Rain came again the next morning, brushing the windowpanes with steady rhythm, soft and relentless. The manor felt quieter than usual,more watchful, as if its very walls could sense the shift in Elenora's behavior.
She hadn't slept well.
It wasn't guilt that kept her awake. Nor fear.
It was the memory of something simple: laughter.
Her own.
It had startled her when it slipped past her lips yesterday in that forgotten greenhouse. Darius Cain had said something sharp and foolish about the absurdity of marmalade, and before she could stop herself, she had laughed. Briefly. Lightly.
And it had frightened her more than anything else that week.
* * *
Elenora stood before her wardrobe now, staring at the rows of gowns selected by her lady's maid.
"Lilac for the luncheon, my lady?" the girl asked softly.
"No." Elenora turned. "The green velvet."
The maid blinked. "For a morning engagement?"
"Yes."
There was no further explanation. The gown was fitted,elegant but bold, its deep emerald color a quiet defiance against soft pastels and polite appearances.
She wore it like armor.
* * *
The venue was Lady Ameline Worthing's drawing room,a space designed more for display than comfort. Gilded mirrors, lace curtains, and the overwhelming scent of rosewater made the air thick with performance.
Elenora took her place among the circle of noblewomen gathered near the hearth. Conversations buzzed around her, low and polite, like bees around spoiled jam.
She responded where necessary, smiled when required, but her thoughts remained elsewhere.
Until she heard it.
"I heard he's not even legitimate," whispered Lady Penrose, fanning herself with calculated elegance. "No title, no lands, no respectable family. A tradesman's son, I believe. And yet he walks into balls as if he were royalty."
"Oh, but have you seen him?" Lady Whitcombe replied with a sly grin. "Men like that don't need titles. They wear arrogance better than crowns."
They giggled. Elenora didn't move.
"And the way he speaks to Lady Elenora,shocking, really," Penrose added. "No decorum at all. And she allows it."
Silence.
Then, a glance,pointed and glittering,was cast in Elenora's direction.
She met it without flinching. "Perhaps that's because I've grown bored of decorum."
The room quieted.
Lady Ameline recovered first with a delicate cough. "Well," she said with a brittle smile, "we all go through rebellious moods, don't we?"
* * *
Elenora left early.
She needed air. Or distance. Or both.
She didn't return to the manor. Instead, she instructed the driver to take the longer route through the East Side, past the old cathedral and into the district where the buildings leaned and breathed and aged with honesty.
She asked to be let out a block from the orphanage.
She had no reason to go. No appointment. No message to deliver.
But she walked there anyway.
* * *
The children recognized her instantly. They ran to greet her, some barefoot, some sticky with jam, others trailing handmade dolls and hopeful smiles. Elenora smiled back,not the tight-lipped smile of noblewomen, but something softer. Warmer.
"She came back!" one girl whispered loudly, tugging at her sleeve.
"She came back," Elenora repeated, almost to herself.
The headmistress met her at the doorway. "He's out back," she said quietly, as if reading her mind.
"I wasn't looking for him."
The woman smiled knowingly. "Of course not."
* * *
The garden behind the orphanage was nothing more than a small rectangle of overgrown grass and wooden benches, bordered by ivy-covered brick. Darius stood with a hammer in one hand, attempting to mend a crooked fence post while a boy passed him nails like a solemn assistant.
He didn't see her at first.
She stood a moment, watching.
He was focused, sleeves rolled, hair slightly damp from the mist. There was no charm on his face,no grin. Just work. Effort. Patience.
It unsettled her more than any of his provocations ever had.
* * *
"I thought men like you paid others to fix fences," she called.
He looked up, startled,then smiled. "And I thought duchesses didn't wander into gardens uninvited."
"I don't see a gatekeeper."
He set down the hammer. "You shouldn't be here."
"No," she agreed. "But I am."
He wiped his hands on a rag. "What would the Duke say?"
"He rarely notices where I am. As long as I arrive when summoned."
He studied her for a moment. "You wear that green like it's a weapon."
She looked down at her gown, then back at him. "It is."
"And who are you fighting?"
She didn't answer.
* * *
He walked toward her, slowly, stopping only when he was close enough that she could smell the clean scent of pine and rain on his coat.
"I heard what they said about me at the luncheon," he said, voice low.
She blinked. "How?"
"You think I don't have ears in velvet rooms?"
She almost smiled. "They called you a bastard."
"I've been called worse."
"They said you weren't respectable."
"I'm not."
"They think you're dangerous."
That made him pause. "And you? What do you think?"
She met his gaze. Her voice was quiet. "I think... you're the only man in this city who doesn't pretend."
His brow lifted slightly, and something flickered in his eyes,respect, maybe. Or something gentler.
He stepped back, just slightly. "Why did you come?"
She didn't know how to answer that.
So instead, she said the truth.
"I couldn't stop thinking about the way you made me laugh."
That stunned him.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then his expression softened. "Neither could I."
* * *
They sat side by side on the worn bench.
The fence forgotten. The rain forgotten. The world quiet.
They didn't touch. They didn't flirt. They didn't name what had begun to bloom between them.
They simply sat,two people from two worlds, unsure of the path before them, but unwilling to walk away.
For now, it was enough.