Of all the things Trevor Rowanward thought he could possibly come across while on patrol, Lady Florence LaVelle wasn’t even on the list. If she was, in fact, Lady Florence LaVelle. He hadn’t seen her in over seven years, so it was hard to be sure. Her hair had been long and red back then, almost always tied back in a ridiculous mass of ringlets whenever their two families had crossed paths. He’d done his best to avoid her back then.

Whoever she was, he preferred her hair as it was now. Colorful. Daring. Glowing like a sunset and completely improper. Was he a bit jealous she was riding with Jerrome? Yes. But only because he was curious what her hair looked like up close. He’d have to grill Jerrome later during his report. 

Most of the things the lady had said didn’t make much sense, but they’d agreed to take her to the LaVelle gates to test her words. If she happened to be telling the truth…well, it wouldn’t be the first time Trevor would have to talk himself out of a tricky situation. He seemed to attract them, after all, as the “good-for-nothing second Rowanward son.”

His mind wandered as his horse made its way along the road, following behind Jerrome and a few others. If she was Florence LaVelle, that would make her about…nineteen this year. 

A year past when she should’ve debuted. 

Yet, she’d been running through the woods like a boy, and her reaction time to the warning arrow Peter had shot…well, it hadn’t been bad at all. Her duck and roll off the path had left him speechless once he’d realized she was a woman, and likely a lady at that. 

None of it added up. All of it puzzled him. Therefore, Trevor wasn’t about to let this issue go any time soon, no matter what happened at the LaVelle gates. 

♥♥⸸

Despite my protest, the small convoy heads straight to the main gates. 

I’m going to get in so much trouble. 

The LaVelle guards don’t seem too alarmed at the sight of the men accompanying me, but one of them departs for what I can only assume is the main house. To get father. 

I gnaw on my lip. It doesn’t help that I don’t know any of the guards. In hindsight, it probably would’ve been a good idea to familiarize myself with a few of them. Perhaps win them over with some gold. It’s too late for that now, though. 

Thankfully, Mary comes running from the annex.

“Lady Florence!” she shouts as soon as she’s within earshot. 

I look over my shoulder at Jerrome, then move to slide down the horse. He stops me, then dismounts and helps me down before I have time to protest. 

“Lady Florence,” Mary says again, and she reaches out to me. Instinctively, I return her half-embrace, suddenly realizing she’s a half-head taller than me. Why is everyone so darn tall? “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. What happened to you? Did these ruffians kidnap you?”

“Ruffians?” Jerrome retorts. I can feel him bristle behind me. “We are Rowanward knights, who happened upon Lady Florence during a routine patrol of the Rowanward borders.”

“Oh.” Mary pales. She lets go of my arms and instantly curtsies low. “My apologies, my lord. I didn’t recognize your station, given your attire.”

“All is forgiven,” another man says. I spin around to see who had spoken, but his face is covered with a hood. “It seems Lady Florence spoke the truth and it is we who owe her our most sincere apologies. Please, allow us to make our way to Duke LaVelle so that we might offer compensation for our error.”

Before I can speak, unspoken arrangements between the LaVelle staff and the Rowanward knights have Mary whisking me away to the annex and our guards leading the knights to the main house. 

Who spoke? Was he the one actually in charge of the knights, not Jerrome? 

I glance over my shoulder, but still cannot see the hooded man’s face. 

♥♥⸸

Duke Claude LaVelle sat at his large, antique goldwood desk. It had survived nearly three hundred years of LaVelles. 

Would it survive another three hundred? he wondered, running his finger along one of the flames of woodgrain, his head resting in his other hand. 

Florence hadn’t even been awake for a fortnight and she was already causing problems. Thankfully, Marquess Rowanward’s youngest, Lord Trevor, had been more interested in apologizing for not believing Florence than taking advantage of the situation. How easily he could’ve used this to his advantage…yet, he hadn’t. 

At least, not yet.

Claude hadn’t seen the boy in a few years, but he recognized him straightaway. His unruly black hair was always in need of a trim, and his green eyes never failed to sparkle with mischief. This time, however, the young lord had acted as such, apologizing for his and his men’s conduct and offering recompense. The Duke waved them away. What was a minor misunderstanding between neighbors? 

Ultimately, no harm was done and Florence was returned home safely (though she should’ve never been there to begin with). In fact, he ought to thank them for escorting her through the woods. Who knows what she might have come across?

Finally, Lord Trevor and the Rowanward knights made their farewells and departed, leaving the Duke drained and anxious. What in the name of Saint Dora was Florence doing on Rowanward land?!

Claude sighed and rubbed both temples, his gaze focused far away. An open letter, the Royal Seal cracked down the middle, sat in front of him. It had arrived shortly before Lord Trevor. 

His daughter must debut and she must debut soon. Claude knew the law—he’d been through the process for his two eldest children. All noble children of Dorandia must debut into high society, unless exempted by the King himself, during their eighteenth year. The LaVelle family was not so lucky when it came to Florence. It seems that the King, since having found out about Florence and her sleeping curse, was intent on seeing her debut into society so that he could meet her as soon as possible. 

They were only given one month to plan for the debut. Most families, especially for their daughters, would ordinarily plan for a year or more. 

“It’ll be a farce,” the Duke said quietly to himself. His wife could not help plan the debut—she was ill, so he would not trouble her about it. His eldest daughter would not help—ever since Florence’s presence and the curse became known, her engagement to the Mercado boy was threatened. She blamed Florence for it. 

Therefore, people who didn’t know Florence well would be the ones planning her debut. 

The Duke had a vague idea of everything that went into such an event, for he’d been to several, including two for his eldest children. There was just no way Florence’s would be anything close to Mile’s or Elaine’s.

But Florence won’t know that, he suddenly thought. His head snapped up. That’s right! She’d been sleeping during her siblings’ debuts! Unless they bragged to her about it, she wouldn’t know that hers wasn’t as grand. 

Then, perhaps they could keep the attendance small, as well…to help minimize gossip. Because there would definitely be gossip. 

“Gerald!” Claude shouted. A moment later, the butler appeared. 

“Yes, Your Grace?” Gerald’d face was passive, as always.

“We must prepare for Florence’s debut,” the Duke nearly shouted across the desk, punching the air with the letter. “We only have one month. Take care of everything, will you? No matter the cost. We mustn’t tarnish the LaVelle name.”

“Certainly, Your Grace. It would be my pleasure.”