Fated Hearts: Reborn to be His Duchess

Chapter 100: Chapter 100: Clashing Expectations

On the appointed day, Elysia chose the relatively cool pavilion beside the water for the gathering. The servants arranged refreshments and an assortment of pastries, while the gentle breeze coming off the lake kept the summer heat at bay.

The hour of the gathering was still some way off. Elysia was walking through a final round of checks, making sure that nothing had been overlooked, when Melissa arrived ahead of time.

"Lady Melissa. You’ve arrived early."

Elysia greeted her with a smile.

"And a good thing too—another moment of this and my daughter’s future would be beyond saving."

Melissa’s voice was icy, her face devoid of any warmth.

"Mother," Lillian said quietly, "Her Grace is going to the trouble of finding me a good match. Please don’t be like this."

"A good match?"

Melissa rounded on her.

"There would be nothing good about you being handed off to the Sorens."

She had been kept in the dark for days. Only that morning had she learned what was being arranged—a betrothal between Lillian and the nephew of Lieutenant Rennor’s wife—and the fury had not left her since.

The Soren name carried no title. A long line of scholars, perhaps, but one that had not produced a single official of rank in living memory.

Her lip curled into a sneer.

"How generous. Some people, having married into one of the greatest houses in the land themselves, are now busy pairing off other people’s daughters with nameless scholars."

Her eyes narrowed.

"One might almost think they couldn’t bear to see anyone do better than themselves."

The colour drained from Lillian’s face. She tugged anxiously at her mother’s sleeve.

"Mother—"

Melissa shook the hand away without a glance.

Elysia’s expression remained composed.

"You object to Mr. Soren, then."

At once Melissa’s mouth bent into a smile too thin to be sincere.

"I would never presume, Your Grace. You are the mistress of this house, and you have chosen a husband for Lillian. What place do I have to object?"

A small, derisive laugh left her mouth.

"I’m only an aunt by marriage. An outsider. My views count for nothing around here."

Elysia’s brow drew together.

"Though I confess I find it a little strange." Melissa’s voice took on an edge. "The Corvis girl is thought fit to be Crown Princess. My husband died for this kingdom—"

Her eyes blazed.

"—and his daughter isn’t fit to be so much as a concubine?"

Elysia did not pause.

"No. Absolutely not."

Her voice brook no argument.

The outright refusal made Melissa’s eyes frigid.

"Or is it envy? You never did manage to marry the Crown Prince yourself, after all."

Elysia’s frown tightened further.

Miriam came forward in an instant.

"Mind your tongue before Her Grace!"

Melissa paused, seeming to belatedly grasp how far she had overstepped.

She drew the worst of the temper back in, though the rancour still clung to her every word.

"I intend no offence to Her Grace," she continued with a stiff smile. "I only say what is true. Whatever once passed between Her Grace and the Crown Prince—"

"Mother!"

Lillian could not stand it anymore.

Melissa turned, irritated.

"What? What is it?"

Lillian drew a breath.

The things Riven had said to her earlier were still with her, warm and steadying, and for once she found the courage to stand up for herself.

Her fingers closed tightly.

"The match Her Grace has made for me... it isn’t Mr. Soren."

She swallowed.

"And you have no right to speak to her this way."

Only the first half reached Melissa.

"Not the Soren boy?"

Her eyes sharpened to points.

"Then who?"

Lillian gathered herself and drew another breath.

"A gentleman. I met him on the hill. He—"

"A gentleman." Melissa’s voice sliced across hers, suspicion flashing on her face. "And when, precisely, did you meet this gentleman?"

"When I went with His Grace and Her Grace to pay respects at Father’s grave."

"This gentleman is of what house?" Melissa pressed. "What title does his family hold?"

Lillian’s eyes fell.

Her voice thinned to almost nothing.

"He... isn’t of a great house. They hold no title."

She hesitated before admitting, "He is... a merchant."

"A merchant?"

Melissa’s voice climbed to a shriek.

"You mean to marry a merchant?"

Lillian had no chance to explain. The tirade broke over her like weather.

"You witless girl! I carried you, I raised you—for this? To throw yourself away on a merchant? Your father’s influence rotted your head and left you a brainless fool!"

Her voice shook.

"Better you had gone into the ground after him!"

Every trace of colour left Lillian’s face.

Then something occurred to Melissa and her look turned to flint.

"That day you slipped out... You went to that drifter, didn’t you."

Guilt flickered across Lillian’s face—and Melissa immediately seized on it.

She was on her feet in the same breath, and her palm cracked across her daughter’s cheek.

"Shameless little wretch!"

The force of it knocked Lillian sideways, her pinned hair shaking loose to spill over her shoulders.

Elysia, blindsided, rose at once.

"Guards—restrain her!"

Several moved in without delay.

Melissa wheeled on them, whatever deference she had left burned away.

"I am correcting my own daughter. Who among you dares stand in my way?"

She flung a poisonous look at Elysia.

"If you hadn’t insisted on dragging her out that day, that drifter would never have crossed her path!"

Elysia’s expression turned to stone.

"He is no drifter. He—"

"No name! No standing! No title!"

Melissa’s shout buried the words.

"What is that but a drifter?"

She spun back to Lillian, the whole of her rage narrowing onto her daughter.

"Tell me." The demand came out hard and cold. "How far has this gone?"

Lillian’s lips shook.

"Have you slept with him already?"

Lillian shook her head quickly, her eyes filling.

"We have done nothing—"

A contemptuous laugh escaped Melissa.

"Still lying to me!"

Disgust warped her features.

"Then it seems you’ll learn nothing without a lesson today."

Her hand lifted once more.

"Stop!"

Before Elysia could move between them, a man’s voice cut in from the doorway.

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