By the time Aurelian arrived at the Primrose estate, his nerves had already begun to fray.
The halls did little to help.
Portraits of generations of Primrose women lined the walls, almost all sharing the same sandy-blond hair and rose-colored eyes.
Their painted expressions ranged from serene to severe, and Aurelian had the uncomfortable impression that every one of them was evaluating him as the butler led him toward a pair of gold-handled doors.
He resisted the urge to straighten his coat for the third time.
Echo had already inspected him before he left the townhouse.
His cravat was correct.
His cuffs were correct.
His hair had been declared acceptable, which, coming from Echo, had sounded almost generous.
There was nothing left for him to fix.
Unfortunately, that did not stop him from worrying.
Beyond the doors, women’s laughter and the delicate clink of teacups drifted through the afternoon air.
The butler opened them.
Sunlight spilled across a wide terrace overlooking the Primrose gardens.
Ivy climbed the pale stone pillars, its leaves shifting gently in the breeze.
White chairs surrounded a long table dressed in fine linen, and cushions embroidered in gold softened the otherwise formal setting.
Porcelain cups gleamed beside small plates of cakes, fruit, and delicate sandwiches.
For one brief moment, Aurelian considered whether it was too late to pretend he had forgotten something in the carriage.
“Lord Bellafonte.”
Aurelian’s attention went immediately to the head of the table.
Lady Florence Primrose sat among women from her family and several other noble houses, posture perfect and expression composed.
Pale afternoon light caught the sandy-gold in her hair, and her rose-colored eyes settled on him with the same unsettling precision as the portraits in the hall.
“Thank you for joining us.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Baroness Primrose.”
Aurelian bowed.
“Sit to my left.”
The nearby conversations quieted as he approached, then resumed in whispers that were not quite soft enough.
“I heard Aunt Florence invited him personally.”
“He is the gentleman from the rumors about the duchess.”
“Oh, my.
I understand the interest.”
Aurelian kept his expression carefully neutral.
He was becoming distressingly practiced at pretending not to hear people discussing him.
“Isabelle.
Katerina.”
Lady Primrose did not raise her voice.
She did not need to.
The two younger women straightened at once.
“Apologies, Aunt.”
Aurelian hid a smile and took the chair beside Lady Primrose.
“I brought a gift for you.”
At his gesture, the butler presented the silver-and-ivory tea canister Aurelian had brought from the townhouse.
“It is a new Bellafonte blend.
It has not yet been released in Evelina.”
Lady Primrose lifted the lid.
The scent reached the table almost immediately—rose first, followed by something bright and fruity beneath it.
“Oh?”
She examined the leaves briefly before handing the canister to the butler.
“Prepare it.”
Then she looked back at Aurelian.
“Thank you, Lord Bellafonte.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Only after settling did Aurelian notice something strange about the gathering.
Every guest was a woman.
He glanced toward the single empty chair across from him, then discreetly around the terrace again as though a gentleman might somehow materialize behind one of the pillars.
None did.
“My lady, I hope I have not intruded upon a gathering intended only for your family and friends.”
“Not at all.
A personal invitation means you belong here today.”
Her eyes sharpened slightly.
“Unless you are uncomfortable.”
“No.” Aurelian answered quickly.
“I only worried my presence might disturb the afternoon.”
“Disturb it?” one of the younger women repeated.
Aurelian smiled nervously.
“It would be unfortunate if I dampened the afternoon for so many lovely ladies.”
A ripple of giggles moved around the table.
Isabelle covered her mouth.
Katerina made no attempt to disguise her amusement at all.
Lady Primrose watched him with restrained amusement.
“I invited you as thanks for retrieving Cecily’s ribbon at Marquise Beaumont’s tea.”
Aurelian glanced again at the empty chair.
So that belonged to Cecily.
“I was happy to help her.”
“Happy?” Lady Primrose repeated.
“You nearly fell into the pond.”
Aurelian paused.
“That part was less intentional.”
Several women laughed.
Lady Primrose did not.
Her expression remained composed enough that Aurelian’s small feeling of triumph disappeared immediately.
“Cecily lost the ribbon because she would not stand still while it was being fastened.
You retrieved it, returned it, and spared her any consequence.”
Aurelian folded his hands in his lap.
Ah.
So this was not merely tea.
“I do not believe returning it prevented her from understanding she had made a mistake.”
Lady Primrose lifted one brow.
“What lesson did she learn?”
“That someone would help her when she was distressed.”
“And responsibility?”
“I hope she remembers to stand still next time.”
“And if she does not?”
“Then I hope she does not lean over the bridge herself.”
A laugh escaped farther down the table.
Lady Primrose’s eyes narrowed.
“You are avoiding my point.”
“I do not mean to.”
“Cecily was careless.
By rescuing the ribbon, you prevented the natural consequence of that carelessness.”
Aurelian considered his answer carefully.
Echo’s instructions returned to him with uncomfortable clarity.
Think before you speak.
Unfortunately, thinking did not always make his answers safer.
“She was already crying before I approached her.”
“Children cry when they are corrected.”
“That is true.”
“Do you believe she should not have been corrected?”
“No.
She should learn to take care of her belongings.”
“Yet you said nothing.”
“I am not her guardian.
It was not my place to discipline her.”
“But you interfered.”
“I helped her.”
“You rewarded carelessness.”
“I returned something she loved.”
Lady Primrose leaned back slightly.
“Disappointment can be an effective teacher.”
“It can.”
Aurelian hesitated.
Every sensible instinct told him to agree and move on.
He looked at Lady Primrose.
Then he remembered Cecily’s small hands clutching that soaked ribbon as though it were the most precious thing she owned.
“But I do not believe every lesson must hurt in order to be remembered.”