“It is rare to see a new face around here.”
Marquise Victoria Beaumont remained seated beneath the shade of her canopy while Aurelian bowed before her.
The garden seemed arranged around the woman so perfectly that even the flowers looked as though they knew better than to grow out of place.
Echo stood beside him.
That should have been reassuring.
Instead, Aurelian found himself imagining her silently correcting everything he did.
His bow was too low.
His shoulders were too stiff.
He had waited too long to speak.
He straightened carefully.
“Baron Aurelian Bellafonte, Your Grace.”
The conversations nearest them stopped.
Not the garden itself.
Water continued to spill from the fountain.
Leaves rustled overhead.
Somewhere nearby, porcelain chimed softly against a saucer.
But the people stopped.
Aurelian knew immediately that he had done something wrong.
Marquise Beaumont lifted one brow.
“Your Grace?”
His stomach dropped.
He glanced toward Echo.
Her expression told him everything.
Wrong title.
Very wrong title.
“My apologies, Marquise Beaumont,” Aurelian said quickly, bowing again before panic could make matters worse.
“I meant no offense.
I fear my nerves have outrun my manners.”
A few ladies hid smiles behind their fans.
A gentleman near the fountain turned with the unmistakable interest of someone who had just discovered entertainment.
Aurelian remained bowed, bracing himself for whatever punishment noble society considered appropriate.
Instead, Marquise Beaumont laughed.
It was warm and delighted rather than polite.
“Oh, stand properly, child.
If I had known being mistaken for a duchess would earn me such a sincere apology, I might have encouraged it sooner.”
The tension around them loosened.
Aurelian lifted his head.
The marquise studied him with open interest now, a flash of familiarity crossing her expression.
“My, you are Carina’s youngest,” she said.
“Though I confess, I expected someone much younger.
She hid you well all these years.”
At the mention of his mother, Aurelian relaxed slightly.
“She worries easily,” he admitted.
“And I did not wish to ail her.”
The amusement in Marquise Beaumont’s expression softened.
She set down her teacup and rose.
The servant beside her stiffened.
So did Echo.
Before Aurelian could wonder why, the marquise stepped close and pressed a gloved hand lightly against his cheek.
He went perfectly still.
“What a good son,” she said.
“If only my children were half as filial as you.”
Aurelian had no idea what one was meant to say while being praised like a child in front of half the capital.
“I am sure your children are very devoted to you.”
Marquise Beaumont laughed again.
“You are kind to assume so.” She lowered her hand.
“Enjoy the party, Baron Bellafonte.
And while you are in Evelina, you may visit me whenever you wish.”
The whispering began almost before Aurelian finished his bow.
“Thank you, Marquise Beaumont.”
He managed to make it several steps away before Echo took his arm.
“Baron Bellafonte,” she said sweetly.
Aurelian swallowed.
“Lady Echo.”
“You called her Your Grace.”
“Yes.
I gathered that was incorrect.”
“It was painfully incorrect.”
“I thought so.”
“She should have been offended.” Echo glanced back toward the canopy.
“Instead, she was charmed.”
Aurelian looked at her.
“Was she?”
Echo stared at him as though he had just asked whether sunlight was warm.
“Aurelian, she stood for you.”
He looked back.
Marquise Beaumont had already returned to her seat.
Their eyes met across the garden, and she smiled into her tea.
Aurelian immediately looked away.
“I feel I may have caused trouble.”
“You did,” Echo said.
“Somehow, it was the favorable kind.”
Before he could ask how trouble could be favorable, two young nobles approached.
The gentleman had sandy-brown hair and a smile that suggested he had witnessed Aurelian’s entire disaster and enjoyed it immensely.
The woman beside him wore lavender and appeared to be trying much harder not to stare.
“Baron Bellafonte,” the gentleman said.
“Lord Varian Ambrose.
We hoped to make your acquaintance.”
Aurelian bowed.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Lord Ambrose.”
The young woman curtsied.
“Lady Evelyne Thierry.”
“A pleasure, Lady Thierry.”
Varian glanced toward the marquise’s canopy.
“You survived your first greeting.”
Aurelian hesitated.
“Did everyone expect me not to?”
Evelyne’s lips twitched.
Varian coughed into his fist, poorly disguising a laugh.
“Not you specifically.
Marquise Beaumont enjoys testing new people.”
“Testing them how?”
“With questions that are not truly questions,” Evelyne said.
“And compliments that are actually warnings,” Varian added.
Aurelian looked between them.
“That sounds exhausting.”
Silence.
Then Evelyne covered her mouth and laughed.
Aurelian immediately regretted speaking.
“I apologize.”
“No,” she said, still smiling.
“You should not have said it.
But you are not wrong.”
Perhaps that was what made Evelina so difficult.
People seemed to appreciate honesty only after deciding whether it was socially acceptable to find it amusing.