The estate gates appeared beyond the window, and Aurelian’s stomach managed to sink even lower.
The carriage door opened.
He stepped down into the bright afternoon—and immediately forgot the first thing Echo had told him to do upon arrival.
For one terrible moment, every lesson vanished beneath the sight of waiting footmen, pale silk, polished jewels, and the sprawling garden estate beyond them.
Aurelian stood in a cornflower-blue coat and cream waistcoat, silver embroidery catching the daylight at his cuffs and collar.
Small silver sunflower earrings glimmered at his ears, a southern touch Echo had declared elegant enough for the capital.
Several nearby nobles looked anyway.
Behind him, Echo cleared her throat.
Aurelian froze.
Very slowly, he turned.
Echo remained seated inside the carriage with one gloved hand extended, her expression calm enough to be merciless.
“Lord Bellafonte,” she said sweetly.
Aurelian looked at her hand.
Then at the watching footmen.
Then back at Echo.
“Oh.”
Her smile widened.
“Yes.
Oh.”
He hurried to offer his hand.
Echo accepted it and stepped gracefully from the carriage.
“We practiced this,” she murmured.
“Twice before we arrived.”
“I am sorry.”
“You practiced with your parents.”
“It was less intimidating with them.”
The tea had not even begun, and Aurelian had already failed his first test.
Unfortunately, Marquise Victoria Beaumont’s estate did not allow for quiet failure.
It was far too beautiful for that.
Beyond the carriage path stretched a garden so vast that Aurelian nearly forgot his embarrassment.
Stone walkways curved through beds of flowers arranged in waves of white, pink, violet, and blue.
Tall hedges had been shaped into arches and green walls, dividing the grounds into smaller gardens.
Marble statues stood half-hidden among climbing roses while servants moved between the paths with silver trays balanced in practiced hands.
To the left, a glass-domed greenhouse rose from the greenery.
Through the panes, Aurelian could make out palms and broad-leafed plants that looked more suited to Bellafonte’s warmth than the capital.
The sight comforted him for one brief moment.
Farther on, a pond shimmered beneath the afternoon light.
White lilies floated across its surface, orange and gold fish flashing beneath the water.
A narrow white bridge crossed it, crowded with young ladies holding painted fans and laughing as though someone had arranged them there for a portrait.
At the heart of the grounds stood a marble fountain surrounded by clusters of nobles pretending not to watch every new arrival.
Aurelian felt their attention settle on him.
The comfort vanished.
It was not a tea party.
It was a battlefield disguised as paradise.
Echo moved closer, her skirts brushing the grass.
“Straighten your shoulders.”
Aurelian did.
“Do not look frightened.”
“I am trying.”
Her smile twitched.
A footman announced them from the garden entrance.
“Lady Echo Sinclair.
Baron Aurelian Bellafonte.”
The nearest conversations softened.
Not stopped.
That would have been obvious.
But enough that Aurelian noticed.
Faces turned toward him—curious, amused, assessing.
More than one gaze lingered on the silver sunflowers at his ears.
He resisted the urge to touch them.
Instead, he bowed.
Not too low.
Not too shallow.
At least, he hoped not.
Beneath an ivory canopy draped with pale green silk sat Marquise Victoria Beaumont.
She was a woman in her late forties, elegant in soft rose and pearl gray, with dark hair arranged beneath silver pins.
Her smile was gracious.
Her eyes were not.
They were sharp enough to notice every mistake made in her garden, and they had already found Aurelian.
Echo leaned nearer.
“That is Marquise Beaumont,” she whispered.
“Do not call her a countess.
Do not hold her gaze too long.
Do not mention her second husband unless she does first.”
Aurelian turned his head very slowly.
“Second husband?”
“Not now.”
“But why would I mention—”
“Not.
Now.”
The marquise lifted one gloved hand, summoning them forward.
Aurelian swallowed.
Echo’s smile brightened for the benefit of everyone watching.
“Come along, Lord Bellafonte.
Let us see if you can survive the first greeting.”
Aurelian looked toward the waiting marquise.
Then he took one careful step forward and prayed the garden would not remember him too harshly.