Golden watched until the carriage disappeared from view before he took himself back up to the private room. As he opened the door, he was met with an angry-looking Alistair.
"What had you wasting my time?" Alistair asked, a frown marring his features.
Golden opened his mouth to respond, but Alistair did not grant him a word before continuing: "Do you fancy my soon-to-be woman, Golden?"
Golden restrained himself from twitching his lips. "I dare not, Your Grace." Though not the duke himself, Alistair had commanded all employees to address him as they would the Grand Duke.
Alistair claiming Esmeralda—who Golden was certain held no affection for him—as his soon-to-be woman unsettled him in ways he could not quite comprehend.
He watched as Alistair stood. Golden was a head taller than his master. Alistair paid the waitress and then exited the room, with Golden swiftly on his heels.
Once they were both settled inside the carriage, the coach gave a gentle flick to the reins, and the two horses began to move.
For the first few minutes, the carriage remained silent, until Alistair broke it.
"How do you see Lady Esmeralda? What do you think of her?" He did not look at his bodyguard as he posed the question, and Golden did not look at him in turn.
Golden remained silent, considering his words before he answered: "She is a lovely lady." There. Concise. Simple.
What did he think of Esmeralda?
He thought a great deal about her, but such thoughts were not ones he intended to share with Alistair.
"I think so as well. She's the finest of all the women I've encountered," Alistair agreed with a nod.
Golden knew where this was leading, though he silently hoped it would not go there in full.
"I shall inform my father about her. I believe I have found a wife." He ended with a smug chuckle, while Golden's jaw clenched.
Alistair's parents had long pestered him to marry. He was of age, of course, though the young man had no real desire to rush into matrimony. His parents, however, did not share his sentiment.
Esmeralda, as Alistair's wife, meant she was off limits.
His pursuit of the fine lady had not even begun, and yet it had already ended.
Alistair and Golden arrived at the next venue. The date was pleasant—another lady who, in his estimation, threw herself at him. It was a good enough engagement, but Alistair's eyes were already set on someone: Esmeralda.
The coach conveyed them back to the duke's mansion. Alistair alighted first and made directly for his mother. She was in her chamber, and he knocked before slipping inside.
"How was your date, dear?" There had been two engagements, but he knew she was referring to Esmeralda.
"It was a lovely event," he said, settling himself onto the couch. "She is lovely, and I like her. I should like to make her my wife."
Alistair's mother, Eunice, was visibly surprised. She had believed it would take more than a single encounter to stir her son's affections. She liked Esmeralda—though she did not know her personally, she was reputed to be a woman of fine morals and virtue, and thus perfect for her son.
"Does she fancy you as you do her?" the Duchess Eunice asked.
Alistair blinked. "Of course she does. Why would she not?" He looked genuinely puzzled. "Everyone would like the duke's son. Wealth and social status. Who would reject such?"
They did not know Esmeralda very well, for if they did, they would know she was one of those rare women who cared very little for wealth or status. A quiet, uncelebrated life in Isolde's Town was all she ever wished for.
"Well then. I hope she shares your sentiments."
Golden, who stood just outside the door and had overheard the entire exchange, scoffed silently. Oh, how foolish Alistair was. Alistair and his mother conversed a little longer before he departed her chamber. Golden straightened as his master emerged from the Duchess's room and then followed him to his father's chamber, once again waiting outside.
As he waited, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, his thoughts drifting to the golden-haired, emerald-eyed lady.
How utterly breathtaking she had looked in that red dress—one that had stolen the very breath from his lungs the moment she entered the room. To say he had been shocked would be a dire understatement. He had been utterly blindsided upon learning she was Alistair's date. He knew not how such a thing came to pass, but from the way of it, Esmeralda had likely not met Alistair personally. Perhaps she had met his mother, he supposed.
He recalled how soft her hand felt and how he had not been able to stop himself from placing a kiss upon it. It was hardly appropriate, especially considering his station as a mere bodyguard and the fact that his master fancied the lady. But call him petty, for he cared not. He had known her first, and he also knew Esmeralda did not like Alistair.
Golden leaned further back against the wall, wondering when next he might see Esmeralda or whether he ever would. Most of all, he wondered why he was thinking of her so incessantly.
Alistair emerged just then, cutting short his musings and dismissing him for the day. Golden returned to his own chamber within the main mansion. Alistair had requested it so, that his guard might remain close at hand.
Golden was grateful for the room; it was far more agreeable than any he might have had in the servants' or guards' quarters.
He locked the door behind him, unfastened his sheathed sword, undressed to his underdrawers, and lay upon the bed. The room was dim, lit only by a single flickering candle.
He covered his face with his hand, one solitary thought echoing through his mind.
Why had Esmeralda not written to him yet?