Gossip was the heartbeat of Britannian society — the lifeblood that kept its elegant façades from growing dull. There was always something scandalous brewing behind closed doors… and occasionally spilling out into the open.
No one ever truly knew how rumors began — or whether they were true. But in Elaris, the wives of the noble houses did not care. For them, gossip was breakfast, intrigue was sport, and reputation was everything.
Duchess Clarissa of Ashburrow lifted her teacup with a knowing smile. Around her, the morning chatter fluttered like silk fans — laughter, speculation, and venom disguised as charm. She, however, remained silent. For once, she had something to say that would truly stir the waters.
"Lady Clarissa," said Lady Kendell — a short, sharp woman with a talent for cruelty — "you've been quiet this morning. Is something amiss?"
"Do you perhaps find our conversation unworthy of your attention?" added Lady Bridget, Clarissa's sworn rival, her tone sweet as honey and twice as false.
Clarissa sipped her tea, letting the pause stretch. She rather enjoyed the weight of their curiosity. "On the contrary," she said at last, her voice soft and deliberate. "I simply wished to save my gossip for last."
At once, the table fell silent. The Duchess of Ashburrow rarely spoke of such things — but when she did, her words rippled through Elaris by nightfall.
"What news do you bring us, my lady?" asked Lady Kendell, her impatience betraying her.
"Yes, do tell," urged another, leaning forward eagerly.
Clarissa's smile deepened. She set down her cup and leaned in, lowering her voice just enough to draw them all closer.
"The Marquess and Marchioness of Windmere," she began, "have returned from their expedition…"
A dismissive scoff came from Lady Bridget. "Is that your grand revelation? We all know they've returned."
Unbothered, Clarissa continued, her words deliberate. "Indeed. But what you do not know…" — she paused for effect — "…is that they have brought a child with them."
A collective gasp fluttered around the room.
"A child?" one woman whispered. "Do you mean the Marchioness has… finally conceived?"
Everyone knew that Lady Beatrice Sparrow was barren.
Clarissa's eyes gleamed. "She did not bear this child," she said softly. "They brought her from Zerola."
The room froze.
"A… black child?" breathed another, the words trembling with both shock and fascination. "Surely not a—"
"No," said Clarissa, cutting in smoothly. "Not a slave. The Marquess has adopted her."
Silence. Then — a ripple of gasps, louder this time. Never in the history of Britannia had such a thing been done.
"A girl or a boy?" asked Lady Bridget, forgetting her earlier disdain.
Clarissa's lips curved. "A girl."
And at that, every woman in the room leaned forward — for they all knew that Britannia would never be the same again.