Chapter 5
There was a certain kind of madness that was reserved only for aristocratic weddings. And the Scovell household had caught it like a fever.
Every room was full of something, either ribbons or flowers, opinions or arguments, or cake samples.
Aurelia quietly sat in the center of the chaotic sitting room.
“Lilies are traditional for nobility,” her mother stated, proving that being the Countess of Scovell was so much more than the title. “They represent wealth. And grace.”
“And death,” Nora chimed in cheerfully, entering the room with her cheeks flushed from her morning walk. “They say funeral, Mother.”
“I think roses are more charming,” Celia piped up as she followed behind, brushing a leaf off her shoulder. “Soft pink ones. It’s a wedding, not a coronation.”
Lady Scovell arched a brow. “You’re not the one getting married, Celia.”
“No,” Celia said smoothly. “But neither are you, Mother.”
That earned a sharp intake of breath from her mother.
Almost immediately, Lord Scovell spoke from where he was leaning over a stack of velvet swatches, “Isn’t the duke interested in giving his opinion?”
“He’s a duke,” Lady Scovell answered dryly. “He doesn’t need to bother himself with the preparations.”
“I meant metaphorically.” Lord Scovell shrugged before looking down at the swatches. “Why are there seven kinds of gold thread?”
“Eight,” a maid corrected gently as she passed with a tray.
As for Aurelia, she hadn’t spoken in ten full minutes. She remained seated on the edge of the chaise, her hands folded nearly in her lap, a polite smile fixed on her face. Her thoughts were racing, but she forbade them from slipping past her lips.
She didn’t know how to tell her mother that she didn’t like lilies.
She didn’t know how to stop her father from measuring her groom’s worth by the cost of the carriages.
She didn’t know how to tell her sisters that she didn’t care what shade of ivory the ribbons were, because none of them made this feel more real.
And she especially didn’t know how to tell Nora that she didn’t want hers and the duke’s initials to be stitched on the napkins in gold.
“They’ll look so pretty next to the tea sets,” Nora was saying as she pulled out a page from her sketchbook. “Look! See, Aurelia? We can use this design for the breakfast table on the morning after.”
Aurelia looked, paused, then gave a small smile. “That’s lovely, Nora.”
Nora immediately beamed.
That was exactly the problem. Aurelia couldn’t say no to Nora’s face when it glowed like that. Couldn’t say no to her mother when her voice sharpened in a way that said, Don’t argue. Couldn’t say no to anyone in this room, not when she had spent her whole life trying to make them proud.
So she nodded, agreed, and tried not to flinch when someone made the most absurd suggestion ever.
“I still think the harpist is too much,” Celia opined, pouring herself tea. “One harp sounds lovely. Three is excessive. What is this, an opera?”
“It’s a wedding,” Lady Scovell snapped. “Of a duchess. Aurelia is to marry into one of the oldest families in the realm. Everything must be flawless.”
Celia rolled her eyes. “Perfection is the death of romance.”
Lady Scovell ignored her entirely. She and her eldest daughter had a way of bickering and bantering.
She turned back to Aurelia, the sweet and obedient daughter who would do anything she said. “Darling, what do you think? Lilies or roses?”
Aurelia’s throat tightened at that question. Everyone was staring at her. She knew her mother wanted lilies, while her sisters preferred roses.
When she opened her mouth, nothing came out. It was a tough decision to make because she wanted to please them all.
She tried speaking again, but someone else beat her to it.
“I say roses.”
All heads turned toward that voice. It was Louis, standing in the doorway with one eyebrow raised and sleeves rolled to the elbows. He looked like he had come from fencing or another one of his favorite activities.
“Lilies smell like coffins,” he added.
Nora beamed from where she stood. It was as though the twins shared the same brain cells.
“Do you ever enter a room politely?” Lady Scovell huffed.
“No, but I leave them quickly,” Louis replied, then crossed toward the sitting room and stopped beside Aurelia. “May I borrow the bride for a moment?” He stared intently at his father.
“Is it urgent?” Lord Scovell asked, frowning.
“I think so.”
“More urgent than choosing a flower arrangement?” Celia asked incredulously, setting her teacup on the table.
Louis paused to cast a look around the room. “I would argue that most things are.”
He pulled at Aurelia’s hand, and before anyone could stop them, she was already rising from her seat.
The moment she did, she felt it. Relief. The kind that came from taking off a tight corset.
The library at Banfield House was the only place in the manor untouched by wedding chaos.
Aurelia stepped inside and breathed in the smell of sandalwood polish, before passing through the towering shelves that reached toward a coffered ceiling.
She inhaled deeply again, smiling softly.
Bless Louis.
He had given her a break from the different voices that had been relentlessly calling her name.
Her brother walked up to one of the windows and tucked his hands behind him. He seemed too grown-up for someone who had once fallen from a tree because he had insisted on pretending to be a bat.
Aurelia tilted her head slightly, watching him with a strange ache in her chest.
When had he grown into his shoulders like that?
“Don’t tell me you have lured me in here to ask me about lace swatches, too,” she said softly, in a bid to break the silence.
But Louis didn’t laugh. When he turned to face her, his expression was serious. “You don’t look happy, Aurelia.”
He spoke those words without sugarcoating them, and they fell so deeply, like pebbles falling into water.
Aurelia blinked at first, not knowing what to say. “Well, I am… tired.”
“Tired,” he echoed, crossing his arms. “Right.”
“I’ve been answering questions about floral arrangements and embroidery patterns for three hours, Louis. Forgive me if I’m not glowing.”
“You’re not glowing,” he said bluntly, making it clear that he was in no mood for sarcasm. “You’re… dim. As if someone’s snuffed out the light in you.”
She laughed, a soft little huff meant to mask the way her throat tightened. “How poetic.”
He didn’t budge. “Don’t deflect.”
With a deep sigh, Aurelia moved slowly across the room, letting her fingers trail along the edge of a table that was piled with books.
“I’m getting married to a duke,” she said after a while, her gaze glued to the books. “Our family name will be linked to one of the most powerful titles in the realm. There’s nothing to be sad about.”
Louis frowned. “That isn’t what I asked.”
“Then ask it plainly,” she muttered, still not meeting his eyes. “Subterfuge doesn’t become you.”
Something told her that she might become easier to read if he did.
“Do you want to marry him?”
She froze for a moment. Her fingers tightened around the polished edge of the table. She kept her gaze fixed on the map of the Scottish Highlands pinned on the wall. It was easier than looking at him.
“I have to,” she answered, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s what matters.”
“No, it isn’t.”
She turned sharply to face him. “You don’t understand—”
“I understand perfectly,” he cut in, stepping closer, reminding her how tall he had grown.
It felt like getting scolded by someone who used to be a toddler.
“I understand what it’s like to feel like you’re carrying our burdens on your shoulders. I see how you let Mother and Father speak over you. How you nod and agree and never say when you hate something. I see you, Aurelia.”
The truth of it pierced through her skin like an arrow. It was so painful that she bit the inside of her cheek hard.
“You are imagining things,” she sighed, looking away once again, trying her best to fix her mask back in place. “It’s just… a lot, that’s all. I want this marriage. It’s the right thing. It’s my duty.”
Her brother gave her a long look. Then, quietly, he said, “Duty and desire aren’t the same.”
Aurelia swallowed. She tried to chuckle or smile, but it came out tight. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being honest.”
“And reckless,” she added, trying to lighten the mood. “You always were.” She looked at him again. “Remember when you tried to saddle a goat and ride it down the garden slope?”
“That goat bit me.”
“You deserved it.”
His lips curled into a smile. But it didn’t last before it fell flat again.
“This isn’t a goat, Aurelia,” his voice came out soft this time. “This is your life.”
She opened her mouth and then closed it. As she thought about what to say next, silence settled between them.
But then Louis broke it.
“If you don’t want this—if you want to run—I will help you.”
Aurelia snorted in disbelief, running a hand through her brown hair. “You would help me run?”
“If you asked me to,” Louis replied with a shrug. “If that’s what it takes to keep you from marrying someone who makes you look like you’re slowly fading.”
She let out another laugh, but this one sounded quieter and gentler.
“Oh, Louis,” she murmured, stepping closer and brushing her knuckles against his sleeve. “You may look older now, but you’re still a fool.”
He didn’t smile. And when she looked into his eyes, neither did she.
His concern was evident on his face, as though that was all that bothered him.
“Thank you,” she breathed. “But I can handle this, truly.”
He took a moment to study her. “Even if it breaks you?”
“It won’t,” she whispered.
She was not sure whether to call that a lie or a way of reassuring herself, but either way, she did not want to choose.
Louis sighed. “Fine. But if he turns out to be a monster, I’m stealing you away in the night and we’re joining the circus.”
“Agreed.” Aurelia smiled, most genuinely this time.
“Want to move back there or hang here for a little while? You love reading about nature. I’m sure the flower you prefer is neither lilies nor roses.”
“You know me too well,” she allowed. “I think I will need some books to—”
Suddenly, the butler ran into the library with the kind of urgency that conveyed he had news to deliver.
The siblings looked up, and the butler cleared his throat as he stepped forward. “His Grace has arrived,” he announced.
Aurelia blinked. There was only one duke who would call on her.
“The D—Duke of Whitmore?” she stuttered.
Even though the butler hadn’t answered, her pulse leapt. And she didn’t know if it was from fear or anticipation, or both. But what she did know was that, somewhat beneath the nerves and pressure and her perfect mask, her heart fluttered.
Damn him.