Chapter 13 How to Impress a Lady
No sooner had he returned to his apartments than Oscar heard a knock on his door. Brennan stood on the other side, as upright as ever.
“Lord Oscar, the Duchess would like to invite you to lunch this midday.”
Oscar raised an eyebrow, taken aback by the proposal.
“The Duchess? I thought she only wished to share dinners together?”
“I am merely relaying her invitation,” he replied calmly.
The young man hesitated. Was he about to be scolded like a child once again? She had granted him a great deal of freedom, so refusing should not have posed a problem. And yet, he remained curious.
“Very well. Tell her that I accept her invitation.”
Brennan inclined his head slightly.
“Lunch will be served at 12:30 in the great hall.”
Oscar thanked him and, before the majordomo could turn on his heel, called after him.
“And Brennan—how is Abélie’s training coming along?”
The majordomo paused for a moment in silence.
“Quite well, Lord Oscar. Beneath her flighty exterior, Abélie proves to be quick-witted and eager to learn, though she does possess certain… shortcomings. I am confident she will be able to assist you properly in the future.”
“Thank you, Brennan. You may go,” Oscar dismissed him.
The majordomo bowed, an annoyed—though discreet—pout crossing his face, and disappeared down the corridors.
A glance at the clock told the young man he still had forty-five minutes before lunch.
Oscar threw open the doors of the wardrobe. Before him stood the luxurious garments he had brought from Rivière. He studied them with a satisfied smile; his father had always taught him that appearances mattered. He therefore needed to dress with elegance and style—to impress her.
The only problem…
Oscar had never truly cared about clothes, and despite his generously stocked wardrobe, he now found himself hesitating. Did the red vest go well with the red cufflinks? Or should he vary the colours for greater refinement? Or perhaps wear a broad jacket? A cape? No—capes were reserved for balls and social evenings. And upon closer inspection, did blue make his complexion look paler? Could a garment really do that?
His father had always taken great care to supervise his outfits for important occasions. Outside of those, Oscar dressed plainly—practically—in clothes suited to drawing a sword quickly. But now…
He considered calling Abélie. She had a feminine eye for such things; she would certainly know how to help him. Yet deep down, the situation felt embarrassing. He did not want to appear as though he were dressing for Brynn, no. He was merely… dressing to prove that he was a man of taste. Since she had invited him to lunch, he needed to make a strong impression; a strong impression for… for…
Without realising it, only ten minutes remained before the meal. Pressed for time, he quickly refreshed himself in the washroom before donning a green vest and a golden tie. That should suffice, and the colours seemed to harmonise well together. Or perhaps not…
He was overthinking it.
Five minutes before the appointed hour, he made his way down to the dining hall. It was still empty; only a maid waited patiently and invited him to take a seat. Rain beat against the tall windows of the great hall, yet sunlight still filtered through, lending the room a pleasant atmosphere. Impatience began to creep in.
At precisely 12:30, the great doors opened to admit Lady Brynn. Once again, she wore green—but a darker green than before, a sort of fir green. He rose without undue haste and stepped forward to greet her with an elegant bow.
“Your Grace.”
She smiled at him, her usual enigmatic smile.
“Lord Oscar, I hope my sudden invitation did not catch you off guard. I know how attached you are to your independence, but I thought it might be…” She chose her words carefully: “…a good idea.”
“I was surprised, truthfully,” he replied as he straightened. “But you honour me, of course.”
She seated herself at the far end of the long table, facing him. That same self-assured smile lingered on her lips, but for now, he paid it no mind.
“Green suits you well, my Lord. It is a deep green that complements your dark hair,” she remarked.
“Oh, you think so?” He offered a brief smile before regaining his composure. “I always choose my clothes carefully—it is important when one holds such a status,” he lied.
A maid served the starters as Lady Brynn took her glass of wine in hand, not fooled in the slightest.
“It is a deep green reminiscent of the colour of my own dress. What a lovely coincidence.”
It was true—they did seem to have chosen matching outfits. He adjusted the knot of his tie, suddenly worried it might be crooked.
“A lovely coincidence indeed.”
The dishes served were as lavish as ever. Oscar could not say he was growing tired of them—he felt invigorated—but in time, he knew he would miss the fare of Rivière. As he took a bite of the juicy leg of lamb, he observed the Duchess from the corner of his eye.
Why had she summoned him?
As though she were reading his thoughts, she set down her fork and addressed him.
“I saw your athletic performance this morning.”
“My athletic performance?”
“Yes—your duel with Sir Rossi. It was impressive.”
“And yet I lost,” he pointed out, still bitter.
A faint smile touched her lips before she raised her wine glass. She was difficult to decipher, and that simple gesture alone stirred mixed feelings in Oscar.
“Sir Rossi told me he halted the duel before either of you lost. Do not be humble, my Lord; not everyone can stand their ground against the commander of my army… of our army.”
The sudden praise embarrassed Oscar, and he even felt himself blush slightly. He was not accustomed to receiving compliments outside the soldiers of Rivière—certainly not from a lady. He lowered his gaze to his glass to hide his discomfort.