CHAPTER 16: SILK AND ASHES

Genevieve’s POV

I spent nearly two hours at my vanity this morning, ensuring every dark coil of my hair was pinned with silver leaf clips and every fold of my dusty-rose gown sat with absolute capital perfection.

My mother’s voice rang in my ears with every brush stroke. You are twenty-one, Genevieve. If you return to the capital without a duchess’s ring this season, you are an embarrassment to the Sterling name. Do not let that cold northern family dismiss you.

Twenty-one. In the eyes of the court, I was already standing on the precipice of becoming an afterthought. A bitter, unmarried woman left behind while younger debutantes inherited the ballrooms.

I finally found Lucian in the sunlit loggia off the courtyard, sitting alone at a stone table with a plate of roasted meats, crusty bread, and a glass of dark wine. His linen sleeves were rolled back as he reviewed a stack of trade ledgers, looking infuriatingly handsome and utterly distant.

"May I join you?" I asked, putting on my sweetest, most practiced capital smile as I stepped beneath the archway.

Lucian paused, his quill hovering over the paper. He masked his annoyance with a polite nod. "Lady Genevieve. Of course."

I sat opposite him, adjusting my silk skirt before reaching for the porcelain tea service.

"I was thinking," I began lightly, "once our wedding arrangements are finalized, we should host a winter gala at the capital townhouse. My mother says the Sterling name alone could draw the entire royal court. I could handle the guest lists, the décor, the music. I assure you, Lucian, I know precisely how to elevate a house's reputation."

Lucian didn't look up from his ledger. He simply dipped his quill into the inkwell. "House De Witt has never cared much for capital galas, Genevieve."

"Well, they should," I pressed, forcing an airy laugh. "A Duke must maintain a certain image. You are far too quiet, sitting out here in the country. You need a woman who knows how to command a room, how to hold power, how to—"

"I am quite content with the quiet," Lucian interrupted. He closed the leather binder with a soft thud and took a slow sip of wine. "If you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to with the steward."

He began to stand.

The smile vanished from my face.

"I know you do not want to marry me," I said flatly.

Lucian froze, his storm-gray eyes finally locking onto mine.

I pulled my hands into my lap, lacing my fingers together to stop them from trembling. The haughty girl who complained about soup and country air disappeared, leaving only someone tired and desperate.

"I am twenty-one, Lucian," I murmured, staring at the pristine tablecloth. "My mother told me before I boarded the carriage that if I fail to secure this match, this is my final season. I will be hidden away at our estate in the marshes. I will be a disgrace. A Sterling failure."

"Genevieve..."

"I know I am loud," I continued, my voice cracking before I caught myself. "I know I boast about capital chefs and expensive linens. But that is how I was raised. I was taught that my only worth in this world is to be impressive enough to win a powerful man. I am trying, Lucian. I am trying so hard to show you that I can be useful to you."

A heavy silence settled over the loggia.

Lucian slowly sat back down, the coldness leaving his face and giving way to something solemn and almost apologetic.

"Genevieve," he said gently, "you deserve a life where you do not have to perform just to be valued."

Heat prickled behind my eyes.

"It is not about your vanity, or your family, or your age," he continued. "I have no desire to marry anyone. I am bound by duty, yes, but I know myself. I am a cold, insular man who belongs in the quiet corners of this valley. I would make you thoroughly miserable, and you would grow to hate me. I am simply the wrong man for you."

I searched his handsome, quiet face. He was being honest with me—perhaps for the first time since I arrived. But honesty couldn't save me from my mother's wrath.

"We could make a fine couple," I whispered, reaching for his sleeve. "If you would just give us a chance, Lucian. Let me try. We could learn to fit together."

He looked down at my hand before releasing a long, quiet sigh.

"Very well, Genevieve," he said softly. "We will see."

He stood, gave me a brief, respectful bow, and walked away, his boots clicking against the stone path until he disappeared into the main corridor.

I remained at the table, staring at the empty seat across from me.

He said yes.

A cold, hollow ache settled in my chest.

He said yes, and he didn't mean a single word of it.

I picked up my teacup, my fingers trembling as I took a small sip of the cooling liquid.

I was playing a game I was destined to lose, trapped in a house that didn't want me and praying for a miracle before the season came to a bitter, terrifying end.