing even more attention to them. “I thought he’d never pick a date! Your Duke is so absent-minded!” 

Giuliana felt a smile grow and nodded her head. “I’m as surprised as you,” she admitted, shooting her fiancé a glare. For once, he looked to her with a pleased grin pulling at his features. The sight of his sudden happiness sent a thrill down her spine. Giuliana licked her lips and dropped her gaze. She allowed herself giddiness for just a moment. His smiles were rare, and she collected them.

Lecia’s bright smile dampened as a slight female bounded over to them in a swath of sky blue satin. She tripped over the hem of her long gown and threw herself onto the Duke.