Aurelian needed a break.After nearly a month of invitations, gossip, formal dinners, luncheons, musicales, and rooms filled with people quietly watching one another, his mother’s request to collect the next volume in a series she had recently begun sounded almost like mercy.
For once, he had no scheduled engagement.
No carefully arranged introduction awaited him. No noblewoman intended to test his manners over tea. No gentleman wished to ask his thoughts on tariffs, trade routes, politics, or Duchess Seraphina Vaelmont.
At least, he hoped not.
He left the townhouse shortly after luncheon with Vincente beside him, dressed in a white cotton shirt and dark-brown trousers rather than anything selected for court. His boots were polished but practical, his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck, and there was not a single embroidered coat, decorative pin, or unnecessary layer anywhere on his person.
The simplicity felt like freedom.
Vincente, unfortunately, had an errand of his own.
Snyder had requested a particular cut of meat for dinner, and one of the kitchen maids had apparently decided that Vincente was the only person she trusted to locate a butcher capable of meeting his expectations.
“My father can be rather particular about his meals,” Aurelian said as they reached one of the capital’s busier thoroughfares.
Vincente’s expression remained perfectly neutral.
“I am certain Lord Bellafonte merely possesses a discerning palate.”
Aurelian glanced sideways at him.
“That was very diplomatic.”
“I have had considerable practice, my lord.”
“With my father?”
“With the entire Bellafonte family.”
Aurelian laughed.
“That sounds dangerously close to criticism.”
“Then I am relieved I phrased it diplomatically.”
They continued another half block before the street divided into several narrower lanes crowded with shops, striped awnings, flower stalls, and outdoor displays. Somewhere nearby, a baker had opened an oven, filling the air with the smell of warm bread and sugar. A carriage rattled over the stone road while a newspaper boy shouted headlines from the corner.
Vincente slowed.
“We will part here.”
Aurelian looked toward the market road.
“You remember which butcher?”
“I was given very precise instructions.”
“Of course you were.”
“And I imagine your mother’s instructions were equally precise.”
Aurelian lifted the folded note in his hand.
“Volume seven. Monica’s Booksellers. Do not accidentally purchase volume eight because the covers are apparently similar.”
Vincente nodded solemnly.
“A perilous assignment.”
“I appreciate your concern.”
“I will see you at the townhouse, my lord.”
Vincente bowed before disappearing into the stream of people heading toward the market.
Aurelian watched him go.
Only after he was standing alone did he notice how plainly dressed he was compared with nearly everyone around him.
Ladies passed beneath lace parasols in carefully coordinated afternoon dresses. Gentlemen wore polished shoes, fitted coats, gloves, and cravats arranged with more precision than Aurelian had ever managed without assistance. Even people conducting ordinary errands seemed determined to look as though they might accidentally encounter the royal family before returning home.
Aurelian looked down at his white shirt.
Perhaps refusing his mother’s assistance that morning had been premature.
He tugged self-consciously at one sleeve before reminding himself that he was merely collecting a book.
Surely one did not require formal tailoring to purchase a novel.
Then again, this was Evelina.
He checked the note in his hand and continued searching for the bookstore.
Unfortunately, Carina’s directions had consisted largely of phrases such as past the fountain, near the blue awning, and you will know the street when you see it.
Aurelian did not know the street when he saw it.
After several minutes of wandering and passing the same flower stall twice, he finally admitted defeat and approached a young woman carrying several parcels.
“Pardon me.”
She stopped.
“Would you happen to know where I might find Monica’s Booksellers?”
She glanced at the note in his hand, then pointed farther down the street.
“You are going the right way, my lord. Continue to the next crossing. It will be on the corner beside the stationery shop.”
Aurelian released a relieved breath.
“Thank you very much.”
She smiled.
“You are welcome.”
Following her directions, Aurelian eventually found the shop tucked into the corner of a row of businesses far more elaborate than itself.
Dark-gray brick surrounded a narrow storefront. Ivy curled around the windows, and several pots of herbs sat along the sill as though someone had placed them there and forgotten them years ago. The wooden sign above the door had been painted and repainted often enough that its edges had begun to weather pale.
Monica’s Booksellers.
Aurelian stepped out of the flow of pedestrians and released another breath.
“At last.”
Then the whispers around him changed.
It was subtle at first.
A sudden quiet from one group. A murmur from another. The faint rustle of people rearranging themselves without wishing to appear as though they were rearranging themselves.
Aurelian had become unfortunately familiar with that particular sound.
He turned.
Duchess Seraphina Vaelmont was walking toward the bookstore.
For several days, she had been largely absent from the gatherings that consumed the capital. Aurelian had heard from Echo—and then from Varian, and afterward from nearly everyone else—that Seraphina had returned to overseeing the royal knights’ training after several weeks of unavoidable court obligations.
She looked far more suited to that life now than she ever had standing beneath palace chandeliers.
Her silver hair was pulled into a high tail rather than arranged in formal braids. Black trousers disappeared into sturdy leather boots, and a fitted dark shirt sat beneath a short military-style coat with few decorations beyond practical silver clasps. Her sword rested naturally at her right hip, positioned for the left-handed draw Aurelian had begun to recognize.
A thick book was tucked beneath one arm.
She looked comfortable.
That was the first thing he noticed.
Not powerful, though she certainly was.
Not intimidating, though everyone around her seemed to think so.
Comfortable.
Several people nearby recognized her. A gentleman immediately straightened. Two young women whispered behind their gloves. A merchant standing outside his shop abruptly found something fascinating about his own window display.
None appeared willing to approach her.
Then Seraphina looked toward Aurelian.
Her pace slowed.
Something in her expression softened.
Aurelian smiled before remembering himself and stepped forward.
“It is an honor to see you again, Your Grace.”
He bowed.
Seraphina regarded him for a moment.
“No informal names today?”
Aurelian straightened.
Heat immediately crept into his face.
“I understand now precisely how inappropriate that was.”
“It was.”
His embarrassment deepened.
Seraphina allowed the silence to linger just long enough to make him suffer.
Then a faint smile touched her mouth.
“But I gave you permission.”
Aurelian hesitated.
“Even so, I would not wish to be rude.”
Seraphina stepped closer.
Before he could determine what she intended, she lifted one gloved finger and pressed it lightly against his lips.
Aurelian went completely still.
So, judging from the sudden silence behind them, did half the street.
“I am perfectly content with it,” Seraphina said. “Lord Aurel.”
His thoughts disappeared.
Every single one of them.
Then the whispering resumed with considerably more enthusiasm than before.
Seraphina lowered her hand as though she had done nothing remotely unusual.
Aurelian rubbed the back of his neck.
He needed another subject.
Immediately.
“How is your health?”
Seraphina blinked.
Of everything he could have said, apparently that had not been what she expected.
“My health?”
“Yes.”
“I am well.”
“I am glad.”
His embarrassment eased as genuine concern replaced it.
“I heard you have been overseeing the royal knights’ training again. I imagine returning to that after so many court obligations must be exhausting.”
Seraphina studied him.
Aurelian gave her a small smile.
“Please do not overwork yourself, Lady Sera.”
For a moment, she simply looked at him.
Most people asked about the royal knights because they wanted stories.
Or because they wanted to know about military appointments, northern defenses, or the prestige of commanding them.
Aurelian, apparently, wanted to know whether she was sleeping enough.
Something in Seraphina’s expression shifted.
It was small enough that he could not quite name it.
“I try not to,” she said.
“That is not quite the same as saying you do not.”
Seraphina’s mouth twitched.
“No. I suppose it is not.”
“You should rest occasionally.”
“Yes, Lord Aurel.”
“I am serious.”
“I can tell.”
There was a softness beneath her amusement now.
Seraphina adjusted the book beneath her arm.
“If I ever work myself into complete exhaustion, I will expect you to come to my aid.”
“Of course.”
Aurelian answered without thinking.
“I will come promptly.”
Seraphina went quiet.
Her eyes remained on him for another moment.
Aurelian, entirely unaware that he had said anything remarkable, lifted the note in his hand.
“I was sent here on an errand for my mother.”
Seraphina glanced toward the bookstore.
“As was I, in a sense.”
“Are you returning that?”
“Not exactly.”
She turned the book enough for him to see its cover.
It was a heavy leather volume with worn gold lettering along the spine.
Aurelian caught the words history, campaigns, and battle.
“I came to ask whether the shopkeeper has any other works by the same scholar.”
“That seems suited to you.”
Seraphina looked at him.
“I am uncertain whether that was praise.”
Aurelian smiled.
“A little.”
“That is remarkably bold from someone who was apologizing to me less than a minute ago.”
“I feel safer beside a bookstore.”
“How fortunate for you.”
Aurelian opened the door for her.
“After you, Lady Sera.”
She entered.
Inside, narrow aisles disappeared between shelves that stretched nearly to the ceiling. Books occupied every available surface. More were stacked across small tables, arranged beneath windows, piled beside chairs, and tucked onto the edges of the floor as though the building had simply continued acquiring them until there was nowhere left to put them.
The air smelled of cedar, dust, ink, and old paper.
Behind them, the door closed.
The street noise vanished.
Aurelian breathed in.
Almost immediately, his shoulders relaxed.
Seraphina noticed.
“You prefer this to a ballroom.”
“Greatly.”
“I suspected as much.”
“A ballroom has far fewer books and considerably more people watching me.”
“People are watching you here as well.”
Aurelian glanced toward an elderly customer who immediately looked down at the book in her hands.
“Oh.”
Seraphina continued toward the counter.
“At least you are distracted enough not to notice.”
“That is true.”
A brass bell rested beside the register.
Seraphina rang it once.
A moment later, a man with graying hair appeared from behind a curtain separating the shop from its back room.
He looked first at Aurelian.
Then at Seraphina.
His posture changed instantly.
“Your Grace.”
He bowed deeply.
“It is an honor to welcome you back.”
“You need not greet me this formally every time, Everett.”
“I believe I do, Your Grace.”
Seraphina seemed resigned to the answer.
She placed her book on the counter.
“Would you see whether you have any other works by Scholar Cyril Lancaster?”
Everett examined the title.
“I believe we may. His books are scattered between military history and political studies.”
“Take your time.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Everett disappeared between the shelves.
Aurelian intended to wait politely.
Truly.
That was his intention.
Then he noticed a table marked NEW ARRIVALS.
He wandered toward it.
One novel became two.
Two became four.
At some point, he discovered a collection of travel essays about coastal towns he had never visited. Then a historical romance set during a succession crisis. Then another novel with a painted cover depicting a woman standing dramatically beside a cliff while an ominous manor loomed behind her.
Several minutes later, Aurelian realized he had wandered three aisles away from Seraphina.
Books had accumulated beneath one arm.
A historical romance.
The travel essays.
A mystery.
And two novels whose covers suggested questionable dukes and even more questionable decisions.
He turned a corner and nearly walked into Seraphina.
She looked at the stack.
Then at him.
Aurelian looked down.
“I may have become distracted.”
“So I see.”
“May I leave these at the counter?”
“Be my guest.”
She stepped aside, allowing him to pass.
Her eyes moved across the titles.
Then she paused.
“Though you should perhaps remember your mother’s book.”
Aurelian looked at the books in his arms as though they had personally betrayed him.
“I did forget.”
“I noticed.”
“I know what it looks like.”
“It looks like you entered a bookstore for one book and immediately purchased five unrelated books.”
“I have not purchased them yet.”
“An important distinction.”
He set the stack on the counter.
Then he remembered something he had noticed in the previous aisle.
“Wait.”
Seraphina watched him disappear again.
Aurelian returned moments later carrying a bright-red novel bound with black stitching.
His expression had become noticeably more enthusiastic.
“I think you might enjoy this.”
Seraphina accepted the book.
Her eyebrow rose when she read the title.
Forbidden Marriage with the Duke.
She looked at Aurelian.
“Romance?”
“Yes.”
“You believe I would enjoy a romance novel.”
“There is action as well.”
“That does not answer the question.”
Aurelian shifted.
“Well. Yes.”
Seraphina looked back at the cover.
“The heroine runs away from her family,” Aurelian explained, “and agrees to marry a duke she barely knows because she believes it will protect her from the people searching for her. Except the duke is not what he first appears to be.”
Seraphina glanced at him.
“In what way?”
“I cannot tell you.”
“You just recommended the book.”
“I am recommending it without ruining it.”
“That seems inconvenient.”
“The plot twist is excellent.”
Seraphina studied the dramatic lettering again.
“It is far better than the title suggests,” Aurelian added quickly.
Her silence made him less certain by the second.
“I apologize. I became carried away.”
He reached for the book.
Seraphina lifted it beyond his reach.
Then she tapped him lightly on the head with it.
Aurelian blinked.
“I will read it.”
She placed it on top of his stack.
His entire face brightened.
“I truly think you will enjoy it.”
“So you have said.”
The faint curve at the corner of her mouth told him she was amused.
“Now,” she added, “your mother’s book.”
Aurelian’s smile vanished.
“Right.”
He hurried back into the aisles.
Seraphina watched him go.
A minute passed.
Then two.
She glanced toward the aisle where he had disappeared.
When Aurelian finally returned, he held one volume against his chest with both hands as though he had recovered something precious.
“I found it. Volume seven.”
“An impressive achievement.”
“You are enjoying this far too much.”
“A little.”
Aurelian approached the counter.
Then he noticed what Seraphina was holding.
One of the poetry collections from his stack.
His steps slowed.
“Do you enjoy poetry?”
“Not particularly.”
She closed the book.
Aurelian looked mildly wounded.
Seraphina continued.
“But I have heard that you write it.”
Color immediately spread across his face.
“I am not very good.”
“Oh?”
Seraphina tilted her head.
“I have heard otherwise.”
Aurelian looked deeply unconvinced.
“From whom?”
“The capital.”
“That is not a person.”
“No. It is considerably worse.”
Aurelian groaned softly.
Seraphina’s expression remained composed, but amusement flickered in her eyes.
“You apparently make women swoon with your words.”
“I do not.”
His protest came quickly.
Then weakened.
Memories of Lady Primrose’s terrace returned.
The silence after his poem.
The stares.
Isabelle’s expression.
Katerina nearly vibrating with excitement.
Aurelian looked away.
“I did not intend anything by it.”
“I am certain that only made the story more interesting.”
Aurelian sighed.
Seraphina returned the collection to his stack.
“Perhaps you should publish your work.”
Aurelian looked up.
For one brief moment, something bright crossed his face.
Hope.
Then uncertainty returned almost as quickly.
“It is a dream of mine,” he admitted.
Seraphina waited.
“But I am afraid to do it.”
His fingers moved slowly over the edge of Carina’s book.
“Writing privately is one thing. I can write something terrible, place it in a drawer, and no one ever needs to know.”
“I doubt everything you write is terrible.”
“You have never read it.”
“Neither have you allowed me to.”
Aurelian looked at her.
The words struck him with enough surprise that Seraphina almost smiled again.
He glanced down.
“Publishing is different.”
His voice quieted.
“Placing my name on something and allowing strangers to decide whether my words have any worth…”
He gave a small, self-conscious laugh.
“It feels unbearably bold.”
Seraphina’s expression lost its teasing edge.
“I do not believe courage requires the absence of fear.”
Aurelian raised his eyes.
She was looking directly at him now.
“Fear is often what makes courage necessary,” Seraphina continued. “If there is nothing to lose, there is very little bravery required in moving forward.”
Her tone remained calm, almost matter-of-fact.
Yet there was something beneath it.
Experience, perhaps.
“You may fail,” she said. “You may embarrass yourself. You may discover that some people dislike what you create. Others may criticize you simply because they can.”
Aurelian listened quietly.
Seraphina rested one hand on the poetry collection.
“Courage is choosing to act while knowing those possibilities exist.”
Coming from anyone else, the words might have sounded like reassurance.
From Seraphina, they carried a different weight.
Aurelian had seen the sword at her side.
He had heard the stories whispered throughout the capital.
Battles.
Border conflicts.
Years spent training soldiers.
Decisions made when lives depended upon them.
He could not imagine the kind of fear she had learned to carry without allowing it to stop her.
“You do not need to stop being afraid before pursuing your dream, Lord Aurel,” she said. “You only need to decide whether the dream matters more than the fear.”
Aurelian stared at her.
No one had ever spoken about his writing as though it were something worth being brave for.
His parents encouraged him.
Vincente listened patiently.
But writing had always been treated as something gentle.
Something private.
A pleasant dream he might someday pursue if he gathered enough confidence.
Seraphina spoke as though the fear itself was no reason to wait.
“I had never thought of it that way.”
“Then think about it now.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
“Yes, Lady Sera.”
Footsteps approached.
Everett emerged from between the shelves carrying a dark-green volume.
“Your Grace. You are in luck.”
He placed it carefully on the counter.
“I found one remaining work by Scholar Cyril Lancaster.”
Seraphina accepted it.
“An Examination of Failed Sieges,” she read.
“One of his less widely circulated works,” Everett explained. “The subject is rather specialized.”
Seraphina opened the cover and skimmed several pages.
Her interest was immediate.
“This will do.”
Aurelian looked between the severe military history in one hand and the bright-red romance novel sitting beside it.
“You have selected a varied collection.”
Seraphina closed Lancaster’s book.
“That is entirely your fault.”
“I accept responsibility.”
Everett began totaling their purchases.
Aurelian had somehow acquired even more books than he remembered choosing, including a gardening text he vaguely recalled picking up while searching for Carina’s novel.
When Everett announced the final number, Aurelian stared at him.
Then at the books.
“I came here for one.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“You sound as though this happens often.”
Everett smiled politely.
“Monica’s has remained in business for forty-three years.”
Aurelian decided that was answer enough.
Everett arranged to have Aurelian’s unnecessary number of purchases delivered to the Bellafonte townhouse later that afternoon.
Aurelian carried only the volume Carina had requested.
Seraphina left with the two Lancaster books and Forbidden Marriage with the Duke tucked beneath one arm.
The combination made Aurelian smile every time he looked at it.
Outside, the afternoon crowd continued flowing along the street.
Nothing had changed.
And yet the moment the two of them emerged together, heads began turning again.
Aurelian shifted his mother’s book beneath his arm.
“I enjoyed this.”
Seraphina looked at him.
“So did I.”
“Perhaps we could visit again sometime.”
His invitation came easily now.
“When you are free, of course.”
“I would like that.”
Aurelian smiled.
“Good.”
He glanced toward the road.
“I should probably return before my mother begins wondering whether I forgot the book entirely.”
He was preparing to say goodbye when Seraphina spoke.
“I would not mind company for a walk.”
Aurelian paused.
Seraphina adjusted the books beneath her arm.
“And perhaps tea afterward.”
He stared at her.
“We could discuss the books,” she added.
Her errand was complete.
So was his.
There was no practical reason for either of them to remain together.
For a moment, Aurelian wondered whether he had misunderstood the invitation.
Seraphina simply waited.
“I would love to.”
His surprise gave way to a wide smile. “There is a tea shop nearby. Clementine’s, I think.”
“Clementine’s.”
“You know it?”
“I have passed it.”
“They have very good cakes.”
“I see.”
“And a peach tea Echo insists is one of the few things in the capital worth enduring summer crowds for.”
“That is an unusually dramatic recommendation for tea.”
Aurelian laughed.
“Then we should go.”
Seraphina inclined her head.
“Lead the way, Lord Aurel.”
Aurelian fell into step beside her.
The stares followed them almost immediately.
So did the whispers.
He caught fragments as they passed.
The duchess.
Bellafonte.
Together again.
A month earlier, that would have been enough to send Aurelian searching for the nearest quiet veranda.
Today, with Seraphina walking beside him and two newly purchased books tucked beneath her arm—one about failed sieges and the other about a forbidden marriage—he found he cared considerably less.
He began telling her about the tea shop instead.
Seraphina listened.
And when Aurelian looked away to point toward the next street, she allowed herself the smallest smile.
She had come to Monica’s intending to purchase a book.
Her errand was finished.
Aurelian’s was finished too.
Yet, as she followed him toward Clementine’s, Seraphina found that she had no desire whatsoever to return to the palace.
Not yet.
Chapter discussion