Chapter 4 #2
“Relax,” Rosavyn cut in, reaching for Aurelise’s free hand and squeezing it.
The music faded. “He isn’t going to choose you.
He’ll realize soon enough that you’re not interested in him.
You’ll make it abundantly clear through your complete lack of enthusiasm, and he’ll naturally gravitate toward the other ladies who actually want to compete for his attention. ”
“I imagine the other ladies are absolutely thrilled,” Iris commented. “They’re probably already planning their strategies, deciding which accomplishments to display, practicing their eyelash batting in mirrors—”
“Selecting their most revealing gowns,” Mariselle added. “The sorts that make gentlemen walk into pillars and—Oof!” Her words disappeared beneath a muffled splutter as a satin cushion collided with her face
“Don’t fluster poor Aurelise more than necessary,” Iris said through her laugher.
Mariselle hugged the cushion to her chest. “It isn’t so very shocking to know that the prince appreciates a woman with—”
“Stop!” Rosavyn said through her giggles. “You really will make her faint away!”
With another moan, Aurelise dropped her fan and pressed both hands over her burning face. “I cannot believe we’re having this conversation. About the prince! Who I’m now supposed to … to … spend time with. In proximity. Where he might … look at me.”
“Oh no,” Rosavyn gasped dramatically. “He might look at you. With his eyes. The absolute scandal.”
“You know what I mean,” Aurelise mumbled through her fingers. “I shall spend the entire time blushing and stuttering.”
“Actually,” Mariselle said, her tone shifting to something slightly more serious, though amusement still colored her words, “I suspect Ryden isn’t quite as terrible as he appears.
There must be something of substance beneath all that tiresome swagger and incessant flirtation.
Surely Evryn wouldn’t maintain such a close friendship with someone who was entirely composed of superficial charm and practiced carelessness.
At least, one hopes.” She sighed contentedly.
“Though naturally, he couldn’t possibly compare to Evryn, who is absolutely extraordinary when it comes to—”
“I beg you not to complete that thought,” Rosavyn interrupted with considerable alarm.
“I was merely going to observe his exceptional talent for the management of a household!” Mariselle protested, though her tone suggested otherwise entirely.
“You most certainly were not,” Rosavyn said around another laugh. “And poor Aurelise has endured quite enough mortification for one afternoon without adding whatever improper observation you were about to share about—”
The sound of approaching footsteps in the hallway cut through their conversation.
Aurelise scrambled to her feet so quickly that the room tilted alarmingly, forcing her to catch herself against the nearest chair.
Mariselle rose more gracefully, though she was clearly suppressing laughter at Aurelise’s panic.
Iris pushed herself up from the settee with visible effort, one hand braced against the arm for support. Only Rosavyn remained on the floor.
The drawing room door opened, revealing Lord Hadrian Blackbriar. He took in the scene—three young ladies standing with varying degrees of composure, and one still sprawled across the carpet—with an expression that suggested nothing about this tableau surprised him in the least.
“Hadrian,” Rosavyn greeted with a serene smile, observing him upside down.
“Rosavyn,” he replied, his expression showing only the mildest bewilderment mixed with what appeared to be fond resignation—clearly the product of years of exposure to Rosavyn’s complete disregard for convention.
He turned to the others with a proper bow. “Ladies. I apologize for the intrusion.” His gaze found Iris, concern immediately creasing his features. “Iris, please, sit. I didn’t mean to disturb your rest.”
“Nonsense,” Iris said, though she did lower herself back onto the settee with poorly concealed relief. “You’re always welcome, Hadrian.”
As she so often did, Aurelise watched them carefully, searching for any hint of discomfort in their interaction.
Two Seasons ago, Iris and Hadrian had been engaged before Iris had broken it off, only to become betrothed to Jasvian—Hadrian’s closest friend—mere weeks later.
The entire situation had seemed impossibly fraught with potential for resentment and hurt feelings.
Yet as she observed them now, Aurelise was reminded yet again that she was likely the only person who felt any secondhand awkwardness over the whole thing.
“If you’re looking for Jasvian,” Iris added, “I’m afraid he’s at the tea house. Lady Rivenna required assistance with something.”
“Ah. Thank you.” Hadrian turned to leave, then paused. “Lady Aurelise, I nearly forgot—congratulations on your selection for the Crown Court. My sister mentioned it this morning.”
Aurelise fought to keep her grimace from showing. She’d forgotten that Lady Willow Blackbriar had also been chosen. “How kind of her.”
“She’s quite nervous about it all, actually. Though excited as well. This entire Crown Court business has rather taken everyone by surprise. No one expected anything quite so dramatic this Season.” He smiled kindly. “I’m sure you’ll both manage beautifully.”
“Thank you,” Aurelise managed, the words like ash in her mouth.
After Hadrian’s departure, Mariselle collapsed back onto the floor with a laugh. “That poor man. Every time he visits, we’re doing something absolutely ridiculous.”
“He’s used to it by now,” Rosavyn said, still not having moved. “I’ve thoroughly destroyed his capacity for shock.”
Aurelise lowered herself back down with considerably less grace than before. “Lady Willow is exactly the sort of accomplished, confident lady who belongs in a Crown Court. Unlike me.”
“Stop that,” Iris said, her tone firm but not unkind.
“You are every bit as accomplished as the others selected, Aurelise. And confidence is often little more than noise. There is a steadiness in you that runs deeper than most perceive, and because of that, you’ll survive this.
You’ll attend the required events, you’ll make absolutely no impression whatsoever on Prince Ryden, and by Season’s end, he’ll have chosen someone appropriate who actually wants to be a princess. ”
“Exactly,” Rosavyn agreed. “We can teach you how to be boring, if you’d like.”
“I’m already exceptionally boring.”
“That’s hardly true. You could be far worse,” Rosavyn insisted. “You could talk exclusively about … I don’t know … the historical evolution of spoon design.”
“The magical properties of lumyrite spoons,” Mariselle added.
“The optimal spoon curvature for soup consumption versus dessert enjoyment,” Rosavyn continued.
“Oh, Iris!” Mariselle suddenly lifted her head from the carpet. “There’s an idea! What about—”
“No,” Iris answered flatly. “I am not naming my firstborn child Spoon.”
“Oh, but it’s so elegant in its simplicity!” Rosavyn chimed in. “And terribly practical. Everyone needs spoons. Jasvian will love it.”
“I suppose it’s marginally better than Grandmother’s suggestion of Teacup Supreme,” Aurelise mused.
Mariselle’s laughter burst forth in an inelegant snort. “Did she really suggest Teacup Supreme?”
“Yes. Complete with ‘Supreme’ as a middle name.”
“My favorite is still Kazrian’s suggestion of Doorknob,” Rosavyn said, her whole body shaking with barely suppressed mirth.
“Stop,” Iris said through her laughter. “Jasvian has threatened to ban us all from the house if we continue this absurd naming nonsense.”
“What about—” Mariselle began.
“No.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”
“The answer remains no. There will be no Spoon in this family.”
“And I will not be talking about spoons either,” Aurelise said firmly, “though I need something boring to talk about. I need to be so utterly forgettable that he’ll barely notice I exist.”
“Fine.” Rosavyn sighed. “We’ll come up with some other tedious topics for you, Lise. Weather patterns. Soil composition. The correct method for organizing a linen closet.”
“I already talk about weather,” Aurelise pointed out. “It’s my primary conversational refuge.”
“Then you’re perfectly prepared,” Mariselle declared. “You’ll bore Prince Ryden into a state of complete indifference within a week.”
Aurelise sighed. “I still don’t think I should have been chosen.”
“Noted,” Rosavyn said. “Your objection has been registered with the committee of sisters who don’t have any power to change anything but will enthusiastically commiserate.”
They lapsed into companionable silence then, all of them staring up at the ceiling as afternoon light continued its slow progression across the plaster roses. Aurelise tried to find peace in the quiet moment, but underneath the calm, anxiety churned like a restless tide.
The ceiling roses, she decided, offered no more useful wisdom than their living counterparts back home.