The carriage rattled to a stop on the gravel courtyard, the sound muffled by the distant orchestra music drifting from the grand mansion. Inside the plush cabin, Baroness Augusta turned her sharp gaze upon Delia. Delia was wearing one of Anne’s old gowns—a simple, dark blue velvet that, while still elegant, was years out of fashion. It was good enough, Augusta had declared, for her.
"Maintain decorum," Augusta warned, her voice low and cold. "Do not do anything embarrassing. You are representing this family tonight, whether you like it or not."
Delia t her stepmother’s gaze and offered a small, quiet smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Of course, Baroness. I’ll be on my very best behavior."
The false smile Augusta gave in return was as thin as a razor’s edge. "Good." She then turned to Anne, her entire expression softening with adoration. Anne was sitting close to her, looking radiant. She was dressed in the magnificent sapphire silk gown, adorned with silver embroidery that sparkled with every slight movent. With her brown hair perfectly styled and a diamond necklace glittering at her throat, she truly looked like the season’s most prized diamond.
As they alighted from the carriage, the warm, golden light of the Carson mansion spilled out to greet them. Well dressed servants opened the massive doors, and the wave of music, chatter, and warmth washed over them. The ballroom was breathtaking, a sea of glittering jewels and rustling silks. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the frescoed ceiling, casting a thousand points of light on the dancers below.
Anne imdiately went on high alert, her eyes scanning the crowd with a predator’s focus. "I don’t see him, Mama," she whispered, a hint of anxiousness in her voice.
"Patience, my dear," Augusta murmured back, patting her hand. "He is the guest of honor. He will make an appearance. Mingle. Be seen. We will find him."
Both girls started their mission, but their thods were entirely different. Anne flitted from one group to another, laughing and making conversation, but her eyes never stopped searching the room. Delia, however, felt a pull towards the edges of the grand affair. She knew a man like Duke Eric Carson, a man who traveled the world and ran a vast business, was unlikely to be found enjoying idle gossip in the center of a crowded room. After a polite, brief search of the main hall, she slipped through a set of open French doors that led out into the cool night air of the gardens.
The gardens were quieter. The moonlight cast the sculpted hedges and marble statues in silver and shadow. And there, standing on a stone terrace overlooking a labyrinth of roses, was a solitary figure. A small, glowing ember told her he was smoking. Delia’s heart began to beat a little faster. It was him.
Eric was outside in the garden, a cigar held loosely between his fingers as he exhaled a plu of smoke. He looked up at the moon, his expression thoughtful and distant, as if the grand party in his honor was a world away.
Delia approached without a sound, her soft slippers making no noise on the stone tiles. As she ca up beside him, she reached out a steady hand and slowly, gently, took the cigar from between his lips.
He looked up, startled, his dark eyes widening in surprise as he saw her. With a small, gentle smile, Delia calmly turned the cigar downward and pressed the burning tip against the stone balustrade until the ember was extinguished. She then handed it back to him.
"The night might be cold, Your Grace," she said, her voice soft but clear, "but I believe there are other ways to keep warm." She flashed him a warm smile, one that held a hint of challenge.
Eric was silent for a long mont, simply staring at her, his initial surprise shifting into a look of intense curiosity. He looked at the extinguished cigar in his hand, then back at her face.
"Welco back, Your Grace," she said, breaking the silence as she dipped into a polite, perfect curtsy.
A slow, deliberate quality entered his voice when he finally spoke. "Delia?"
Her blood ran cold for a second. How did he know her na? Her mind raced. Did he know from my past life? Impossible. We never t. She kept her smile perfectly in place. "Have we t before, Your Grace?" she asked, her tone light and innocent.
"No," Eric replied, a faint hint of amusent in his voice. "I’ve heard the rumors. You created quite a scandal, breaking off your engagent few days to your wedding."
Delia’s smile widened. So that was it. Her reputation preceded her. She pointed to the empty space beside him on the wide stone bench. "May I?"
He nodded, scooting over to give her more space to sit. He slipped the extinguished cigar back into the inner pocket of his coat. The silence that fell between them was not awkward, but charged with unspoken questions.
"Yes," Delia said, deciding to face the rumor head-on. "I called off the engagent with my fiancé." She turned her head to look at him, her expression direct. "And I know that you know Lady Anne. I also know that you two were set up to et each other again tonight, formally this ti. But you have been avoiding her. That’s why you ca out here. Am I right, Your Grace?"
A smirk played on Eric’s lips, and his eyes glinted with interest. "Have you been stalking , Lady Delia?" he asked, his voice low and invested, leaning slightly closer.
"No, Your Grace," she replied smoothly, not breaking his gaze. "I am just rely observant."
Eric nodded his head slowly, considering her. "That’s a good quality to have."
Delia took a deep breath. This was it. She has him where she wants him. No ti for gas. "So, I will cut to the chase," she continued, her voice steady and serious. "You and I both know the reason for this entire setup is marriage. Your mother wants you settled. My stepmother wants my sister to have a title." She paused, letting the truth of her words hang in the air. "What if you marry instead of Lady Anne?"
Eric stared at her, his smirk gone, his face a mask of stunned silence. Then, he threw his head back and a deep, hearty laugh burst from him. It wasn’t a mocking sound, but one of genuine, surprised delight. The sound echoed in the quiet garden before he stopped, his expression shifting back to one of intense seriousness.
"I heard you were the dull and boring one," he said, his voice now a low murmur. "The quiet, obedient stepsister. But you are actually interesting. It seems not all rumors are true."
Delia was thrown off balance. His directness was disarming. "Pardon?" she asked, montarily confused.
Eric’s gaze beca piercingly serious. "I admire your boldness, Lady Delia. It’s refreshing." He leaned back, studying her. "But tell , why should I accept your offer? Why should I pick you?"
Delia was silent. His question hung in the air, demanding an answer she did not have. Her plan had only gone as far as making the audacious proposal. She had been so focused on getting his attention that she hadn’t truly thought about what to say if she succeeded.
Eric continued, his voice soft but relentless. "You don’t love . I can see that in your eyes. And I’m sure this isn’t just for my wealth, or you would have used a more subtle, flattering approach. So, why? What is it you truly want?"
Delia’s mind was a frantic blank. What did she want? What should she say? Revenge? Safety? Power? The real reasons were too dark and complex to confess to a stranger, no matter how charming he was. She felt a wave of panic. She had gotten to the bridge, just as she planned, but now she didn’t know how to cross it. And she could feel the bridge beginning to burn behind her. Every second of her silence was another plank turning to ash.
She searched for a way to deflect, to buy herself ti. "Can we go sowhere else to discuss this better?" she asked, her voice sounding weaker than she intended. "Sowhere more private?"
Eric watched her, his expression unreadable. He reached into his coat and brought out a single, ornate iron key. He didn’t hand it to her, but instead let it drop onto the empty space on the bench between them. The tallic clink was loud in the quiet night.
Both of their gazes fell to the key.
"I have a small cabin," he said, his voice even. "Not far from here, on the edge of the estate grounds. We can go there to talk."
Delia’s mind raced. A cabin? Alone? All night? This is scandalous in more ways than one. If we are discovered, my reputation will be utterly destroyed. It was a test. A huge risk. But what choice did she have? Her silence had already shown her weakness.
Before she could form a reply, before she could decide whether to take the biggest gamble of her life, a voice cut through the night, sharp with disbelief and pain.
"Delia?"
They both turned. Anne was standing at the entrance to the terrace, her beautiful face pale with shock. She stared at Delia sitting so close to the handso Duke, at the key glinting on the bench between them. Her hands were clenched at her sides, and she looked like she could burst into tears at any mont.
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