For two days, Aurelian had tried not to think too seriously about his afternoon with Seraphina.
He had failed.
A slim poetry collection lay open across his lap in the Bellafonte drawing room, though he had been staring at the same four lines long enough that they should have been permanently engraved into his memory.
They were not.
The poem concerned a traveler who crossed half a kingdom in search of someone who had been waiting for him all along.
Aurelian had absorbed none of it.
His mind had instead chosen to revisit Monica's Booksellers.
The smell of old paper. Seraphina standing beside him with that ridiculous red romance novel tucked beneath one arm. The way she had listened when he admitted he was afraid to publish his writing.
And afterward—
The walk.
Tea at Clementine's.
The conversation had lasted much longer than either of them intended.
At least, Aurelian assumed it had.
They had spoken about books at first, then Bellafonte, then the royal knights, then nothing particularly important at all. Seraphina had asked which flowers survived best in Bellafonte's hottest months, and he had somehow spent nearly ten minutes explaining the difference between two varieties of sunflower.
She had listened as though it mattered.
That part troubled him most.
Not because anything improper had happened.
Nothing had.
They had simply spent an afternoon together.
As friends.
Perfectly ordinary friends who were now apparently the subject of half the capital's gossip.
Aurelian sighed and returned his attention to the page.
Across the room, Vincente stood near the window sorting the morning correspondence into several neat piles.
Without looking up, he said, "You have not turned that page in several minutes."
Aurelian frowned at the poem.
"It is complicated."
Vincente glanced over.
"It contains four lines."
"Short poems can possess considerable depth."
"I am certain it will reveal its mysteries eventually."
Aurelian lowered the book.
"Have you ever considered that you are too observant?"
"Frequently."
"That was not the answer I hoped for."
Vincente returned to the correspondence.
The collection had been among the books Aurelian purchased at Monica's.
Unfortunately, since returning home, it seemed determined to undermine him.
One poem described moonlight spreading across a summer garden.
Another compared a distant woman to winter frost.
A third concerned a man who spent years mistaking loneliness for contentment until someone knocked on his door.
Aurelian closed the book.
He was beginning to suspect poetry had become hostile.
The drawing-room door opened before he could consider finding something safer to read.
Lady Lockwood entered carrying several cream-colored envelopes tucked beneath one arm.
She stopped just inside the room.
Her gaze moved first to Aurelian.
Then to the poetry collection.
Then to the cup of tea cooling untouched beside him.
"You are distracted."
"Good morning, Lady Lockwood."
"That was not a denial."
"I was reading."
She crossed the room and glanced toward the book.
"Were you?"
"Yes."
"What was the poem about?"
Aurelian looked down at the closed collection.
"A traveler."
Lady Lockwood waited.
"He was taking a journey."
Still she waited.
Aurelian shifted.
"And there may have been a woman involved."
"Compelling."
She sat in the chair opposite him and arranged the envelopes across her lap.
Aurelian already disliked the knowing look in her eyes.
Lady Lockwood had spent enough time among nobles to make silence feel like an interrogation technique.
"I assume," she said, "that your distraction involves Duchess Vaelmont."
Aurelian nearly caught his finger between the pages as he set the book aside.
"I would not call it a distraction."
"What would you call it?"
He opened his mouth.
Nothing useful presented itself.
Lady Lockwood spared him.
"I have read four separate accounts of your bookstore outing."
Aurelian groaned.
"Most of them are wrong."
"One claims the duchess purchased you love poetry."
"She did not."
Lady Lockwood glanced at the collection beside him.
"I bought this myself."
"I did not accuse you of anything."
Aurelian turned the book facedown.
Lady Lockwood continued as though she had not noticed.
"Another account claims the two of you shared a pastry from the same plate."
"We ordered several pastries. The plates were small."
"I see."
"It was hardly intimate."
"I did not say it was."
Aurelian narrowed his eyes.
Lady Lockwood broke the seal on one of the envelopes.
"Another claims Duchess Vaelmont accepted a ring from you."
Aurelian stared.
"Who invents these things?"
"People who have exhausted the available truth."
From beside the window came the faint sound of paper being rearranged.
Aurelian looked toward Vincente.
His back was turned.
Aurelian strongly suspected that was deliberate.
Lady Lockwood set the opened letter aside.
"The absurdity of the details is irrelevant. Society rarely requires accuracy when imagination is more entertaining."
"That is a terrible philosophy."
"It is not a philosophy. It is a warning."
Aurelian sank farther into the chair.
Lady Lockwood's expression softened by a degree.
"The important part is that people now believe Duchess Vaelmont sought your company deliberately."
"We met by chance outside the bookstore."
"Yes."
Aurelian hesitated.
Lady Lockwood watched him.
"And afterward?" she asked.
He looked toward the window.
"She asked me to walk with her and join her for tea."
Her eyebrows rose slightly. "I see."
"It was not improper."
"I did not say it was."
"She merely wished to continue our conversation."
"Of course."
Aurelian looked toward Vincente again.
His shoulders moved.
"You are laughing."
"I have made no sound, my lord."
Vincente turned with an expression of perfect innocence.
Lady Lockwood ignored them both.
"You enjoyed yourself."
Aurelian's defensiveness faded.
He glanced toward the abandoned poetry collection.
"Yes."
The admission came more quietly than he intended.
He had enjoyed himself. More than most afternoons since arriving in Evelina.
There had been no desperate attempt to remember which fork belonged to which course, no fear that a misplaced word might insult someone's ancestry, no pressure to appear cleverer or more sophisticated than he was.
Seraphina had simply been Seraphina.
And for several hours, Aurelian had been allowed to simply be himself.
Lady Lockwood nodded once.
"Good."
Aurelian blinked. That was all?
He had expected a warning. Perhaps an explanation of exactly how many rules he had unknowingly broken.
Instead, Lady Lockwood selected another envelope.
"You may contemplate your pleasant afternoon later. You have an engagement."
His relief vanished.
"What kind?"
"The Imperial Exhibition of Fine Arts."
She handed him a heavy cream invitation bearing the seal of the Royal Academy.
Aurelian examined it.
"An art exhibition sounds harmless."
Lady Lockwood looked at him.
Aurelian had lived under her guidance long enough to recognize his mistake.
He sighed.
"What am I expected to do besides look at paintings?"
"Speak with several prominent patrons, at least two academy members, and a merchant whose connections to the southern trade routes may prove useful to your father."
"So I am attending an art exhibition in order to discuss everything except art."
"You may appreciate the art while speaking."
"That seems inefficient."
"It is society."
Which apparently explained everything.
Lady Lockwood gathered the remaining letters.
"The exhibition should at least introduce you to gentlemen whose influence does not depend upon hunting trophies or how much liquor they can consume before embarrassing themselves."
Aurelian brightened.
"That sounds promising."
"Do not become hopeful too quickly."
There it was.
He should have known.
"When?"
"This afternoon."
Aurelian stared at her.
"This afternoon?"
"You have several hours."
"I intended to read."
Lady Lockwood glanced at the poetry collection.
"I am certain the traveler will complete his journey without you."
Aurelian looked mournfully at the book.
Lady Lockwood rose.
"Wear the cream coat with the dark-red waistcoat."
"Of course."
"And the sunflower earrings."
Aurelian touched one bare ear.
"Are those necessary?"
"No."
"Then why—"
"They suit you."
She left before he could ask anything else.
Aurelian looked toward Vincente.
"I have learned to fear anything Lady Lockwood describes as an excellent opportunity."
Vincente gathered the correspondence into a single neat stack.
"Then perhaps you are learning something from the season after all."
· · ─ ·☽𖤓☾· ─ · ·
The Royal Academy was intimidating before Aurelian ever stepped through its doors.
Its western gallery overlooked one of Evelina's busiest squares, occupying a vast white-stone building lined with arched windows and broad columns. Long banners hung between them, each displaying the royal crest alongside the academy's silver emblem.
Carriages arrived without pause.
Nobles, merchants, collectors, scholars, artists, and foreign patrons climbed the broad steps beneath the afternoon sun while liveried servants hurried to open carriage doors and announce arrivals.
Aurelian stood at the bottom of the staircase and stared upward.
"There appear to be several hundred people inside."
"Likely more," Vincente said.
Aurelian looked at him.
"That was not reassurance."
"I did not believe reassurance would make the number smaller."
Lady Lockwood had dressed him in cream and dark red, Bellafonte colors softened enough to suit the afternoon. His coat was fitted without being excessively ornate, and the small silver sunflower earrings at his ears caught the sunlight whenever he moved.
He had become accustomed to wearing them.
He had not become accustomed to people noticing them.
Vincente reached over and straightened his collar.
"Lady Lockwood instructed you to remain for two hours."
"She also assigned conversations."
"Then I suggest beginning before the academy closes."
Aurelian sighed.
"If I disappear into a painting, tell my mother I fought bravely."
"I will inform her that you were defeated by landscapes."
Aurelian started up the steps.
Inside, the academy opened into a vast central gallery flooded with afternoon light.
Paintings covered nearly every wall beneath ceilings decorated with clouds, gold detailing, and scenes from imperial history. Marble statues stood between tall columns. Servants moved through the crowd carrying wine, tea, and trays of delicate pastries while a quartet played somewhere near the eastern hall.
The musicians were excellent.
Unfortunately, several hundred conversations were louder.
Aurelian moved slowly through the first gallery.
The art itself was wonderful.
The people discussing it were exhausting.
He stopped before a large winter landscape depicting a mountain village beneath heavy snow. A narrow bridge crossed a frozen river, and a tiny figure in a red cloak struggled through the wind toward the lights of several distant houses.
"The bridge represents the burden of imperial expansion," a gentleman beside him announced.
His companion nodded thoughtfully.
"And the red cloak is clearly a criticism of military taxation."
Aurelian looked at the painting again.
He had thought the person was cold.
He decided not to mention it.
The next painting showed three children beside a fountain.
According to the woman standing before it, the fountain represented the declining influence of the western nobility.
Aurelian studied the children.
One of them appeared to be throwing a frog at another.
He continued walking.
By the time he reached the landscape gallery, he had begun to wonder whether anyone in Evelina had ever painted something merely because it was beautiful.
He escaped toward the quieter end of the room.
There, an orchard at sunset caught his attention.
Golden light filtered through branches heavy with fruit. Several workers crossed the field carrying baskets toward a farmhouse in the distance. Their sleeves had been rolled above their elbows. Dirt marked their hands and hems, and one man had bent slightly beneath the weight of his basket.
Aurelian stopped.
Something in his chest loosened.
It reminded him of home.
Not Bellafonte precisely. The trees were wrong, and the farmhouse had been built in a style common farther east.
But the light felt familiar.
So did the labor.
"It is one of the few agricultural paintings here where the workers look like people rather than decoration."
Aurelian turned.
The gentleman beside him was tall and slender, dressed in a deep teal coat that appeared almost black whenever he stepped away from the windows. Subtle gold embroidery curled across the cuffs and edges of the fabric, and a sapphire brooch fastened the high white collar at his throat.
His dark-brown hair fell around his face in soft waves arranged with such careful effort that they somehow appeared effortless. His features were refined almost to delicacy—a narrow face, straight nose, clean jaw, and cool blue-gray eyes framed by dark lashes.
Aurelian became immediately aware that the man was important.
He also became immediately aware that he had no idea who he was.
"That was what I liked about it," Aurelian said.
The stranger's gaze returned to the painting.
"I suspected as much."
There was no ridicule in the words.
Aurelian relaxed slightly.
"Forgive me. Have we met?"
"We have not."
The man turned and bowed.
"Adrian Leister."
Recognition arrived half a second later.
Marquis Adrian Leister.
Old central house. Considerable wealth. Considerable political influence. A family whose name appeared often enough in court conversation that even Aurelian had managed to remember it.
Lady Lockwood's instructions regarding the Marquis had been remarkably concise.
Behave yourself.
Aurelian bowed.
"Baron Aurelian Bellafonte."
"I know."
The words should have sounded arrogant.
Somehow, they did not.
Aurelian smiled uncertainly.
"I hope that does not mean you have heard anything dreadful."
"Nothing I would consider dreadful."
That was not especially comforting.
Adrian returned his attention to the painting.
"The artist grew up near the eastern border. His family owns an orchard not terribly different from this one."
"You know him?"
"I have met him. I purchased one of his earlier works several years ago."
Aurelian looked again at the workers crossing the painted field.
"Then he knew the work."
Adrian glanced at him.
"Precisely."
He gestured toward the baskets in the workers' arms.
"Look at their hands. They support the baskets from underneath rather than carrying them by the handles."
Aurelian leaned closer.
"He understood the weight."
"Yes. Artists unfamiliar with physical work have a tendency to paint labor as though it requires no knowledge."
Aurelian smiled.
"I have noticed the same."
"I imagine Bellafonte gives you opportunities to notice."
There was no condescension in his voice.
That alone made Aurelian listen more closely.
Many nobles praised Bellafonte as though it existed primarily for paintings.
Sunflowers.
Orchards.
Warm weather.
Picturesque villages.
Beautiful horses.
They admired the idea of rural life without appearing particularly interested in the people responsible for maintaining it.
Adrian spoke as though he understood that fields did not cultivate themselves.
"It is difficult not to notice," Aurelian said, "when one's father turns nearly every meal into a discussion about crop rotation."
"A sensible man."
Aurelian looked at him.
"You know my father?"
"Not personally."
Adrian's mouth curved.
"I know of him."
"That is surprising."
"Why?"
"My father does not attend court often."
"Court is not the only place where people become important."
Aurelian considered that.
Adrian continued. "Snyder Bellafonte's name appears in several southern trade reports. Particularly those concerning road maintenance, storage facilities, and grain transport."
Aurelian stared at him.
Most people in Evelina seemed unaware of Snyder's work unless it produced enough money to attract their attention.
Adrian noticed his surprise.
"I prefer to know where the things I purchase come from."
"That is unusual here."
"So I have been told."
They left the orchard and moved slowly toward the next painting.
Aurelian expected the conversation to end there.
Instead, Adrian asked about Bellafonte's merchant network.
Not whether it was profitable.
How it functioned.
Aurelian found himself explaining the way goods moved from smaller farming villages toward larger market towns, then down through the coastal routes where Sterling supervised several shipping and merchant relationships.
Adrian listened without interrupting.
More surprisingly, when Aurelian admitted he did not know the precise answer to a question about warehouse capacity near the southern port, Adrian did not immediately lose interest.
"I would have to ask Sterling," Aurelian said. "He manages more of the coastal arrangements than I do."
"There is nothing wrong with knowing the limits of your knowledge."
Aurelian glanced at him.
"You would be surprised how many people here seem to disagree."
"I would not."
That made Aurelian laugh.
They stopped before a collection of architectural drawings.
Adrian examined one depicting a long stone road cutting through steep countryside.
"There has been discussion of expanding one of the coastal roads through Bellafonte, has there not?"
Aurelian's surprise returned.
"Yes."
"What would that change?"
Aurelian considered the question.
"It would shorten the journey between several villages and the port. Some merchants avoid the smaller communities during the rainy season because the roads become unreliable."
"And goods spoil before reaching market."
"Sometimes."
Aurelian folded his hands behind his back.
"Fruit, especially. Certain teas as well. Better roads would allow farmers to move goods more quickly and give smaller villages easier access to the larger markets."
"And benefit the Bellafonte estate."
"Of course."
Adrian glanced toward him.
Aurelian hesitated, then continued.
"But that cannot be the only reason to build it."
"No?"
"If the road exists only to make our own trade faster, then Bellafonte becomes richer while the villages around us remain exactly as they were."
He looked again at the architectural drawing.
"A road should connect people. Otherwise, it is merely a long driveway."
A brief silence followed.
Aurelian wondered whether that had sounded foolish.
Adrian's expression had become thoughtful.
"That is a dangerous opinion."
Aurelian stiffened.
"Dangerous?"
"To men who believe prosperity should remain in as few hands as possible."
"Oh."
Adrian's lips curved.
"I did not say I disagreed."
Aurelian relaxed.
"My father says that a noble who cannot explain where his territory's food comes from has no business governing it."
"I suspect your father and I would enjoy one another's company."
Aurelian smiled.
"I believe you might."
They continued through the gallery.
Adrian proved unexpectedly easy to speak with.
He knew enough about trade to ask useful questions without turning the conversation into an interrogation. He knew enough about agriculture not to romanticize it. When Aurelian spoke about Bellafonte's roads, irrigation, harvests, or storage concerns, Adrian did not act as though such subjects were beneath him.
By the time they reached a large cityscape of Evelina viewed from across the river, Aurelian had nearly forgotten that Lady Lockwood had sent him here with a list of required conversations.
The painted city looked calmer than the real one.
Sunlight reflected across the river, softening the white buildings and golden rooftops into something almost peaceful.
Aurelian stared at it.
"I have been here for weeks, and I still do not understand this city."
"I have lived here for years and would not claim to understand it."
"That is not encouraging."
"It was not intended to be."
Aurelian laughed.
A broad gentleman in burgundy approached them before Adrian could say anything further.
Gold braid covered enough of the man's coat that Aurelian wondered whether anyone had attempted to stop the tailor.
The gentleman greeted Adrian first.
"Leister."
"Lord Pembroke."
Then his gaze moved toward Aurelian.
"Baron Bellafonte. I hear you enjoyed another fortunate excursion through the capital."
Aurelian frowned.
Adrian's expression remained pleasantly neutral.
"Has he?"
Pembroke smiled.
"Our Moon of the Empire was seen accompanying him through the shopping district. A bookstore first, apparently, followed by tea."
Heat began creeping into Aurelian's face.
"We happened to meet near the bookstore."
"Another fortunate coincidence."
The man's smile widened.
"You appear to have developed a habit of happening upon powerful women."
The warmth in Aurelian's face changed.
He opened his mouth.
Adrian spoke first.
"Baron Bellafonte also appears to possess the fortunate habit of making pleasant company."
Pembroke glanced at him.
"I meant no offense."
"Of course not."
Adrian's smile remained perfectly courteous.
"That is what makes your remark so instructive."
The other man's expression shifted slightly.
Adrian continued, still mild.
"One must admire anyone capable of revealing his intentions without the inconvenience of stating them plainly."
The smile disappeared from Pembroke's face.
Aurelian stared.
The insult had been delivered so politely that for one absurd moment he wondered whether he had misunderstood it.
Pembroke certainly had not.
"I merely meant," the gentleman said, "that Baron Bellafonte seems better suited to gardens, poetry, and quiet afternoons than serious political matters."
There it was.
Aurelian felt irritation settle heavily in his chest.
He had heard enough versions of the judgment to recognize it immediately.
Gentle meant weak.
Rural meant ignorant.
A man who enjoyed poetry and gardening could not possibly understand anything requiring seriousness.
Before Aurelian could answer, Adrian looked toward the painting of Evelina.
"How fortunate, then, that serious political matters are handled exclusively by gentlemen standing before paintings with wine in their hands."
Pembroke's face tightened.
Adrian turned toward him.
"Maintaining roads, feeding an empire, overseeing agricultural production, preserving trade across multiple territories, and ensuring goods reach market before spoiling must seem rather simple by comparison."
"I did not say agriculture was simple."
"Then we agree."
Adrian said it pleasantly.
Too pleasantly.
There was no graceful way for Pembroke to continue without admitting the insult outright.
His jaw tightened.
"Enjoy the exhibition."
"You as well."
Pembroke excused himself.
Aurelian waited until he had disappeared into the crowd.
Then he turned toward Adrian.
"That was remarkable."
"I dislike watching people disguise insults as manners."
"I had noticed."
Adrian glanced at him.
"You intended to answer."
"Yes."
"What would you have said?"
Aurelian thought about it.
"Something less elegant."
Adrian laughed softly.
"I almost regret interrupting."
"You may have prevented another incident."
"Another?"
Aurelian remembered the Argent Aile.
"Several."
"I see."
"Lady Lockwood might send you a letter of thanks."
"I will look forward to it."
They moved into a quieter portrait gallery.
The room was smaller than the others, its walls covered in dark-green fabric that made the gilded frames stand out beneath the lamps.
One painting showed a young man seated beside an open window.
Loose papers covered the desk before him. A half-empty cup rested near his hand, and beyond the window, the first light of morning touched the rooftops of a distant city.
Adrian stopped.
"A poet."
Aurelian followed his gaze.
The plaque beneath the frame identified the subject as a writer from the previous century.
Adrian looked toward him.
"I have heard that you write."
Aurelian nearly stumbled while standing perfectly still.
"Poetry?" Adrian added.
"Who told you?"
"No one in particular."
That was somehow worse.
"Your recital at the Primrose estate has become one of the more persistent stories of the season."
Aurelian closed his eyes briefly.
"I recited one poem."
"In Evelina, one poem before the correct audience is apparently enough to establish a literary career."
"I sincerely hope not."
Adrian regarded the portrait.
"Was it truly about Duchess Vaelmont?"
"No."
The answer came quickly enough to make Adrian glance toward him.
Aurelian cleared his throat.
"I wrote it before meeting her."
"Then society has once again been careless with the truth."
"You do not sound surprised."
"I am rarely surprised by collective dishonesty."
Aurelian almost smiled.
"It was about the sun and moon."
Adrian's eyebrows lifted.
"A dangerous choice of imagery under the circumstances."
"I understand that now."
They stood quietly before the painting.
After a moment, Adrian asked, "Do you intend to publish?"
Aurelian's fingers tightened slightly around the exhibition guide he had forgotten he was carrying.
Seraphina had asked him nearly the same question.
He could still hear her voice in the bookstore.
You do not need to stop being afraid before pursuing your dream.
"I would like to," he said.
"That was not quite what I asked."
Aurelian looked over.
There was no mockery in Adrian's expression.
Only interest.
"I do not know whether I have the courage."
Adrian considered him.
"Everything presented to the world requires some willingness to be judged."
"That does not make it easier."
"No."
The answer was immediate.
He did not dismiss the fear.
Aurelian appreciated that.
Adrian returned his attention to the portrait.
"What prevents you from publishing anonymously?"
"I have considered it."
"But?"
Aurelian looked down at the exhibition guide.
"If I am too ashamed to claim my own words, perhaps I should not ask anyone else to read them."
Adrian was quiet for a moment.
"Shame and fear are not the same thing."
Aurelian looked at him.
Again, he thought of Seraphina.
Apparently everyone in Evelina understood this lesson better than he did.
Adrian rested one hand lightly against the head of his walking stick.
"Fear means you understand that something matters enough to hurt you. Shame would mean you believed the work itself was unworthy."
He looked toward Aurelian.
"Those are very different things."
Aurelian absorbed that in silence.
Seraphina had spoken of courage.
Adrian spoke of worth.
Neither of them seemed to believe fear was evidence that he should stop.
"For what it is worth," Adrian said, "I think Evelina would benefit from reading something written by a man who has not yet learned to disguise every honest thought."
The words settled more deeply than Aurelian expected.
"That is generous."
"It was not generosity."
Adrian's voice softened slightly.
"It was an observation."
Aurelian had been called many things since arriving in Evelina.
Charming.
Refreshing.
Romantic.
Naïve.
Occasionally handsome, by people who apparently believed he could not hear them.
But Adrian spoke as though the qualities everyone else found amusing might actually possess value.
Aurelian looked once more at the painted poet.
"Perhaps I will publish someday."
"I hope you do."
They continued into the next gallery.
By the time they returned toward the academy's central hall, Aurelian had forgotten nearly all of Lady Lockwood's assigned conversations.
Adrian, however, seemed to remember the people Aurelian had been meant to meet without ever being told.
"That gentleman near the bronze sculpture is Matthias Corven," he said quietly as they passed. "He recently purchased two warehouses along the southern grain routes."
Aurelian glanced discreetly in the man's direction.
"Lady Lockwood mentioned him."
"I assumed she might."
"You know Lady Lockwood?"
"I know enough of her reputation to recognize her strategy."
Aurelian smiled.
"That sounds ominous."
"It is meant as praise."
A few minutes later, Adrian indicated a silver-haired woman speaking with several academy officials.
"Lady Harcourt funds three of the agricultural schools east of the capital. She would probably be interested in Bellafonte's irrigation experiments."
Aurelian looked at him in surprise.
"You know a disturbing amount about what might interest me."
"I know a disturbing amount about nearly everything."
At least he admitted it.
Adrian also warned him quietly about several nobles whose sudden curiosity regarding Bellafonte had little to do with crops or southern trade.
"Lord Avery will ask about your father's sunflower venture," Adrian said.
"That sounds harmless."
"It would be, if he had cared about sunflowers before Duchess Vaelmont began speaking to you."
Aurelian sighed.
"Does everyone know?"
"Everyone knows what they believe happened."
"That was not the question."
"It is the only answer that matters here."
Aurelian could not argue with that.
The advice was useful.
More importantly, much of it could be verified.
Aurelian already recognized several names from Lady Lockwood's instructions or his father's correspondence.
Adrian did not appear to be inventing importance for himself.
He simply knew people.
And understood why they mattered.
By the time they reached the central staircase again, Aurelian realized he had spent nearly the entire exhibition with him.
Adrian reached into his coat.
For a moment, Aurelian thought he was retrieving a watch.
Instead, he produced a small card embossed with his name and the address of his Evelina residence.
He offered it to Aurelian.
"You are welcome to call upon me."
Aurelian accepted the card.
"I would not wish to intrude."
"You would not."
Adrian's blue-gray eyes met his.
"If you require advice, assistance, or simply better company than this city frequently provides, my doors are open."
Aurelian looked down at the card.
He had made friends in Evelina.
Varian had become someone he genuinely enjoyed. Evelyne was quiet company in a way he appreciated. Echo had long since crossed the boundary between etiquette guide and true friend.
Adrian felt different from the other gentlemen he had met.
He understood trade without dismissing poetry.
He spoke about agriculture as though it mattered.
He had defended Aurelian's gentleness without treating him as naïve for possessing it.
And perhaps most importantly, he had not once tried to convince Aurelian to become something else.
For the first time since arriving in Evelina, Aurelian felt he had met another gentleman who understood the sort of man he was trying to remain.
He slipped the card carefully into the inner pocket of his coat.
"I would like that."
"As would I."
They exchanged farewells.
Aurelian descended the staircase toward the academy entrance.
Vincente stood near one of the marble columns waiting for him.
His eyes moved first to Aurelian's face.
Then, briefly, toward Adrian.
"You appear unusually pleased."
Aurelian stopped beside him.
"I believe I made a friend."
Vincente looked back toward the gallery.
"Have you?"
Aurelian noticed the wording.
"Yes."
"Who?"
"Marquis Adrian Leister."
There was the smallest pause.
Not enough that most people would notice.
Aurelian did.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That was something."
Vincente adjusted one glove.
"What did you discuss?"
"Bellafonte. Trade. Poetry."
Aurelian thought.
"And several people Lady Lockwood will insist I remember."
"That sounds productive."
"He also defended me from an insult."
Vincente glanced toward him.
"How fortunate."
Aurelian narrowed his eyes.
"You sound suspicious."
"I sound observant."
"That is what you say whenever you are suspicious."
"I have not accused the marquis of anything."
"He was perfectly kind."
"I did not say otherwise."
Aurelian turned toward the staircase.
Adrian remained near the top, speaking with an elderly woman in violet silk.
Nothing about him looked remotely suspicious.
He appeared exactly as he had throughout the afternoon—composed, gracious, and entirely at ease.
As though sensing the attention, Adrian glanced toward the entrance.
Their eyes met.
He inclined his head.
Aurelian smiled and returned the gesture.
When he turned back, Vincente was watching him.
"What?"
"Nothing, my lord."
"You are doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"Observing."
"It is an unfortunate habit."
Aurelian shook his head and stepped outside.
For once, he left one of Lady Lockwood's excellent opportunities without feeling exhausted, insulted, or desperate to hide somewhere with a book.
The afternoon had been a complete success.
· · ─ ·☽𖤓☾· ─ · ·
Adrian watched Baron Bellafonte disappear through the academy doors.
He kept smiling until the last trace of golden hair vanished into the crowd outside.
Then the warmth left his face.
Not dramatically.
Adrian Leister rarely wasted drama when there was no audience worth impressing.
The smile simply ceased.
Beside him, Lady Marston followed Aurelian's departure with the idle interest of someone who had spent forty years watching the imperial court manufacture scandals out of considerably less.
"You have been generous today."
Adrian glanced at her.
"Have I?"
"You spent nearly an hour with him."
"I found the conversation interesting."
"So has half the capital."
Lady Marston lifted her wine.
"Seraphina most of all, apparently."
Adrian's fingers rested lightly against the embroidered edge of his cuff.
Across the gallery, the quartet began another piece.
Guests continued moving beneath the painted ceilings, laughing and speaking and pretending not to listen to conversations that did not concern them.
Adrian had spent years among people who believed subtlety consisted of lowering their voices.
He had also spent years watching men attempt to gain Seraphina Vaelmont's attention.
Generals praised their victories.
Heirs spoke of alliances.
Men with enormous fortunes found ways to mention them within minutes of meeting her.
Others approached with confidence rehearsed so carefully that it became another kind of performance.
Seraphina dismissed them all with the same cool efficiency.
Some because they bored her.
Others because she distrusted them.
A few because their interest in the Duchess of Vaelmont was obvious while their interest in Seraphina herself appeared nonexistent.
Adrian had never made an open offer.
There had been no need.
He understood Seraphina too well to believe she would respond favorably to a man placing his ambitions before her and calling them affection.
Time had seemed more useful.
Eventually, she would marry.
Perhaps not for love or not because she particularly wished to.
But Seraphina was a duchess, head of one of the most powerful houses in the empire, sister to the queen, and commander of the royal knights.
Practicality would narrow the field.
There were only so many men whose birth, education, influence, and temperament would allow them to stand beside her without becoming either a burden or an embarrassment.
Adrian had always expected to be among those possibilities.
He was not arrogant enough to mistake possibility for certainty.
But considered.
Certainly.
Then Aurelian Bellafonte arrived in Evelina.
A provincial baron who blushed when anyone mentioned poetry.
Who stumbled through etiquette, spoke to servants as though their answers genuinely interested him, defended farmers in rooms filled with men who rarely thought about where their food came from, and invited Seraphina to visit his territory without apparently understanding that half the court would interpret the invitation as a declaration.
And somehow—
Somehow—
Seraphina noticed him.
Not politely.
Not as one noticed a curious guest or an amusing provincial noble.
She sought him out.
She accepted his ridiculous nickname and gave him one in return.
She walked through the capital beside him without appearing concerned by the consequences.
An afternoon prolonged without obligation.
Adrian had heard three versions of the outing before luncheon the following day.
Most were nonsense.
The part that mattered was not.
Seraphina had chosen to remain with him after chance no longer required it.
That was what troubled Adrian.
The ease of it.
Lady Marston studied him over the rim of her glass.
"You dislike him."
Adrian looked toward her.
"I said no such thing."
"You rarely do."
He almost smiled.
There were reasons he tolerated Lady Marston.
Age had stripped her of the need to impress anyone, and the result was an occasionally useful lack of caution.
Adrian returned his attention to the academy doors.
"No," he said. "I do not dislike him."
That was true.
Aurelian Bellafonte was difficult to dislike.
That was part of the problem.
His nervousness appeared genuine.
So did his affection for his territory.
When Adrian questioned him about trade, he had not inflated his knowledge. When asked something he did not know, he simply admitted it.
There had been no attempt to impress.
No convenient political opinion shaped to match Adrian's.
Even his irritation with Pembroke had been transparent.
Aurelian possessed the strange habit of allowing every feeling to cross his face before he remembered that noble society preferred people to hide them.
Adrian had spent years around men who disguised greed as responsibility, ambition as loyalty, and desire as affection.
Aurelian did not resemble them.
That did not prove innocence.
The best lies were rarely built entirely from falsehood.
Nervousness could invite protection.
Gentleness encouraged people to lower their defenses.
Humility could make ambition appear harmless.
Even honesty, offered carefully enough, could become a weapon.
Aurelian Bellafonte had an unusual gift.
He made people ashamed of doubting him.
Adrian had watched it happen during the exhibition.
Pembroke insulted him, and Adrian had disliked it.
Not because the insult mattered.
Not because Adrian felt any particular loyalty toward a man he had known less than an hour.
But because Aurelian's expression—the immediate hurt followed by the attempt to remain courteous—had made Pembroke seem petty.
Cruel, even.
Aurelian had done nothing.
That was precisely the danger.
If it was deliberate.
Lady Marston's attention had returned to the paintings.
"He is handsome," she said absently.
Adrian gave her a flat look.
"I had eyes before today."
"And pleasant."
"So I discovered."
"And Seraphina has never been especially patient with handsome, pleasant men."
"No."
"Which suggests he possesses something more interesting than either."
Adrian said nothing.
The old woman smiled.
"You are curious."
"That is a more accurate description."
Curiosity was useful.
Jealousy was not. It made men stupid.
Adrian had seen too many rivals ruin themselves by reacting before they understood the game they were playing.
He would not become one of them.
Aurelian had attracted Seraphina's interest.
That was fact.
Why remained uncertain.
Perhaps Seraphina, surrounded by calculated people for most of her life, had encountered one genuinely gentle man and found the novelty appealing.
Possible.
But Adrian had learned long ago that people were rarely as simple as they first appeared.
Especially people who insisted they possessed no ambition.
Aurelian's family controlled productive southern lands, trade connections, agricultural resources, and an increasingly useful merchant network.
His older brother had married into an influential commercial family.
His father's projects were expanding Bellafonte's economic reach.
And now Aurelian had, through supposed accident, gained direct access to one of the most powerful women in the empire.
Perhaps he truly had no idea what he was doing.
Perhaps.
Adrian intended to know.
Open hostility would accomplish nothing.
Worse than nothing.
If he attacked Aurelian openly, the baron would retreat toward the people who already protected him.
Lady Lockwood would close ranks.
Lord Varian would become defensive.
The Bellafonte family would become cautious.
And Seraphina—
Adrian's expression cooled.
Seraphina would place herself between Aurelian and the threat.
No.
That would be foolish.
Enemies were watched from a distance.
Friends were invited close.
Adrian would offer useful advice.
He would point out dangerous men before they could embarrass Aurelian.
He would defend him when others mocked his poetry, his gardens, his softness, or his provincial manners.
He would ask about Bellafonte.
About his family.
About the things he feared.
The things he wanted.
The dreams he had not yet found courage to pursue.
And Adrian would listen.
People enjoyed being listened to.
Most spent their lives waiting for someone to understand them well enough that they could stop guarding every word.
Aurelian, with all his earnestness, would be no different.
Everyone spoke freely eventually once they believed they were understood.
Lady Marston glanced at him.
"You are smiling again."
Adrian had not noticed.
He looked toward the academy doors through which Aurelian had disappeared.
Sooner or later, Baron Aurelian Bellafonte would show him what lay beneath all that sincerity.
And when he did, Adrian intended to be close enough to see it.
Chapter discussion