Chapter 145: The Weight of First Impressions

Chapter 145: Chapter 145: The Weight of First Impressions

Elysia had spent the better part of two hours preparing.

The front reception hall had been aired and swept. Fresh flowers stood in the alcove, the finest tea service had been brought out, and the kitchen had been given a list of pastries suited to an elder who had spent four days on the road from Elwoodmere.

She had even changed her gown twice.

It was not vanity.

It was the simple knowledge that when someone had already formed a poor opinion of her, they would naturally look for reasons to justify it.

"Everything is ready, Your Grace," Bertha said.

Elysia nodded and glanced once more around the room.

Then her gaze shifted towards the east passage.

"There is still time. I shall make the soup."

Bertha’s brows rose.

"Your Grace, the kitchen can manage it."

Elysia waved the suggestion aside.

"I promised Miriam and Clara lily seed soup."

And she intended to keep that promise.

But that was not the only reason.

Waiting was the worst part of this entire affair, and Elysia had grown tired of sitting idle while wondering what sort of woman the Marchioness of Gildemont would prove to be.

Her hands wanted work.

---

The lily seeds sat waiting on a white porcelain plate, pale and clean, exactly as Miriam and Clara had left them.

Elysia set the water to boil and began preparing the soup.

It should have been a simple task.

But her mind refused to remain in the kitchen.

It kept drifting back to the matters at hand and the best way to deal with them.

She reached for the pot without looking.

Her forearm brushed against the heated edge.

A sharp sting shot through her skin before she even realised what had happened.

She jerked her arm back, the spoon clattering against the rim.

A red welt had already risen across her skin, ugly and raw against the pale underside of her forearm.

"Your Grace!"

Miriam was at her side in an instant.

She caught Elysia’s wrist and turned the injured arm towards the lamp.

"Oh—that is a bad one. I’ll fetch Doctor Grey—"

"It is nothing."

"Your Grace—"

"I’ll put it under cold water."

Elysia gently drew her arm free.

"The Marchioness will be here at any moment. I am not going to receive an elder of this family with a physician following me over a burn from a soup pot."

Miriam opened her mouth, then thought better of arguing.

She fetched the water.

Elysia held her arm beneath it until the worst of the heat subsided. Miriam then wrapped the burn in clean linen, and Elysia pulled her sleeve carefully over it.

Then she returned to the soup.

She set aside a portion for Cassiel, who had not yet returned, and sent the rest to the household.

She had just finished drying her hands when footsteps sounded in the corridor.

---

Elysia turned, expecting the steward.

It was Bran.

He had clearly come in from the rain without stopping to shake the water from his cloak, and he bowed as though he intended to leave again within the minute.

"Your Grace. His Grace is at the army camp."

Elysia’s hands stilled around the cloth.

"There are several matters he must see to tonight. He will not return until tomorrow morning."

Bran straightened.

"He was concerned you might sit up waiting for him. He asked me to tell you to rest first."

Elysia was quiet for a moment.

So Cassiel would not be returning tonight.

For some reason, disappointment settled faintly in her chest.

She quickly dismissed it.

"I understand."

Bran bowed again.

"Then I have delivered the message. I shall take my leave."

He turned towards the door.

Elysia stopped him.

"Bran, I made lily seed soup. Have some before you go."

Bran scratched the back of his head.

"I ought to return and report to His Grace..."

He hesitated.

The fragrance of the soup drifted through the room.

A moment later, he was already turning back towards the table.

"But since you have offered, I shall have a little."

A small smile touched Elysia’s lips.

"I set a bowl aside for the Duke as well. It will not keep overnight. Take it with you."

"Got it."

Bran picked up his spoon with obvious enthusiasm.

By the time he had finished, his spirits were visibly improved. He tucked the container Elysia had prepared for Cassiel beneath his arm, bowed once more, and headed back out into the dark.

Elysia watched him leave.

Then she returned to her chambers.

---

A maid appeared in the doorway, her face flushed from hurrying.

"Your Grace."

She bowed hastily.

"The Marchioness’s carriage has arrived at the outer gate."

"Good." ℴℴ𝘮

Elysia set down the cloth in her hands.

"Inform the steward, and—"

"Your Grace."

The girl had not straightened.

Elysia stopped.

"Is there something else?"

"Lady Melissa was already waiting there."

The corridor seemed to grow very quiet.

"Waiting where?"

"At the outer gate, Your Grace."

The maid lowered her voice.

"She went out some while ago with two of her own maids. She greeted the Marchioness the moment the carriage door opened."

Elysia said nothing.

The maid continued,

"She said she could not bear to have the Marchioness received by servants alone."

Bertha’s head came up sharply.

"Together?"

"Yes. Along the lantern path."

Elysia turned towards the window.

Beyond the glass, the rain had thinned to a fine mist, and the lamps along the front drive glowed in a long, patient line through the darkness.

The outer gate to the inner courtyard.

She had walked that path herself more times than she could count.

At an unhurried pace, in damp weather, beside an elder who had already spent four days travelling from Elwoodmere...

A quarter of an hour.

Perhaps longer.

Elysia’s fingers curled slowly against her palm, and the burn beneath the linen stirred with the movement.

She had prepared the hall.

She had prepared the tea.

She had prepared herself.

And none of it mattered now.

Melissa had played her first move.

The meeting would not begin in the reception hall.

It had already begun at the gate.

"Your Grace." Bertha’s voice tightened. "Shall I send the steward out to them? Or I could go myself."

"On what grounds?"

Elysia’s tone remained level.

"She is greeting her sister-in-law. There is nothing improper in it. If I send someone to interrupt them, it will look unseemly."

Bertha’s mouth closed.

Elysia turned away from the window.

She thought of the marriage prospects Melissa had tried to arrange for Lillian. Of the resentment that had been building ever since. Of the weeks Melissa had spent swallowing her grievances because Cassiel had forbidden her from bringing them directly to Elysia.

All of it had been sitting in Melissa’s chest with nowhere to go.

And now an aunt had arrived from Elwoodmere.

Someone with enough rank to act.

Someone who had already witnessed Elysia with Vaelen in the rain that afternoon and had left the palace with her judgement unsettled.

Melissa had been handed a quarter of an hour alone with her.

She would not waste a second of it.

By the time that walk ended, the Marchioness would be carrying a version of Elysia assembled entirely from other people’s words.

Elysia stood very still.

If she went down now, she would be entering a room where the ground had already been prepared.

Every word she offered would be weighed against whatever Melissa had said along the way.

Every courtesy could be mistaken for pretence.

Every explanation could sound like a defence.

And Melissa would be sitting there with an innocent expression, ready to place one carefully chosen remark beside every word Elysia spoke.

There was no conversation she could win tonight.

So she would not have it tonight.

"Bertha."

"Your Grace?"

"Go to the reception hall and receive my aunt on my behalf."

Bertha blinked.

"On your behalf?"

"Tell her my old injuries have flared with the damp. Tell her I had already retired for the night when her carriage arrived, and that I beg her forgiveness."

Elysia’s voice remained quiet and even.

"See that the tea is poured the moment she is seated, and that the guest chambers are properly warmed. Everything else is to proceed exactly as I instructed."

Clara, who had followed Bertha into the room with the pastry list still in her hand, could not hold her tongue.

"Your Grace, forgive me, but that would be unwise."

Elysia looked at her.

"The Marchioness already thinks poorly of you," Clara said, lowering her voice. "And Lady Melissa has had her ear since the gate. If you refuse to appear now, it will only confirm whatever she has been told. It may seem arrogant. Even disrespectful."

"It will," Elysia agreed.

Clara stared at her.

"Then why?"

"Because it is not the right time."

Clara opened her mouth, then closed it again.

She was clearly unconvinced.

Bertha, however, understood.

The older maid’s expression softened with quiet approval.

"Your Grace has already decided what she wishes to do."

Elysia looked at her.

Bertha gave a small nod.

"Then I shall see that it is done."

She turned and left.

Clara followed reluctantly, still glancing back as though hoping Elysia might change her mind.

She did not.