Chapter 20 An Unwanted Visitor
The next day, having just finished his breakfast, Oscar was walking through the corridors toward the quarters assigned to Madame Brown when he caught sight of Lady Brynn in the great hall. Curious, he approached. He had never actually “run into” her in the corridors before, which was strange, considering this was her home. He was about to call out to her when he noticed she was accompanied by a very well-dressed man.
The young lord possessed a well-stocked wardrobe, and yet beside the stranger, he seemed to pale in comparison. The man was laughing, his golden moustache giving him a polished and elegant air—perhaps even more so than his clothing. Oscar moved closer, his interest suddenly piqued.
Was he one of those infamous lovers of the Duchess?
No. The very idea made his chest tighten.
The man bore a crest on his shoulder; his finely tailored clothes left little doubt that he was a noble. A potential suitor? Or perhaps a count that had come to conduct business?
Oscar had just begun descending the stairs when Lady Brynn and the stranger, mid-conversation, fell silent and looked up at him. While the man appeared surprised, Oscar could have sworn he caught another of those satisfied smiles playing on the Duchess’s lips. As soon as Oscar reached the bottom of the stairs, she took his arm, holding it with a certain warmth.
Oscar raised an eyebrow, startled by the gesture, but before he could ask for an explanation, she turned to the stranger.
“Lord Emeric, allow me to introduce my fiancé, Lord Oscar Rivière,” she announced proudly.
The man, too, raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback.
“I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“Indeed. I had intended to announce it to His Imperial Majesty, and I am certain Lord Andréus intended to do the same, but this man is the future Duke of Rivière—and my fiancé. A union blessed by fate.”
Strangely enough, the man did not seem pleased by the news. On the contrary, he appeared… unsettled. He coughed and cleared his throat.
“Lady Brynn, you never mentioned such a matter to me, and His Majesty is unaware of it.”
“Of course. A love story between two nobles—you know how rumours can twist such things. I preferred to keep it to myself until the marriage is made official.”
Oscar said nothing, listening intently. She wished to conceal this hasty contract. The man looked Oscar up and down for a moment. It was true that, in the confusion, the young lord had forgotten about basic politeness. Madame Brown would have rapped his knuckles for that.
Reluctantly, he extended his hand, brows drawn together.
“I am Oscar Rivière, heir to the Duchy of Rivière.”
Though Oscar was irritated by the man’s overly pompous demeanour, his interlocutor hesitated before taking his hand, his posture tense. He shook it weakly. Oscar returned the gesture firmly. The man grimaced.
“Charmed. I am Lord Emeric Brotten.”
Then it clicked. He bore the insignia of the Imperial family’s emissaries.
The conversation that followed amounted to little more than an exchange of courtesies before the man—clearly in a hurry—took his leave, not without first pressing a kiss to Lady Brynn’s hand that Oscar found far too lingering. Whatever the case, the man offered a final greeting and, in a rush of movement, nodded to Oscar before nearly fleeing through the front doors. Oscar frowned at the abrupt turn of events.
The doors slammed shut, closed by Herny, as stoic as ever. The sound of hooves crunching on gravel echoed moments later, followed by the carriage pulling away, leaving behind only a faint cloud of dust.
Then calm returned.
And the duchess burst into laughter, startling both Oscar and the majordomo.
“Lady Brynn? Are you quite well?” the future Duke asked, concerned.
She fanned herself lightly, her shoulders trembling.
“I am perfectly well—especially after seeing dear Emeric’s expression. He was not pleased!” she laughed. “And you, my dear! You looked as though you were ready to leap at him!”
Oscar raised an eyebrow.
“Me?”
She gave him an amused pout.
“Yes, you. You nearly crushed his hand with that grip. His fingers were turning white.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he replied flatly. After all, the man’s fate mattered little to him.
She smiled.
“Good heavens, I did not know you had such an imposing side. Did something about that man displease you?”
He looked at her—perhaps a little too long. Yes. That much was true. Something had displeased him.
Time seemed to stretch; the silence grew heavy. Lady Brynn cleared her throat.
“My Lord?”
Abruptly, Oscar returned to himself. He shook his head, unable to identify the precise, sensitive nerve that man had struck. He cleared his throat in turn.
“I didn’t like his attitude. He was too… pompous.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“But is that not the hallmark of all nobles—to be ‘pompous’, ‘frivolous’, and ‘grandiloquent’?”
“Just because it characterises them all does not mean it is something to emulate—or something I enjoy.”
She reopened her fan, hiding her face behind it. He felt an urge to close it again.
“And I—do you find me pompous? Or grandiloquent?” she asked playfully.
He hesitated, then finally shook his head.
“Not you. You are more direct… At times, I even feel that pretences bore you.”
Her fan stilled for a moment.
“Oh? And what makes you say that?”
“Our conversations. You frown ever so slightly whenever I use overly polite phrasing.”
There was a brief pause. Then she snapped her fan shut with a sharp click. A smile followed.
“We have only known each other for a little over a week.”
This time, it was his turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Yes—and?”
They watched one another. Her eyes, locked onto his, seemed to probe his very soul. He swallowed.
“No, no—nothing,” she finally said. “I simply find it… interesting.”