Chapter 45
Loic halted abruptly in his tracks.
“Right? Doesn’t it seem that way to you?”
Demiche motioned toward the knights trailing behind him.
“Y-Yeah, it does.”
“What’s changed about him?”
“Did he cut his hair?”
Murmurs rippled through the group from the rear, laced with uncertainty and intrigue. Loic cleared his throat, a touch embarrassed.
“There’s no mistaking it—something’s off about him today.”
From the back, Leon piped up loudly.
“It’s his shirt!”
“His shirt?”
Every knight narrowed their gaze, fixing it on Loic’s torso.
“The collar’s at an angle.”
“And no buttons in sight!”
Loic’s garment featured a gracefully curved collar, with fastenings concealed within rather than marching straight down the front.
Demiche bent closer and inquired,
“Is this the latest style?”
As a former mercenary, Demiche had a reputation for his straightforward manner among the captains.
Loic shot him a sharp glance, familiar with the man’s brashness and on the verge of retorting—when—
“Don’t tell me…!”
Demiche’s face split into a knowing grin as he pressed,
“Are you joining Her Grace for tea?”
Ah!
A collective soft intake of breath escaped the knights, while Loic’s brow furrowed.
“What nonsense is that? Joining her tea?”
“But you’ve dressed so sharply to back Her Grace and leave a strong impression?”
Loic’s bewilderment prompted a surprised look from Demiche in turn.
“You truly have no idea? It’s custom for a husband to appear at his wife’s debut tea, offering greetings to the guests and urging their kindness toward her.”
Hearing this revelation for the first time, Loic scanned his men. The noble-born among them nodded vigorously in affirmation.
“I attended my wife’s first one.”
“I missed mine due to duty, and she was furious.”
“I spent ages making amends.”
The wedded knights chimed in swiftly, as if determined to spare their oblivious leader a grave blunder.
Their intervention stemmed from genuine concern—for the tranquility of their lord’s fresh marriage.
I’ve never heard of such a thing…
Loic eyed his subordinates with suspicion, questioning if they were embellishing. Then his gaze met Norton’s, who gave a solemn nod of verification.
Damn it.
Loic exhaled heavily.
Showing up at a tea gathering to mingle with noblewomen? Trivial for most spouses, perhaps—but for him, it loomed like an insurmountable ordeal.
Merely unlocking the duchy’s gates for this event had demanded immense resolve.
The duchess hadn’t invited him, yet…
Perhaps she’s quietly wishing I’d appear.
She lacked deep roots here still. Might his absence undermine her standing?
The thrill he’d felt over the attire she’d chosen for him evaporated in an instant.
“Marriage sure transforms a fellow, doesn’t it?”
Demiche beamed, oblivious to Loic’s inner turmoil.
“Did Her Grace select that ensemble?”
The knights buzzed with astonishment and praise.
“No wonder!”
“You look splendid! Her eye for style is impeccable!”
“I’m envious!”
“Enough.”
The duke’s icy presence quelled them at once.
“You’re all far too casual with your tongues today.”
“Sparring tomorrow.”
His words emerged in a grave, foreboding murmur as he pivoted away.
Ugh. Groans rose from the knights, all too aware of the punishment ahead.
Yet Demiche, following in Loic’s wake, stifled a sly chuckle.
He’d glimpsed the flush creeping up their lord’s nape.
Meanwhile, the duchy’s gates—sealed to outsiders for almost seventeen years—swung wide at last.
Heirs of noble lineages arrived in crested carriages, escorted to the tea parlor by the chief butler.
As they traversed the corridors, the young women cast inquisitive glances at the grand duchy’s interiors.
Trailing at the group’s end, Lady Cecilia—second daughter of Viscount Territo—craned her neck to take it all in.
This place is enormous.
Cecilia had launched a column in News of the North just a month prior. Every detail screamed potential story—or dead end.
Her piece on capital fashions the week before had garnered acclaim, spurring her to sustain the success.
A dispatch from the grand duchy would explode in popularity, but coverage of any kind remained utterly prohibited.
Could I get away with the duchess’s tea gathering?
—“Cecilia, I don’t need you dazzling Her Grace. Just avoid any fuss. One slip could shame your father.”
Very well. I’ll fade into the background—mute and unseen.
Cecilia sighed, recalling her mother’s frantic admonition mere moments before the carriage departure.
That’s when a hand shot from the adjacent shrubbery, seizing her arm.
“Eek! What—?!”
“Quiet!”
Jolted and twisting free, Cecilia peered up and scowled upon recognizing the culprit.
Norton, a Blenheim knight and her elder brother.
“You frightened me.”
Stumbling upon her sibling unannounced hardly qualified as a delight for Cecilia.
“What is it? Out with it fast.”
She radiated irritation at this untimely familial intrusion. Norton’s eyes narrowed in kind.
“Charmed to see you too.”
“Spare me the sarcasm.”
Cecilia fixed him with a glare.
“I’m occupied, Sir Norton. Spit it out.”
“Do you address Her Grace with that tone? Charming etiquette.”
Norton tsked.
“I’m here to caution you against stirring trouble at the tea.”
“Wonderful, more scolding. Lady Territo’s drilled that into me endlessly.”
“This is no jest.”
Norton arched a brow.
“Act properly. Speak only if Her Grace addresses you first. Don’t let her warmth go to your head and babble foolishness.”
“You’re relentless.”
Cecilia responded dully, peering outward. The other ladies had reached the guest wing.
“Finished? I’m going.”
“Above all…!”
As she turned to leave, Norton clutched her sleeve and, uncharacteristically, sharpened his tone.
“Don’t breathe a word about that worthless knight, understand?”
“If anyone’s worthless, it’s the brother who’s a ghost at home.”
Cecilia shot him a fierce look and hastened away.
Halfway along the passage, Cecilia rejoined the cluster.
A noble lady at the rear flicked her a glance. Cecilia mustered an abashed grin, panting still, but the girl averted her eyes with chill disdain.
Moments later, the grand doors parted, and the head butler ushered the noble ladies into the tea parlor.
The chamber exuded refined opulence: silk draperies adorned the walls, gold accents gleamed everywhere.
The women swiftly hunted for their place cards.
Meisel strode ahead with poise, claiming the chair beside the Grand Duchess, chin high after spotting her name, then settled with evident smugness.
Cecilia’s spot huddled at the distant left edge.
Fitting—House Territo counted among the north’s newest nobles.
Their gazes locked; Meisel delivered a triumphant, derisive smirk before taking her seat.
How juvenile, Cecilia mused.
Since their clash at a tea two years past, Meisel had needled her with trivial barbs.
It barely registered with Cecilia, who scorned society’s rituals regardless.
She occasionally found the aristocracy’s maneuvering droll, but enduring endless prattle on needlework fads? Pure agony.
Today promised more vapid banter.
As Cecilia surveyed the demurely perched girls, stifling a yawn—
“The Grand Duchess approaches.”
The butler’s cue prompted a unified rise.
Meisel stood with deliberate leisure, snaring Cecilia’s notice.
Wow.
A hushed exclamation slipped out.
The Grand Duchess entered in a charming pink gown, her beauty striking and radiant.
Cecilia’s jaw slackened.
Rumors had painted her lovely, but this exceeded expectations.
More startling still was her attire.
I figured she’d drip in gaudy gems…
Yet a modest pearl necklace and studs sufficed for effortless grace.
Must be the gown.
Dense, intricate embroidery graced the bodice; pleats at the skirt’s base lent it volume and luster.
Scrap the capital’s fads—I need to pen pieces on her wardrobe!
“Thank you for joining us.”
The Grand Duchess offered a gracious smile and claimed her throne. The others, lingering in awe, hastened to sit.
“I understand some of you journeyed a great distance. I hope the voyage proved smooth?”
“……”
What’s with this vibe?
Despite the Grand Duchess’s overture, silence gripped the room, all too wary to venture a reply.
