Professor Ashcombe allowed the students a few moments to finish reviewing the outline before continuing.
"Academic excellence alone, however, does not define a St. Albion graduate."
She folded her hands neatly before her.
"Our founders believed that education extends beyond the lecture hall."
"As outlined in your student handbook, Fridays are reserved for university activities."
"Monday through Thursday will be devoted to your Foundation curriculum."
"Fridays, however, are dedicated to broadening your experiences outside the classroom."
She wrote another heading across the board.
University Activities
"Every Foundation student is expected to participate in both a physical activity and an artistic or academic organization."
"Your handbook contains a complete list of the activities currently offered."
"Some organizations have existed since the university was founded."
"Others are established by students themselves."
"You’ll have the opportunity to attend recruitment events throughout next week before submitting your final selections."
Vivienne lowered her gaze to the handbook resting on her desk.
She really had skimmed this part.
The moment she’d realized she had transmigrated into The Duchess’s White Moonlight...
Her attention had gone elsewhere.
Anthony Ashford.
Damian Blackwood.
Evelyn Sinclair.
Those three names had completely occupied her thoughts.
She quietly turned the page.
Debating Society.
Literary Society.
Volunteer Corps.
Orchestra.
Swimming Club.
Archery Club.
Polo Club.
Her eyes lingered there for a moment.
Polo...
She remembered countless scenes from the novel.
Anthony rode.
Damian rode.
Nearly every young nobleman from the great houses seemed capable of handling a horse as though they’d been born in the saddle.
Vivienne imagined herself attempting the same thing.
...
A horse would probably throw me off before the lesson even started.
She immediately turned the page.
Let’s choose something a little less life-threatening.
Professor Ashcombe resumed speaking.
"One final matter."
Her calm gaze swept across the lecture hall.
"Although many of you come from distinguished families..."
"Within these walls, your surname carries far less weight than your conduct."
"Your professors won’t award higher marks because your family governs a duchy."
"They won’t deduct marks because your parents own a trading company."
"They’ll simply evaluate your work."
A comfortable silence settled over the room.
"That is one tradition St. Albion has maintained since its founding."
Vivienne smiled.
She liked that.
Very much.
Professor Ashcombe closed the last of her folders.
"That concludes today’s orientation."
"Our first formal lectures begin tomorrow morning."
"I encourage you to spend the remainder of today becoming familiar with the campus..."
"...and with one another."
"The friendships you build here often last a lifetime."
She offered the class one final smile.
"Welcome to St. Albion University."
"I wish each of you a fulfilling and successful first year."
With that, she left the lecture hall.
The room, which had remained orderly throughout the orientation, immediately became lively.
Students began introducing themselves to those nearby.
Some compared timetables.
Others discussed which organizations they hoped to join.
Several were already making plans to explore the campus together after lunch.
Claire stretched before turning toward Vivienne.
"I like her."
Vivienne nodded.
"So do I."
"There wasn’t a single boring moment."
"I know."
Claire laughed.
"I was expecting a much longer speech."
Vivienne smiled.
"So was I."
Claire glanced around the room.
"Should we introduce ourselves to everyone before they all disappear?"
Vivienne nodded.
"I think that’s a good idea."
She rose from her seat and instinctively let her gaze wander across the classroom.
Groups had already begun forming naturally.
Some students laughed as though they’d known one another for years.
Others chatted politely while exchanging names.
Then...
Near the front row...
One young woman remained quietly in her seat.
Long chestnut hair rested neatly over one shoulder.
She carefully arranged her notebook, timetable, and fountain pen before smoothing the sleeve of her uniform with absentminded precision.
There was nothing particularly flashy about her.
Nothing that demanded attention.
And yet...
There was a quiet warmth surrounding her that was difficult to ignore.
Vivienne recognized her immediately.
...
Lady Evelyn Sinclair.
The only daughter of the late Count Sinclair.
One of House Ashford’s oldest and most loyal vassal families.
Vivienne remembered the story well.
Several years ago, Count and Countess Sinclair had passed away unexpectedly.
With no surviving son to inherit the title, the County of Sinclair passed to the late Count’s younger brother, as dictated by the kingdom’s laws of succession.
Rather than leave his late friend’s only daughter amidst the uncertainty surrounding the succession, the Duke of Ashford had fulfilled a promise made years before.
He welcomed Evelyn into the ducal household as his ward.
From then on...
She grew up alongside Anthony Ashford.
Vivienne slowly looked back at the young woman seated near the front.
The heroine of The Duchess’s White Moonlight.
The woman who, in the original story...
Would eventually fall in love with Anthony Ashford.
And whom Anthony would eventually choose in return.
Vivienne studied her quietly for another moment.
Then a small smile curved at the corners of her lips.
So...
This is my competition.
She had read enough of the novel to know exactly what kind of person Evelyn was.
Kind.
Honest.
Sincere.
The sort of young woman people naturally gravitated toward.
It wasn’t surprising.
Even now, a pair of girls had already walked over to introduce themselves, and before long, the three of them were chatting together with easy smiles.
Just as the novel had described.
Vivienne wasn’t surprised in the slightest.
She had no reason to dislike Evelyn.
But...
Anthony Ashford was the one person she had absolutely no intention of yielding.
Not after fate had unexpectedly handed her the chance she’d once thought impossible.
Her smile softened into quiet determination.
Sorry, Miss Sinclair.
I sincerely hope you’ll find your own happiness.
...Just not with my fiancé.
She quietly looked away.
May the better woman win.
Tbc