By the time Aurelian returned to the townhouse, the front hall was crowded with correspondence.
Not metaphorically.
He had barely stepped across the threshold before he stopped.
A footman carried one stack toward his father’s study while another servant sorted sealed envelopes across a side table that was normally decorated with flowers.
Several parcels had been placed beneath it, and another bundle of letters rested precariously on the seat of a nearby chair.
Wax seals in half a dozen colors covered the envelopes.
Aurelian slowly removed his gloves.
“What happened?”
Vincente, who was directing the servants with his usual calm efficiency, looked at him.
“You did, my lord.”
Aurelian’s stomach tightened.
“That is not a reassuring answer.”
“No, my lord.”
Vincente gestured toward the study with the faintest movement of his head.
Aurelian sighed and handed him his gloves.
Apparently, his day had not yet finished punishing him.
He found his parents in Snyder’s study.
His father had only just returned from a week away and still wore his traveling coat.
Dust clung faintly to the lower hem, suggesting he had barely taken the time to enter the house before sitting down to deal with the sudden flood of correspondence.
Letters covered most of the desk in front of him.
Some had been opened and arranged into neat piles.
Others remained sealed.
Carina stood beside the window with the expression of a woman who had already heard enough gossip for one lifetime.
She turned when Aurelian entered.
Snyder held up an envelope.
“Aurelian.”
Aurelian stopped several steps inside the room.
“Father.”
“What, precisely, did you do at that ball?”
Aurelian looked at his mother.
Carina folded her arms.
He looked back at his father.
“I made a friend.”
Neither parent spoke.
The clock on the mantel ticked loudly in the silence.
Aurelian shifted.
“I think.”
Snyder slowly lowered the letter.
“This came from an earl who refused to meet with me three days ago.”
Aurelian frowned.
His father extended the page.
Aurelian crossed the room and accepted it, his eyes quickly moving over the neat handwriting.
The letter expressed sudden interest in Bellafonte sunflower seeds—a trade proposal Snyder had spent weeks attempting to establish with little success.
Aurelian read it twice.
The second reading did not make the timing any less suspicious.
“There are more,” Snyder said.
He gestured toward the desk.
Aurelian looked.
Counts, merchants, and other nobles who had previously dismissed the venture were now asking for meetings, samples, or further information.
Several names were familiar.
He remembered his father mentioning them over dinner during the past few weeks, usually accompanied by frustration over unanswered letters or politely declined meetings.
Now those same names filled the desk.
Aurelian lowered the page.
“I do not understand.”
Carina gave him a long look.
“You were seen returning from a private veranda with the queen’s sister.”
Aurelian winced.
“You called her by a familiar name in public.”
He winced again.
“She returned the familiarity.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Carina pushed herself away from the window.
“And today,” she continued, “you apparently announced in a public tea salon that you invited her to Bellafonte.”
Aurelian went completely still.
His eyes widened.
“How did you already hear about that?”
Carina’s look answered the question.
Of course she had.
This was Evelina.
Aurelian rubbed both hands over his face.
The conversation had happened less than an hour ago.
He was almost impressed.
Snyder leaned back against the edge of the desk, folding his arms.
“So people believe House Vaelmont may soon have reason to take an interest in Bellafonte.”
Aurelian slowly lowered his hands.
His gaze returned to the correspondence.
Suddenly, the excitement surrounding the trade proposals felt less satisfying.
The realization settled unpleasantly.
“They ignored the trade until they thought the duchess might care.”
Snyder’s mouth tightened.
“Yes.”
Aurelian looked down at the letter still held between his fingers.
His father had spent weeks trying to convince these people that Bellafonte’s products were worth their attention.
He had traveled, written letters, arranged samples, and attended meetings that went nowhere.
Then Aurelian had spent one evening speaking with a duchess.
And suddenly everyone was interested.
He did not know whether to be pleased for his father or offended on his behalf.
Probably both.
He placed the letter carefully back on the desk.
“I did not do any of this intentionally.”
“That,” Carina said, “is becoming a pattern.”
Aurelian sighed.
He could not even argue with her.
Snyder picked up another envelope, still looking somewhat stunned by the sudden reversal of his fortunes.
He turned it over in his hand, studying the crest pressed into the wax.
“For once, your accidental influence may prove useful.”
Aurelian glanced toward the mountain of letters.
Then toward his mother.
Carina was still watching him with narrowed eyes, and Aurelian had the terrible suspicion that the discussion about inviting unmarried duchesses to Bellafonte had not yet occurred.
Then he thought of silver hair beneath moonlight.
Of icy blue eyes softening with amusement.
Of a woman who had listened patiently while he spoke of fields, farmers, tea leaves, and sunflower seeds.
A woman who had accepted an invitation he had not realized could be interpreted as courtship.
His face warmed again.
Aurelian looked away before his mother noticed.
His social season had been intended to teach him how noble society worked.
So far, noble society seemed determined to teach him by consequence.