The summer of 1865 lingered with a strange and almost wistful air. The sun still laid its warmth across the countryside but the first leaves had begun their slow descent, drifting from the branches as though reluctant to part and yet resigned to the season's quiet betrayal. In the shaded gardens just beyond the capital, noble ladies sat beneath the wide canopy, their silks whispering against lace as they bent over porcelain cups of tea. Their laughter, light and melodious as chiming bells, floated across the lawns.
Yet it was not laughter that held the capital's attention. A different murmur stirred, slipping first through drawing rooms and private parlors before breaking into a full tide of speculation. In salons where the chandeliers caught a hundred glittering reflections and along avenues where the carriages never ceased to rattle, one name seemed to rest on every tongue, the heir of Ravenscroft. After months of absence, the most elusive and sought after gentleman of his generation had returned to Eldorhaven and with his reappearance, the season itself seemed charged with expectation as if nothing ahead could remain quite as it was before.
Among those gathered was Lady Evelina Everleigh, the Marquess's youngest daughter who carried herself with a grace that never failed to command a room without seeming to demand it. Once she had been spoken of as a likely bride for the Crown Prince and yet she had declined, unmoved by the weight of a crown or the envy it might inspire.
As the talk of Ravenscroft's heir curled through the salon like a spell, Evelina listened without a word, her calm expression yet beneath her quiet poise, a faint and unbidden stirring touched her heart.
"Do you assume that the heir of Ravenscroft will stay for good here in the capital?" asked Lady Ashcombe, while tilting her fan with practiced stillness. "He seemed more shadow than substance, more wedded to his northern wilds than to our court."
"Shadow, perhaps," replied Lady Harrowden with a knowing smile, "yet a shadow most women would gladly follow. They say he rides as though born to the saddle, and carries himself with a reserve that only sharpens his uhmm… charm." She allowed the word to linger and at once a ripple of laughter shimmered around the table.
"Charm?" Lady Greville arched a brow, her voice edged with mischief. "If we speak of charm, surely the Grand Duke Montclair surpasses him. He is warmth itself, always a smile at the ready, always bravery in his bearing. Why, I have never known a gentleman more generous in word or manner."
"Indeed, the Grand Duke is sweet," Lady Harrowden conceded, though her tone held the faintest tease, "but sweetness can cloy. A man must possess a touch of steel; else he risks being dismissed as nothing more than pleasant company." At this, Lady Ashcombe gave a sly laugh. "Then perhaps Eldoro is doubly blessed, steel in Ravenscroft, sweetness in Montclair. Which, I wonder, will shine brighter in Her Majesty's court?"
Their words drifted like perfumed smoke and then their eyes turned toward Evelina. She sat composed in their midst while her teacup untouched before her and her poise serene as still water. Whatever stir the conversation awakened in her heart and no flicker of it disturbed her features.
Then a sound, a cough that low yet commanding brushed through the air. The ladies' chatter fell away while fans stilled mid-motion and all eyes turned toward the tall figure now framed in the golden light pouring through the salon's windows.
The Grand Duke of Montclair had entered.
Grand Duke Alistair Montclair's auburn hair caught the sunlight like threads of copper and when he inclined his head, it was with a courtly ease that made every gesture seem effortless. A smile as warm and disarming curved his lips as he addressed the table.
"Forgive me, mesdames, for intruding upon such delightful company." His gaze swept lightly across the circle but lingered before where it sought to be. "Lady Everleigh," he said, his voice gentling into something more intimate, "if I beg, a moment of your time?"
A hushed excitement rippled through the salon. Fans fluttered anew and whispers darted like sparks behind closed lips. Everlina rose with unhurried grace, as she extended her hand, the Grand Duke bent over it with a bow that sent a storm of envy and wonder sweeping through the circle left behind. Guided with quiet authority, she allowed him to lead her beyond the salon through the arched doorway into the garden beyond. The roses clung in full and heavy bloom along the trellis, their fragrance sweetening the afternoon air.
"I fear I startled your companions," Grand Duke Montclair said at last his voice light but threaded with earnestness. His eyes, bright as summer skies, sought hers with honesty that left little room for disguise. "Forgive me. I could not remain in silence, not when I had the chance to greet you." Evelina met his gaze with calm dignity. "Your Grace is too kind. The ladies will soon recover and they are accustomed to far greater spectacles than your courtesy." He laughed softly.
"Yet none of it hold my attention so firmly. Since my return to Eldorhaven, I have been hailed and celebrated on every side but I find little pleasure in it. I confess, Lady Everleigh, it is your company alone I sought." The words spoken with such unguarded sweetness lingered between them. Evelina inclined her head and her voice steady though touched with something softer than she intended. "You honor me beyond measure, Your Grace. Yet such attentions are dangerous in a court that thrives on whispers."
Grand Duke Montclair's smile deepened, tender now. "Then let them whisper, my lady. I would rather endure a thousand whispers than lose a single moment with you."
She answered him with a smile as delicate as it was uncertain and sweet but shadowed by some unspoken weight. At first their words were light and touching on the roses about them until almost without noticing they slipped into the softer whispers that unsettled the city beyond the garden walls. His voice, warm and effortless, softened even the late summer air and though Evelina's composure held, she felt the faintest hastening of her heart. As she turned her head, her words faltering for a breath as she saw them. Two figures at the far end of the garden walk.
The first stood tall and commanding, dark hair unlit by the sun and as though shadow itself clung to him. His face bore the proud reserve of Ravenscroft, unreadable, arresting, and though he spoke no word, his gaze met hers with such force that her breath caught.
At his side walked another, no less noble, his manner touched with an easy confidence. They moved with deliberate steps and it seemed for an instant that the garden itself bent to make way for them. The air so lately alive with laughter and birdsong fell into a hush as though holding its breath. It was the darker of the two who moved first. The young Duke Ravenscroft's bearing left no room for doubt: his stride was measured; his gaze commanding and the silent authority of rank seemed to rest upon him like a mantle. His companion pausing a pace behind, bowed with graceful ease.
"Lady Evelina Everleigh, Your Grace," the gentleman announced with smooth respect, "may I present His Lordship Lucian, heir to the Duchy of Ravenscroft. I am Baron Leopold Whitcombe, honored to be in such company." Evelina inclined her head, her composure serene though her pulse gave the faintest stir. "The honor is mine, my lord, I am Evelina, House of Everleigh," she replied, her gaze meeting the young Duke of Ravenscroft. For a moment the world seemed to still, the whisper of the garden, the perfume of roses, even the warmth of the sun held in suspension beneath the force of his dark eyes upon hers.
The young Duke Ravenscroft bowed with perfect formality, his voice low and deliberate. "Lady Everleigh." Each syllable fell as if weighed before being released. There was no gallant flourish nor easy warmth such as Grand Duke Montclair offered and yet his restraint carried a gravity that drew even more notice. Grand Duke Montclair answered the introduction with his own warmth though a flicker of tension passed among the three men, one open, one inscrutable, one quietly observant, as though already measuring the ground before them.
Baron Whitcombe let courteousness smooth the silence. "How fortunate Eldorhaven is," he remarked lightly, "to welcome such distinguished company in a single season. His Grace of Montclair returns to us with warmth, and now the heir of Ravenscroft graces the capital after so long an absence. Truly, Lady Everleigh, the stars themselves seem drawn to your orbit." The words though draped in courtesy, carried a weight not lost on any present. Grand Duke Montclair laughed easily, resting his hand with familiar grace upon the back of Evelina's chair. "Too generous, Baron Whitcombe.The lady needs no stars when she is herself the brightest in the sky." His smile held more kindness than flattery.
The young Duke Ravenscroft's gaze steady and unreadable, flickered briefly to Baron Whitcombe before returning to Evelina, with silent restraint he only said, "The capital is… not without its reasons to return."
Baron Whitcombe caught the shift in the air, the faint crackle of currents unseen. His lips curved into the barest knowing smile. "Indeed, my lord. And perhaps we shall soon discover whether those reasons are matters of politics… or something far more compelling." Though composed, Evelina felt color rise to her cheeks.
The Baron let the silence linger before speaking again, his tone playful yet edged. "I confess, I had not known His Grace of Montclair enjoyed such familiarity with Lady Everleigh. One might almost suspect a friendship of long standing." Evelina lifted her gaze, her poise softened by a faint smile. "Indeed," she said with gentle candor, "His Grace has long been a friend to our house. I count him among my dearest companions, one whose kindness I have always treasured." Grand Duke Montclair inclined his head with warm expression "And I, Lady Everleigh, count myself most fortunate in such regard," he replied. "For friendship, when it is true, is the crown of any life."
Standing slightly apart, the young Duke Ravenscroft said nothing. But his dark gaze lingered on Evelina, as though weighing her words against Grand Duke Montclair's open declaration. His face betrayed nothing but Baron Whitcombe, as ever perceptive, caught the faint tension and smiled to himself, as if he alone had glimpsed the threads of rivalry beginning to entwine.
Their conversation might have continued if had not a uniformed servant appeared at the garden's edge, bowing low before Evelina. "My lady," he said with careful regard, "your household requests your return. The Marquess bids you remember your engagement for the evening." Evelina rose at once with a graceful inclination, she turned first to Grand Duke Montclair. "Your Grace, as ever, your company is a kindness." Then, to the young Duke Ravenscroft, she extended her hand with serene courtesy. "And to you, Lord Ravenscroft, I am honored by our introduction. May we meet again under more leisurely hours." Her words, perfectly polite, carried a melody that lingered long after she withdrew.
The young Duke Ravenscroft bowed, his expression still unreadable while Grand Duke Montclair's smile unguarded and warm followed her every step. Baron Whitcombe alone let his eyes flick between the two men, the smallest curve of his lips betraying his amusement, before he returned his gaze to Evelina's retreating figure.
She passed through the tall doors and descended to the waiting carriage. Outside, the hush of the city street met her, carrying with it is the mingled scents of dust and late summer roses.
From the far side of the gallery's shadow, unseen but intent, a pair of eyes watched her. Steady, unblinking, they followed her every movement until the door closed and the wheels began to turn.
Evelina did not see them yet a shiver, faint as a breath of wind, touched her heart as though some unseen thread had bound her fate to another's gaze.