Chapter 6
Beneath my fingers, the soft flesh trembled slightly. My gaze flickered, and I noticed the tips of his ears had turned faintly pink, his breathing growing heavier.
He had even forgotten to exhale, holding his breath unconsciously.
Suppressing an eye-roll, I released my grip.
Alaric spoke first. “I know. The Chancellor has already explained everything to me.”
“So you’re perfectly content being a kept man?” I asked.
He chuckled. “You could say that.”
My eyes widened in disbelief.
Scholars, especially those of noble bearing, prided themselves on dignity. Unless driven by true desperation-or genuine affection-none would ever consider marrying into a bride’s family.
Yet Alaric admitted it plainly. “I’m aware of my standing. Though I placed first in the Debates three years ago, I was only a minor magistrate in a backwater town. Had the Chancellor not spoken for me during my reassignment, I wouldn’t have even been allowed to remain in Evermere.”
“A man must know his limits. The reason I agreed to this marriage is…” His voice faltered, his cheeks flushing.
When he didn’t continue, I nudged him silently with a look.
He swallowed before finishing, “…because I admire you, Lady Isolde.”
I stared at him, startled. His boot scuffed awkwardly against the ground. “Three years ago, during the court lantern festival… I caught a glimpse of you by chance. It was like a goddess descending from heaven.”
Heat rose to my own face, and I hurriedly lowered my gaze to fuss with the camellia blossoms beside us.
Noticing my reaction, Alaric smiled and reached out to adjust a wilting branch. “See here? Something weighed down this stem, crushing it. That’s why this section withered.”
He retrieved pruning shears from a nearby basket and deftly snipped the damaged limb. Then, breaking the dead twigs into smaller pieces, he tucked them into the soil. “These will make fine fertilizer. Next spring, these camellias will bloom even brighter.”
His words left me momentarily lost in thought before I murmured, “Yes. Sometimes, cutting away the dead is the only way to ensure new growth.”
When he glanced at me in confusion, I merely smiled.
The following days passed in quiet preparation for the wedding.
By some twist of fate, my marriage coincided with the very day Gideon took Lenora as his mistress.
On the eve of the ceremony, servants bustled through Ravenscroft Manor, adorning every doorway with scarlet hangings Alaric himself penned each wedding invitation, distributing them with care.
He even sent one to Gideon.
Alaric himself penned each wedding invitation, distributing them with care.
He even sent one to Gideon.
But Gideon, who had always scorned those without title or connections, tossed it aside unread.
When he happened to pass by Ravenscroft Manor that evening, the sight of its lavish decorations gave him pause.
A smirk curled his lips. Typical Isolde.
Draping the place in scarlet hangings like she’s the one walking down the aisle tomorrow! But with him still here-who
else could she possibly wed?
He watched the bustling servants with derision, already resolved-if the Ravenscrofts came begging for him to collect his
bride tomorrow, he would humiliate them without hesitation.
Of course, if Isolde relented and suffered Lenora to cross the manor’s threshold in her train, he might concede-though
he’d still spend the first half of the night with Lenora. Only if time permitted would he bother visiting Isolde afterward.
Yet even on Gideon’s “wedding” day, no one from Ravenscroft Manor came to seek him out.
“Fine. At least she knows her place.” Gideon stepped into the ceremonial carriage, and as the trumpets sounded, the
modest procession set off.
Having sold the ancestral estate to gather Lenora’s dowry, he could now only afford a rented cottage in a remote corner of
the land. The thought brought a twinge of regret-the old manor had fetched far too little, and while a lack of dowry had ⚫
shamed Lenora, the absence of a proper residence now humiliated him.
He had sent out many invitations, yet in the days leading to the ceremony, one guest after another sent apologies,
claiming conflicting engagements-other weddings to attend, they said. In the end, only a handful arrived.
Most who declined were of respectable standing, and Gideon, convinced they looked down on him, seethed in silence.
When he took Isolde as his wife, he would make sure these snobs received no invitation.
As his procession rounded the lane, it collided with another bridal entourage-led by none other than Alaric, whom he had
last seen at the Ravenscroft Manor.
Gideon’s pulse spiked. Whose household did this procession belong to?
Chapter 6
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