The day after the Primrose gathering, Aurelian found himself repeating a familiar task.
He opened invitations.
Then he opened more invitations.
Every time he believed he had reached the end, Vincente appeared beside the desk and placed another stack in front of him with the calm efficiency of a man who had long since accepted that his employer was losing a battle against stationery.
Aurelian stared at the newest pile.
Several envelopes were thick with expensive paper, their seals pressed in wax of every imaginable color.
Others were tied with narrow ribbons or marked with crests he only vaguely recognized.
One had somehow been scented strongly enough with roses that the entire corner of the desk smelled like a garden.
He did not trust that one.
Across the room, Echo sat curled into the corner of the couch with a cup of chamomile tea held between both hands.
She looked exhausted.
Not merely tired after a long evening, either.
There were shadows beneath her eyes, and even her usual immaculate posture had abandoned her.
She had tucked one foot beneath herself and leaned against the cushions with the sort of disregard for elegance she normally would have scolded Aurelian for displaying in company.
Between guiding Aurelian through the season and managing her own obligations, she had spent weeks being pulled in every direction.
Her correspondence had begun accumulating almost as quickly as his, though hers currently sat in a much more respectable stack beside her rather than threatening to consume an entire writing desk.
“More tea, my lady?” Vincente asked.
Echo looked into her nearly empty cup as if surprised to find it depleted.
“Yes, please.”
He refilled it.
Steam rose around her face, carrying the faint scent of chamomile.
Echo sighed with relief.
“If you ever grow tired of Aurelian, you may come work for me.”
Aurelian looked up from the envelope he had been attempting to decipher.
“Are you attempting to poach my attendant?”
“Not at all.
I am informing him that alternatives exist.”
“You cannot have him.”
Vincente wisely offered no opinion.
Aurelian watched him move away before setting aside the invitation in his hand.
He studied Echo more closely.
She had been tired often lately.
He had noticed that much.
He simply had not considered why.
Now that he was looking properly, he wondered how he had failed to notice sooner.
“Would you like to sleep in the dayroom?”
Echo blinked.
“I am perfectly fine.”
He continued looking at her.
She met his gaze for several seconds before lifting her cup as though possession of tea provided undeniable evidence of good health.
Aurelian remained unconvinced.
“Though if I lie down,” she admitted, “I may sleep until dinner.”
Aurelian frowned.
Echo took another sip.
Only then did he recognize how much of her own season she had allowed to slip behind his.
Every invitation he did not understand, every unfamiliar noble whose name he forgot, every gathering where he required whispered warnings before accidentally insulting someone—Echo had been there.
He had become accustomed to it.
Too accustomed.
“When is your family’s tea?”
Echo’s expression fell.
“Tomorrow.”
She sank farther into the cushions as if the thought alone had exhausted her further.
“My parents expect me there for the entire day.”
“Do you need me to come?”
Echo stared at him.
“No.
I would have no time to entertain you, and you would attempt to escape.”
“I have never escaped a gathering.”
“You have considered it at every gathering.”
Aurelian paused.
There had been the Beaumont tea.
The royal ball.
Lady Primrose’s gathering.
He considered arguing.
“That is true.”
Echo’s mouth twitched.
A knock interrupted them before either could say more.
Vincente crossed the study and opened the door.
Carina entered with an expression Aurelian had learned to distrust.
It was not quite stern.
That would have been easier.
Instead, she looked faintly pleased with herself.
“You have another guest.”
Aurelian glanced automatically toward the hall.
“Varian?” he asked.
“Evelyne?”
“Neither.”
A familiar voice came from beyond the doorway.
“You appear to be doing well.”
Aurelian stood immediately.
Lady Lockwood entered the study in silver gray, every inch of her composed despite the warmth outside.
Her gown was severe without being plain, the fabric structured neatly at the shoulders and falling in crisp folds toward the floor.
She surveyed the room in a single glance.
Aurelian suddenly became aware of the envelopes covering his desk.
“Lady Lockwood.
Welcome.”
He bowed.
She inspected him before giving a small nod.
“Better.
Your form has improved.”
Aurelian straightened, pleased despite himself.
Praise from Lady Lockwood felt strangely satisfying, perhaps because she distributed it so sparingly.
“You were one of the first people kind enough to correct me.”
“Your talent for flattery remains unchanged.”
“It was not meant as flattery.”
“That,” Echo murmured into her tea, “is generally why it works.”
Carina invited Lady Lockwood to sit.
Aurelian offered his place, and soon the four of them were arranged around the tea table while Vincente brought fresh cups and a tray of small pastries from the kitchen.
Lady Lockwood waited until everyone had been served.
She lifted her tea, took one measured sip, and returned the cup precisely to its saucer.
“I have come with a proposition.”
Aurelian straightened.
“What may I help you with?”
“It is not what you can do for me.” She set down her cup.
“It is what I can do for you.”
Aurelian blinked.
Carina answered before he could ask.
“Lady Lockwood has offered to act as your official chaperone for the remainder of the season.”
Echo’s eyes widened.