Ch#64
“Have they truly not shared their wedding night yet?”
Perel’s ears flushed crimson at Cecilia’s blunt inquiry.
“I… well, I’m not entirely certain…”
In truth, he knew full well, but discussing such intimate matters with an unwed servant girl was utterly out of the question.
Cecilia’s face grew stern, as if his flustered denial had confirmed her suspicions.
“Oh dear, it’s even graver than I’d imagined. Surely there’s nothing amiss with the Grand Duke?”
“Amiss? In what way?”
“Perhaps… he struggles to fulfill a man’s duties…”
“W-What on earth?!”
Perel’s eyes bulged in astonishment, his breath catching in his throat.
He glanced furtively around to ensure privacy, then hissed at her in a low voice.
“You cannot utter such treasonous slander about the Grand Duke’s… potency. Do you grasp that mere words like these could brand you a traitor?”
“We’re alone here—who’s to hear?”
Cecilia dismissed him with an eye roll, as though he were making a mountain out of nothing.
Alone? Since when are we on such terms?
They both attended high lords, true enough, but Perel had no desire to be paired with this wild-hearted maid.
“Regardless, is there any truth to it?”
“Absolutely not!”
He shut her down with conviction.
No matter his master’s occasional prickliness, he refused to let such rumors fester.
This touched on honor—not only his lord’s, but manhood itself.
As Cecilia eyed him dubiously, Perel suppressed a quiet exhale.
No choice now.
The rift between the pair extended far beyond their unconsummated union.
That the Grand Duke hadn’t banished the Grand Duchess was blessing enough.
Though truthfully, progress remained glacial…
“The Grand Duke is striving earnestly.”
Perel, ever the reluctant matchmaker offering counsel, bristled slightly.
“He tends to the Grand Duchess with utmost discretion.”
From where he stood, their bond was inevitable.
His lord gazed upon her unlike any other.
No bouquets yet, but he’d flung open a long-sealed greenhouse at her whim.
And recently, at her wish to view the lake, he’d shattered the padlock and roused the court mage in the dead of night.
Their inaugural outing even succeeded as a date, of sorts.
“That’s hardly sufficient! Do you know the chill that hung over them on their last venture beyond the walls? The Grand Duchess hid it well, but she was deeply wounded.”
“…Is that so?”
Concern softened Perel’s features.
Public sentiment toward the Grand Duchess was thawing, yet hostility lingered among many.
“What if she declares she cannot endure here and departs? The Grand Duke must display his devotion openly, to make her truly welcome.”
She had a point…
But meddling via this maid risks only chaos.
Perel wavered, only for Cecilia to fold her arms and fix him with a piercing stare, dropping his gaze as he murmured.
“Perhaps… consult Lord Norton. He attends both the Grand Duke and Grand Duchess—and he’s kin to you…”
“He turned me down flat.”
“…Pardon?”
Cecilia scowled in response.
“He said to stop chasing frivolities.”
Lord Norton, ever the sage.
“Then heed his counsel—”
“Perel, you’d be wiser to aid me.”
Her gaze gleamed with icy resolve.
“Should the Grand Duchess abandon the castle, whose days turn darkest?”
“Th-That’s…”
Perel envisioned it, his expression clouding over.
“…How can I assist?”
A pristine spring afternoon unfolded.
The lakeshore, alive with children’s glee mere days prior, now hushed under the gentle chime of porcelain.
Today’s tea gathering drew the noblewomen of the northern estates.
They perched rigidly, postures impeccable and demeanor aloof.
Whispers had circulated: the Grand Duchess, long resident in the castle, had yet to summon them—insulting the North, some claimed.
Thank goodness Cecilia alerted me promptly; I dispatched invitations before the rift deepened.
Even so, the ladies held aloof, scorning any deference to a capital-bred ingenue.
As I scanned their frost with trepidation, one voice pierced the hush.
“I’ve heard endless tales of the Grand Duchess’s tea parties. Delighted at last to partake.”
The Marchioness of Territo, mother to the Norton siblings, lent her support—her children in my service.
She noted how the Grand Duchess’s tea service had captivated the younger set.
Emboldened, some elder ladies chimed in.
“Buffet-style teas are passé now, it seems.”
I’d fretted over traditionalists craving buffets, but Cecilia swore matrons chased fads fiercest—we opted for individual sets.
Wise choice.
“Your Grace, forgive my boldness, but where was your gown fashioned? The capital?”
A younger noblewoman ventured, sensing thaw.
“No, in Kouter.”
The revelation startled several.
“Kouter? So, Blenheim-made?”
“Did it mimic capital vogues?”
“No—the dressmaker’s own visions.”
My gown’s provenance ignited chatter even among the reticent.
Northern scarcity of ateliers fueled fierce rivalry for finery, it transpired.
One cited commissioning from Rondoris; heads nodded.
“Ultimately, Rondoris delivers the finest.”
I winced unwittingly.
How dare they, before Blenheim’s Grand Duchess?
The Grand Duke toiled to host their envoys…
“Is Rondoris truly so splendid?”
I’d aimed for rebuke, but they read curiosity.
One extolled its vistas; others piled on avidly.
Heavens, their tactlessness…
“Blenheim outshines it, with our pristine wilderness.”
The Marchioness of Territo interceded flawlessly as I drew breath.
“Not even famed Minaret Lake rivals ours.”
An official’s spouse concurred; nods rippled.
Valpide Lake’s allure clearly enchanted them.
Indeed?
I eyed the water.
Framed by northern peaks, its beauty was undeniable.
Linked to Goldrein, it might lure sightseers—nature wed to commerce.
Yet the path lies distant.
“Goldrein seems subdued lately, no?”
At my words, eyes flicked sideways.
They settled on a lavish figure, jewels aglitter in the sun.
Baron Gelfry’s wife, ensconced by her husband’s guild mastery.
Her scarlet lips parted.
“Goldrein brims with luxury boutiques. Hard for common folk, so perhaps it struck you so.”
Her insolence drew frowns, yet silence reigned.
The guild’s sway runs deep…
Her audacity throbbed in my temples.
Goldrein’s woes stemmed from meddling—like inn strangling.
“Many I know now buy straight from Rondoris traders, bypassing Goldrein.”
The Marchioness of Territo countered stoutly.
“Goldrein prices sting too sharply.”
“Indeed, I suffered lately myself…”
Dialogue flowing, ladies aired grievances: inflated costs, tardy shipments.
“Not due to guild levies on merchants?”
A veiled barb; Baron Gelfry’s wife bristled.
“You blame the guild—!”
Her tone sharpened—
“So, Your Grace, how does Blenheim’s spring suit you? The capital would swelter toward summer by now.”
Countess Avoir, hitherto silent, artfully diverted with poise.