The alcohol didn’t lie; though, I couldn’t bring myself to indulge any further. I didn’t dare address the fatal intrusion from earlier with His Grace. Truly, I much rathered to revel in his gilded dance, where I could, in the bare least, pretend nothing was amiss. He didn’t seem to take notice of the cracks in my facade, and I made no prod at him to. We continued our waltz as one couple would amongst all of high society with wide grins, washed down by the superficial banter of high spirits. Both His Grace and His Lady would say their premature I love you’s, much to the satisfaction of the status quo. As the lord had remarked, it would appear we were close to those amongst our court. However, for those prying eyes that were watching, we were indisputably too close, even if said closeness was the intended goal of our union.
When the handmaids arrived for breakfast, I informed them of my desire for a brief walk in the garden. Obliging to my request, Adela went to work, sorting through my armoire for an outfit suitable for the weather. Having procured one, draped over her arms was the burgundy fabric of a strolling dress, highlighted with traces of gold along its edges. As she listed the several layers that were to be thrown over my waist, I began loathing the stuffiness of such a gown. The corset felt especially constricting in the wake of last night’s ball, but I saved face and pretended not to notice. To my frustration, however, Adela then inquired about the addition of its matching feathery hat, which insisted on an updo. I sighed, suddenly feeling faint under the adherents that emboldened our standards of appearance. Albeit not too concerned with my overall aesthetic, I consented in favor of Adela’s gentle touch with hair. In my departure, Adela stopped to ask if I might require accompaniment. Although an otherwise considerate gesture, I declined her offer. Much to the bewilderment of someone like that of His Grace, I wouldn’t be finding pleasure in the plentiful stares of company.
As I approach the estate’s garden, I notice garlands of fuschia roses peeking out from under the arbor, marked with small hedges dotting the entryway. Passing out from the estate’s shadow, I’m basked in sunlight. Its warmth feels pleasant on my cheek, almost as if the sun was reaching out to kiss me. Continuing down the pathway, I hear not only the crunch of gravel under my heels, but the buzz of insects becomes much more audible. As I peer over at the flower beds, I consider the nature of the miniscule souls residing within them. A praying mantis, whose mastery at camouflage nearly guarantees it will outlive most, might be swayed into performing a dance worthy of a mate; however, in doing so, concedes to a premature death following their union. A worker bee may collect pollen for the sake of the hive, yet annually betray its male counterparts to preserve rations for the coming winter. Perhaps below, a creature as small as an ant may dedicate its life towards the dwelling of a colony, only to pass before bearing witness to its completion. Their lives alone are seemingly inconsequential, yet it is in their commitment towards the longevity of their species that grants them purpose. It would seem that very tradition beckons me to follow suit.
Along the path I come across an area oddly unkempt. The hedges are more natural in shape, the grass is overgrown, and opposed to the neat makings of a flowerbed, wildflowers have sprouted in asymmetrical patches. I begin to wonder if I might have left the confines of the garden when I spot a charcoal gray bench. As I go to take a seat, I turn my attention towards the careful craftsmanship that went into its backrest. The meticulous nature of it reminds me of the railing I had seen with His Grace, the one which presided over my dreadful descent back towards the banquet. I find its iron grandeur to be mocking, having been made in his House’s image.
Sitting back against the bench, I find myself replaying the events of our first meeting. How kind of him to humor the wayward lady’s hysteria and treat her to tea. He seemingly romanticizes our terse exchange, making the bold assumption that if not for my perceived thoughts of worthlessness, I’d be happy to marry him. I roll my eyes at such a thought, repulsed by the prospect. Though, the only atrocity worse than his assumptions about me were my assumptions about him. Unbeknownst to me, our argument within the courtyard simply revolved around his plans of luring me to the confines of the estate. However, I have no one to blame but myself for not realizing his intentions sooner. Within seconds of having just heard my speech, he accomplished more than fashioning a well crafted rebuttal. Not only was he convincing, he was also the man that had chased me through a bush, and then persuaded me to believe he was harmless enough to follow back into the estate. Of course, I couldn’t detect more than mere traces of his deceit within his trap of falsehoods. Am I so senseless? My face burns at the ridicule.
I laid too much faith in presuming my alliance in marriage could have just as easily been dealt with another’s house. To hear that Lady Margot, of House Grimaldi of all families, could have been his betrothed, I find difficulty in comprehending his dismissal of her. Although it’s true that ties with my family of House Laine would fetch quite the high price from our court’s market, House Grimaldi was far wealthier. Their ancestral decision to buy stocks in tea had cemented their status within the peerage and would no doubt make for a fine coalition between them and House Barclay. However, it would appear that His Grace unfortunately had regards other than politics in mind. Words from his monologue at our last dinner haunt me, sending shudders down my spine. Albeit my time in knowing the duke has been brief, his unbridled ideals of lust have already had their share of dire consequences on me. Indeed, within the period of one fatal hour, I had sown several plots of my own misfortune. Now, apart from His Grace, I would have to fetter not only the rage of a lady scorned, but also the nuisance of a belittled lord, the lord that spoke to me out of turn. I must’ve pulled my wrist. The memory of his grin prods at me, so proud of the leverage hanging over me. I contemplate the possibility he had merely been tuned in by my shriek, but given his sly, I can’t in good faith cast aside this notion. If he had heard me prior, then he has chosen to remain silent on the matter.
Judging by his coyness, I surmise he likely has his own agenda; however, it would appear he’s intent on merely taunting me for the moment. The thought lingers before I consider utilizing the aid of His Grace. Certainly, it would be owed that he does right by his presumed love and makes light work of the man whose threats breathe down past her neck. Although, the only means I could imagine would be most efficient are not quite within the standards of our legal system and are in most cases, frowned upon. Perhaps, there is a solution His Grace can see that I cannot. Thus far into our acquaintance, I’ve been forcibly taught that his intelligence grossly surpasses that of my own. It might even prove wise of me to consider his counsel. I reckon the time will come soon enough that the young duke will decide to grace me with his presence and that then I would discuss with him the matter of the lord.
“You seem awfully pensive.”
An eerily calm voice from overhead sends a shockwave through my body, alerting me to the presence at my shoulder. I jerk my gaze upwards to see His Grace looming over me, his hands slid onto the backrest. The young duke is dressed less formally than usual, sporting a black vest over a white button up. His expression appears curious before I feel his hand reach from behind for my hat, lifting it off my head. Seemingly granted a better view of my face, he smiles.
“Good morning, Avalor,” he greets, before leaning his head close to plant a kiss on my temple. “Have you been wandering the garden, yourself today?”
“Only briefly,” I mutter, still reeling from his intrusion.
“Then… I take it you haven’t seen any of the wildlife, yet?” he asks, alarmingly eager as his expression widens into a grin.
“Wildlife?” I repeat dully, having only crossed insects during my stroll. He nods intently, gesturing with his hand towards an overgrown patch of grass and wildflowers. Sighing, I reluctantly followed his guide, narrowing my eyes at the area in my search. However, a few moments pass and I have yet to see any critter hiding within the brush. “Nikkolas, I don’t see–” Just as I begin to voice my inability to spot said wildlife, he swiftly brings his arm over my shoulder and reaches for my chin, gently adjusting my gaze with his fingertips. My skin burns under the sensation of his hand. With his index finger raised, he points towards a particular shrub.
He then leans his face close to mine, before whispering, “Right there…”
Fun Fact! Ava is very perceptive of the behavior of insects as she has studied entomology!
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