Chapter 46
Cecilia caught the other girls stealing glances at Meisel and inwardly rolled her eyes.
‘Meisel’s at it again.’
The silence among them felt orchestrated, as if they’d been instructed to hold their tongues until their leader gave the word.
In their circle, Meisel reigned supreme, a social sovereign among girls their age.
Even a duchess of such stature paled in comparison, with no connections to the North.
To them, Meisel posed the greater threat—she could shatter their prospects in an instant.
The tea room plunged into utter stillness.
Oblivious to the undercurrent, the Grand Duchess offered a serene smile.
‘Should I break the ice?’
Cecilia cleared her throat softly.
‘Speaking now might earn me more points…’
Yet she couldn’t bear to watch the woman her brother loyally served be slighted.
She drew breath to intervene—
“The roads have been smoother this year, thanks to the early freeze,” Meisel announced at last, as if bestowing a favor.
The others, who had been stewing in tense silence, exhaled faint breaths of relief.
“That’s welcome news,” the Grand Duchess responded with gentle poise, then nodded to the butler.
“Serve the tea.”
Maids entered promptly, trays balanced in their hands.
‘What’s this?’
Cecilia blinked, taken aback. She’d anticipated a communal spread of pastries arrayed on a central table.
Instead, a maid set down a bespoke tea tray meant solely for her.
At its heart sat a petite cake molded into a “B” for Blenheim, crowned with cream, strawberries, and jewel-like berries.
Encircling it were dainty puddings, tarts, and biscuits, composed like a masterpiece.
The tantalizing aroma of ripe fruit set Cecilia’s mouth watering.
‘A personal tea tray? I’ve never encountered anything like it.’
She glanced up, hoping to share her delight.
But the other girls wore expressions of mingled awe and unease.
Cecilia pieced it together in a flash.
‘Meisel must have warned them off the food.’
She knew the ploy all too well from personal experience.
Once, after a spat with Meisel at a tea gathering, her mother had pleaded with her to extend an olive branch by hosting her.
Meisel had arrived, snubbed the lavish refreshments entirely, and departed after whispering with her entourage—her disdain unmistakable.
Cecilia hadn’t minded for herself, but seeing her mother distressed had ignited her rage.
‘My brother was even more incensed.’
Today, though, Meisel’s scheme seemed doomed.
A buffet would have concealed who indulged and who abstained.
Personal trays laid bare every choice.
Once the guests departed, the Grand Duchess would know precisely whose allegiance lay where.
The girls’ hesitation stemmed from that very peril.
“This is merely a casual welcome,” the Grand Duchess assured them. “No need for formality—savor the treats at your leisure.”
Unless, of course, they all conspired to starve.
‘Not on my watch.’
Cecilia seized her fork with resolve.
She sliced into the cake and savored a generous morsel. Cream and sweetness blended with bursts of fresh strawberry—exquisite.
‘The palace chef outdoes himself.’
As the others watched her relish the bite, their features grew tauter still.
Just then, the Grand Duchess’s azure gaze drifted over their untouched utensils.
No hostility colored her look, yet its weight was inescapable.
At last, forks rose tentatively, eyes flicking toward Meisel.
“How is it? The chef poured his heart into delighting you all,” the Grand Duchess inquired, addressing Lady Roselle, the count’s daughter to her left.
“I—it’s divine, Your Grace,” Roselle stammered, visibly gratified by the direct attention—bypassing Meisel.
“Not just flavorful, but so lovely I hesitated to spoil it.”
The Grand Duchess leaned forward, grinning.
“Exactly. Achieving that elegance without sacrificing a tender crumb was no small feat. The chef fretted over it initially.”
‘Did the Grand Duchess curate this tray herself?’
Cecilia eyed her own spread anew, brimming with esteem.
Such meticulous selection bespoke impeccable discernment.
A spark of intrigue kindled in Cecilia toward this Grand Duchess.
Far more compelling fodder for her writing than capital fashions or castle vistas.
“This fruit tart alone could pair with ten cups of tea!” Karina, the noblewoman beside Meisel, chimed in hastily, vying to curry favor before Roselle claimed the edge.
Witnessing the pair scramble for the Grand Duchess’s approval, Meisel curved her lips in a satisfied smirk.
“My apologies, Your Grace, but I’m not sure I should indulge in such a lavish sweet.”
Silence gripped the room once more.
With a faint smile, the Grand Duchess prompted, “Whatever do you mean?”
“Spring fruits are treasures in Blenheim,” Meisel demurred, gaze demurely downcast.
“Roads close too often for safe passage. Your Grace might not know… but piling them so abundantly feels indulgent. That’s simply our northern way.”
‘What nonsense is this?’ Cecilia thought, brow furrowing. Labeling a handful of berries extravagant? Absurdity incarnate.
“Well, that’s regrettable,” the Grand Duchess replied, her smile tinged with unease.
“I hadn’t realized the Avoir family faced such hardships.”
“What?”
“Going without spring fruit—it’s unheard of in the capital.”
Sympathy softened the Grand Duchess’s regard.
“I-I didn’t mean only our house…”
“Here in the Duke’s castle, cast aside such concerns. Partake freely. Isn’t that right, Whitley?”
“Indeed, Your Grace,” the butler affirmed. “The Duke commanded ample stores of fruit.”
“I merely expressed a fondness, and the Duke ensured abundance,” the Grand Duchess added, beaming.
Meisel blanched.
The Grand Duchess clapped lightly.
“Oh, we should dispatch some fruit to the Avoirs as well.”
“No, please, Your Grace—”
Ignoring the plea, she summoned the butler anew.
“Whitley.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“See that Meisel departs with a generous bounty of fruit.”
“Consider it done.”
“Anyone else care for some?”
“No, thank you, Your Grace.”
“Certainly not,” the other girls echoed, barely suppressing chuckles.
Cecilia sealed her lips against a burst of laughter.
Thus, the Avoirs were recast as fruitless paupers amid spring’s bounty.
‘To dismantle Meisel without a flicker of ire… The Grand Duchess operates in rarefied realms.’
As Meisel flushed crimson, the Grand Duchess placidly spooned her pudding.
The others began to perceive the truth.
‘The Grand Duchess sides with no one against her—least of all Meisel.’
Meisel’s letter had bragged of near-certainty for a lady-in-waiting role—a far cry from this reality.
Nor did the Grand Duchess quail before her.
‘Naturally. Meisel may rule a provincial clique, but she’s no rival to a scion of Fasie might.’
The tea party’s tenor transformed utterly.
Meisel dethroned, tensions eased. The Grand Duchess, versed in each family’s lore and lands, wove captivating conversation.
Cecilia’s moment arrived.
“Sir Norton is your brother, correct? Among Blenheim’s knights, he’s one I hold in highest regard.”
“You honor us, Your Grace. He often speaks of the privilege in your service.”
Cecilia warmed under the Grand Duchess’s kind smile.
Meisel, irked, interjected sharply.
“Doesn’t Cecilia pen pieces for a rag the rabble reads? Perhaps she ought to mention it to Your Grace.”
“A magazine?” The Grand Duchess tilted her head, intrigued.
Seizing the opening, Meisel pressed on.
“What was its name? Some northern tattle-sheet?”
“It’s News from the North,” Cecilia murmured, cheeks aflame.
With the Grand Duchess ignoring her thus far, Meisel now pivoted to spotlight—and skewer—Cecilia.
Cecilia gnawed her inner cheek.
