CHAPTER 22

Genevieve’s POV

​I stood in front of the tall vanity mirror in my bedchamber, taking a slow, deep breath to steady my racing pulse.

​For the first time since arriving at Valenridge Manor, I didn't reach for the heavy, towering silver hairpiece or the ostentatious jewelry my mother had insisted I wear. Instead, I left my hair down in soft, simple waves, smoothing the skirt of a modest lavender dress.

​Let your real self step forward, Lady Eleanor’s voice echoed gently in my mind.

​Carrying a tray with a fresh pot of steaming chamomile tea and two porcelain cups, I walked down the quiet, sunlit corridor toward Lucian’s private study. My heart was thumping against my ribs, but I forced myself to knock lightly on the dark oak door.

​"Enter," Lucian’s deep, measured voice called out from inside.

​I pushed the door open. Lucian sat behind his massive mahogany desk, surrounded by stacks of estate ledgers and boundary maps. His dark hair was slightly unkempt, his linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and he looked thoroughly exhausted.

​He glanced up, his storm-gray eyes flashing with immediate, guarded surprise as he saw me standing there without my usual retinue of maids.

​"Genevieve," he said, setting his pen down. "Is something wrong?"

​"Nothing is wrong," I said softly, stepping into the room and setting the tray on the corner of his desk. "I just... thought you might appreciate some fresh tea. You’ve been locked in here all morning."

​Lucian looked at the steaming teacup, then back up at my face, clearly waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was so accustomed to me bursting in to complain about wedding invitations or flower arrangements that my quiet entry seemed to throw him off entirely.

​"Thank you," he said cautiously, taking a cup. "That was... thoughtful."

​I took a seat on the leather chair opposite his desk, folding my hands loosely in my lap. I smoothed my skirt, forcing myself not to ramble about high-society gossip or capital fashions.

​"How are your plans for the week coming along?" I asked gently, looking into his tired eyes. "How are the estate grounds holding up with the late summer heat?"

​Lucian paused, his teacup halfway to his lips. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion as he studied me. "The grounds are fine. I’m mostly managing the northern timber trade and the harvest projections for next month."

​"It sounds like exhausting work," I noted, offering a small, genuine smile. "Do you enjoy it? Managing the estate, I mean?"

​Lucian leaned back against his chair, his gaze lingering on me with a sudden, thoughtful weight. He was used to me talking exclusively about myself, my mother's demands, or our future court status. To have me sit here and ask about him was a completely uncharted territory between us.

​"I enjoy the quiet of it," Lucian answered, his cold tone softening just a fraction. "I prefer working outdoors, honestly. If I wasn't forced into managing Duke titles and capital politics... I think I would have been content just overseeing the farmlands."

​I let out a soft, light laugh—not the sharp, practiced chuckle I used in drawing rooms, but a real, airy sound. "A farmer? Lord Lucian of Valenridge, tending to crops?"

​"It’s an honest living," he said, the ghost of a faint smirk touching the corner of his lips. "Farming is predictable. Nature doesn't lie or play political games."

​"I suppose that's true," I murmured, leaning slightly forward. "I have never set foot on a farm in my life. My mother would faint at the mere thought of soil on her slippers. But... I do love animals. Particularly dogs."

​Lucian tilted his head, watching me with a quiet, observant intensity. "Dogs?"

​"Yes," I admitted, my cheeks warming slightly as I looked down at my tea. "When I was younger, I secretly fed the estate hunting hounds behind the stables. My mother found out and banned me from the kennels, saying a proper lady shouldn't smell like wet fur. But I always wished I could have a hound of my own."

​For three long seconds, the heavy, suffocating wall of tension between us simply vanished. Lucian stared at me, not as the arrogant heiress forced upon him by a treaty, but as a young woman sharing a quiet, vulnerable piece of her childhood.

​"The Valenridge kennels have a new litter of hunting pups," Lucian said softly, his tone gentler than I had ever heard it. "Perhaps... you could come see them sometime."

​My breath caught in my throat. My eyes widened as a wave of genuine, overwhelming warmth rushed through my chest. "I would really love that, Lucian."

​Before either of us could say another word, a firm, sudden knock broke the quiet atmosphere of the room.

​The heavy oak door creaked open, and one of the Duke’s head guards stepped into the study, bowing respectfully. "Forgive the interruption, Lord Lucian. His Grace, your father, requests your immediate presence in the main drawing room. The final trade documents have arrived."

​The brief, quiet spell shattered instantly. Lucian’s posture went rigid, the cold, stoic lord returning in a heartbeat as he set his teacup down on the saucer with a small clink.

​"I will be right there, Thomas," Lucian said smoothly.

​He stood up from his desk, pulling his coat over his shoulders. As he stepped around the desk, he paused beside my chair, looking down at me with a soft, polite nod.

​"Thank you for the tea, Lady Genevieve," he said gently. "It was... very nice talking with you."

​"Of course," I whispered, holding my breath as he excused himself and walked out the door, his heavy boots echoing down the stone corridor.

​I sat alone in the quiet study, staring at the empty teacup on his desk. A soft, radiant smile slowly spread across my face, my chest lifting with a sudden, beautiful surge of hope.

​It was just a small conversation about farmlands and dogs, but for the first time since I arrived at Valenridge, I had made a step forward. I had touched a piece of his real heart—and I was determined not to lose it.

Leo’s POV

​I sat sprawled on the velvet sofa in Father’s private parlor, dangling a half-eaten apple between my fingers as the door flew open.

​Lucian stepped inside, his posture rigid, his brow furrowed as he looked around the quiet room. "Father?"

​"Father isn't here," I said, offering a lazy smirk as I tossed the apple core onto a silver dish. "I sent Thomas to get you. I figured you needed an escape from Genevieve."

​Lucian stopped dead in his tracks, letting out a sharp, exasperated sigh. "Leo, I was actually enjoying our conversation."

​I raised a brow, genuinely surprised. "You? Enjoying a conversation with Lady Genevieve? Did she put something in your tea?" I shook my head, sitting up straighter. "So I take it you don't care to find out the identity of the lady in the yellow dress?"

​Lucian’s eyes narrowed into sharp slits of gray ice. "Of course I do. Don't tell me you found out who she is?"

​"Maybe I did," I teased, leaning back against the cushions.

​"Leo, don't push it," he warned, his voice dropping an octave into a low, dangerous growl.

​"Alright, alright!" I held up my hands in surrender. "I went to verify the last noblewoman on your list—Lady Laura . It's a dead end, brother. She was barely at the ball I think and she doesn't live in that house anymore they say she was just their maids years ago."

​Lucian rubbed his temples, sinking into the leather armchair opposite me. The quiet frustration on his face was palpable. "Then who could she possibly be? Every name on that guest list has yielded nothing."

​"What about the third name?" I asked, tilting my head as the memory flashed in my mind. "The one you scratched off the list back at Valenridge. Eva Vance. She could be the one."

​Lucian didn't even blink. "I don't think so."

​"Why?" I pressed. "Have you asked her?"

​"Yes," Lucian said flatly. "It’s Eva, the maid."

​My heart did a strange, sudden leap against my ribs. "Eva? Our maid... Eva?"

​"Yes," Lucian replied, looking at me as if I had lost my mind. "I thought you knew that."

​"No!" I blurted out, a sudden rush of heat hitting my neck. "I just thought they happened to share a common name! I didn't think our Eva would have been at a high-society capital ball!"

​"Well, she was," Lucian explained smoothly, folding his hands over his knee. "I confronted her about it days ago. She told me she slipped into the ball just to see what a grand party was like. Since it was a masquerade, she wore a simple dress so no one would suspect she wasn't highborn. She just wanted one night of fun and she never said we shared a dance, i didn't ask."

​A quiet, breathless pause hung between us.

​"Huh," I murmured, a faint, unbothered grin returning to my lips despite the strange tightening in my chest. "Quite an amazing girl, isn't she?"

​Lucian looked at me quietly, his eyes unreadable. "I suppose, i must ask her if we shared a dance."

​"So wait..." I said, leaning forward, my tone dropping into a far more cautious register as I looked my brother dead in the eye. "You were genuinely interested in the mysterious lady in yellow... who turns out to be our maid, Eva?"

​"Yes," Lucian admitted, his steady gaze never leaving mine.

​The playful air in the room evaporated instantly. A sharp, uncomfortable tension settled over us—a unspoken boundary suddenly being drawn down the middle of the rug.

​"I hope you aren't planning to marry her," I said softly, my voice laced with a subtle, protective edge I couldn't quite mask. "Are you?"

​Lucian opened his mouth to answer, but before a single word could cross his lips, the heavy parlor door creaked open again.

​A young footman bowed quickly in the archway. "Forgive me, My Lords. Her Grace, Lady Eleanor, requests both of your presences in the dining hall for lunch immediately."

​"We will be right there," Lucian answered, standing up instantly and adjusting his coat cuffs. Without another word or glance in my direction, he turned on his heel and strode out into the corridor.

​I remained seated on the velvet sofa, watching his shadow disappear down the hall.

​My knuckles tightened against my knees. Lucian was trapped in a political arrangement with Genevieve, bound by Father's treaties and the weight of the family title. He couldn't marry a maid even if he wanted to—the Duke would strip him of everything before allowing it.

​But I could.

​I closed my eyes, the vivid image of Eva standing under the moonlight in that emerald-green silk dress flashing brightly behind my eyelids—her wild, beautiful curls falling around her shoulders, her breathless laughter filling the night air.

​If Lucian couldn't have her, I would make sure she belonged to me.