Chapter 236: Societal Norms

Leone’s lips parted, but no answer came immediately. She seemed almost taken aback by the open hostility in Aveline’s eyes.

Then she noticed something else.

Her heart seemed to stop.

Aveline looked eerily like Leveret.

Those delicate features. That porcelain skin. The same bright, searching eyes, though Aveline’s were blue where Leveret’s had been softer. Even the confidence in her posture, the effortless grace with which she carried herself, stirred something painfully familiar in Leone.

Leveret’s grandchild.

The realization sent a strange tremor through her.

But this was not Leveret.

This girl was barely a third of her age. She had no reason to look at Leone with such hostility, no reason to carry that same proud little tilt of the chin that had once driven her mad.

Leveret had been dead for decades.

Leone swallowed and forced herself to remember that.

Whatever resemblance she saw, this was another girl. And yet, that girl’s eyes were looking at her as though she were an enemy.

"I came..." Leone said quietly, "...to speak with you."

Aveline scoffed. "Really? What does the Archduchess and I have in common to talk about?"

Leone stiffened.

She was rarely spoken to in such a manner. In fact, she could hardly remember the last time someone had addressed her with such open disrespect. Hearing it from a young woman who looked so much like her only made the insult sting more.

She lifted her chin.

"Where is my husband?"

There was something almost deliberate in the question, as though she were reminding Aveline exactly who she was speaking to.

She was the wife of Lucien Caelvaris, the Archduke, and he was not some old man Aveline could casually dismiss.

And perhaps, for one fleeting moment, Leone had forgotten that she was not speaking to Leveret, and she didn’t have to remind this girl who she was.

Leveret—the woman her husband had loved so deeply. The woman who had been dead for decades.

Aveline did not even blink. What could this woman want? And how would she know where Lucien was?

"Who? Lucien?" She glanced thoughtfully at the tree trunk beside her. "I had him chained here the whole day. I only just released him to graze."

Then her blue eyes returned to Leone, and her lips curved into an innocent little smile.

"You!" Leone’s entire body began to tremble.

Literally.

"You!" she repeated, her voice shaking with outrage. "Is this how you speak about someone like him? Like he’s cattle? He is a respected man! He is the Archduke of—"

"Oh, I usually just call him Old Man." Aveline shrugged. "Since you are his wife, I thought I should at least use his name when speaking to you. And somehow, you still find fault with me?"

Leone stared at her. For several seconds, she seemed incapable of forming a response. Then she raised a trembling finger toward Aveline.

"You uncouth little thing!"

Her voice rose with every word.

"Do you truly have no notion of propriety? Who raised you? Who taught you that a young lady may address her elders in such a manner? Have you never been taught to hold your tongue before your betters?"

"Oh?"

Aveline glanced down at her fingernails, inspecting them with almost idle curiosity.

"My parents were killed when I was rather young. Ten, to be precise."

Her tone was strangely calm.

"And the people who inherited my father’s estate had very little interest in whether I lived or died. They did not consider me much of a human being at all."

Leone’s anger faltered.

Aveline slowly lifted her gaze. "I was raised in a chicken coop, you see. Surrounded by hunting dogs."

Leone involuntarily took a step backward feeling the weight of that gaze.

Aveline watched her. "So, I beg your pardon for my manners."

There was absolutely no apology in her voice. If anything, the faint curve of her lips suggested she was enjoying herself.

"I’ve had rather limited opportunities to learn them."

Leone took another step back.

Aveline’s smile sharpened. "And if you continue to anger me..."

Her blue eyes narrowed as she bared her teeth. "...I may bite. I did learn that from the hunting dogs."

Leone stumbled backward and nearly caught her heel on a tree root. Aveline made no attempt to help her. She simply watched.

More importantly, she watched her shadow.

The shadow betrayed what Leone’s face tried to conceal. Fear. Genuine fear.

Has she heard of me?

Aveline’s gaze remained fixed on her as Leone struggled to regain her balance. She was an older woman, after all, and for all Aveline’s anger, she was not going to let her fall and break a hip merely because she disliked her.

With a small twisting motion of her fingers, Aveline caught Leone’s shadow.

The woman’s fall abruptly stopped.

For a heartbeat, Leone remained suspended in midair, her body frozen in the awkward position of someone who had been about to fall. Her eyes widened in terror.

"What—what are you doing?" she stammered. "Let me go!"

Aveline twisted her hand again.

Leone’s shadow obeyed.

Her body was lifted smoothly until she was standing upright and facing Aveline.

Aveline released her only when both of Leone’s feet were firmly on the ground.

"Speak."

Leone immediately patted her chest, dragging in several shaky breaths as she tried to compose herself. She opened her mouth, closed it again, then began fanning herself with one hand.

"Let me..." She stopped and fanned herself harder.

Aveline rolled her eyes. She waited.

After several minutes, Leone finally seemed capable of speaking without trembling.

Her eyes darted around the garden. "Can we... talk somewhere else?"

Aveline raised an eyebrow.

Something secret?

She shook her head. "I’d rather stay here. My friend might need me."

"I am here to talk about your friend," Leone replied.

"Oh?" Aveline leaned forward slightly. That caught her attention. "What about her?"

Leone folded her hands in front of herself and adopted a gentler expression.

"You are new to Greenvale, Lady Ava, and perhaps you have heard of our laws. But there is another custom, long observed in matters such as..." She hesitated delicately. "...what your friend has suffered."

Aveline listened.

The Archduchess’s careful phrasing did little to disguise what she meant.

What your friend has suffered.

As though Lydia had merely endured some unfortunate social embarrassment rather than something that had nearly destroyed her.

"In such cases," Leone continued, "it has traditionally been considered preferable for the matter to be settled privately, between the families concerned."

She spoke with the calm assurance of someone explaining a perfectly reasonable tradition.

"The woman is given a respectable position within the household responsible. Her honor is restored through marriage, and the matter is thereby brought to a dignified conclusion."

Aveline stared at her.

Leone’s expression softened into something almost maternal.

"It spares the woman the humiliation of having her name dragged through the courts. It preserves her standing in society and ensures that she is not left without protection or prospects."

She paused before continuing.

"Of course, no one wishes to force an unwilling woman into such an arrangement. But one must consider what becomes of her if she refuses. Greenvale can be rather unforgiving toward a woman whose reputation has been... compromised."

Aveline’s fingers slowly curled.

Leone gave a sympathetic sigh.

"Marriage, in circumstances such as these, is often regarded as the kindest resolution. She is given a household, a title, protection—and, above all, the opportunity to put the matter behind her."

Her gaze settled meaningfully on Aveline.

"Indeed, for your friend, it could prove a remarkably fortunate outcome. She is a common-born woman, is she not?"

Aveline’s jaw tightened.

"A marriage into a noble household would afford her comforts and privileges that would otherwise have remained quite beyond her reach."

Leone’s smile became almost knowing.

"One might even wonder whether such an arrangement was not, in the end, precisely what she hoped to gain from the attention of men above her station."

Silence.

Aveline did not answer.

She simply stared at Leone.

The Archduchess’s smile slowly faltered.

Something had changed.

The leaves around them began to tremble despite the fact that the branches above them remained almost perfectly still. A faint current of air curled around Aveline’s skirts, lifting loose strands of her hair and sending them whispering across her cheeks.