I had no intention of letting Eric control my pace, but the sheer absurdity of Reinhardt’s "gift" had left me with little choice. To accept twenty trees was to invite a scandal I wasn't prepared for. To refuse them and let the tension continue was equally exhausting.
So, for the first time since my return, I decided to let Eric take the lead.
“The Archduke is right,” I said, my voice cool and dismissive. “There’s no need to donate an entire orchard. We already have more than enough fruit in this house, it seems.”
Reinhardt offered his usual charming smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. They remained flat and calculating, like a predator whose prey had just ducked into a burrow.
“I see,” Reinhardt said. “I didn't realize the Duke was so... attentive to your cravings, Your Highness.”
He looked at Eric, a challenge in his gaze. He knew as well as I did that the greenhouse was a strategic move, not an act of love. Eric was simply protecting the reputation of the Brant name.
“Archduke,” Eric said, his voice dropping into a register of polite dismissal. “Won't you be late for your dinner engagement?”
I checked the clock. It was only four in the afternoon—far too early for dinner. But I understood the subtext. It would take Reinhardt an hour to reach his own estate. Eric was telling him it was time to leave.
“I believe it’s time we bid our guest farewell,” I added, following Eric’s lead. “I have matters to discuss with my husband.”
Reinhardt let out a long, theatrical sigh, bowing over my hand one last time. “I will see you very soon, Your Highness. Until then.”
***
As Reinhardt’s carriage pulled out of the courtyard, he turned to his valet.
“The trees,” Reinhardt said, his voice cold and devoid of any charm. “The twenty trees we prepared for the Duchess.”
“Yes, my lord? Shall I have them delivered to her private villa as you suggested?”
“No. Burn them,” Reinhardt commanded. “Every single one.”
The valet flinched but didn't dare to argue. He’d seen that look in the Archduke’s eyes before—the look of a man who would rather destroy a thing than see it in the hands of a rival.
“Yes, my lord.”
Reinhardt leaned back in the carriage, clenching and unclenching his fist. *It won't be as easy as I thought,* he mused. *Cornelia’s defenses are higher than they used to be. She looks at Eric with a coldness that borders on hatred, yet she still chooses to stand by him in public.*
A slow, crooked smile spread across his face. *But a rift that deep can be widened. Today wasn't a defeat; it was a reconnaissance mission. Now I know exactly where to push.*
***
Back in the drawing room, the silence was thick enough to choke on. I sat among the baskets of perfectly ripened fruit, the scent of peaches and plums making my mouth water.
I wanted one. I wanted to grab a handful of apricots and flee to my room. But I couldn't bring myself to eat the fruit Eric had provided, not while the air between us was still so heavy with resentment.
“I’m returning to my chambers,” I said, standing up.
“Wait.”
I stopped, my hand on the back of the chair. “Is there something else?”
Eric looked at me, his blue eyes searching mine. “Why did you refuse them?”
“Refuse what?”
“The trees. You’ve wanted a peach orchard in this garden for five years. Why did you turn them down today?”
I laughed, a short, dry sound. “Because twenty trees isn't a gift, Eric. It’s a spectacle. I have no interest in being the center of a social scandal because a man I barely remember decided to be 'generous.'”
Eric’s expression shifted—a flash of something that looked almost like relief. “Either you’re remarkably thick-skinned, or you’ve finally developed some sense,” he said, a ghost of a smile touching his face.
I looked at him, surprised. For a second, I saw a glimpse of the man I’d fallen for all those years ago. But I quickly hardened my heart. I remembered the coldness, the rejection, and the child I had to protect.
“Why do you care so much, anyway?” I asked. “Is it because you’re worried about what your mother will say if another man plants trees in her garden?”
Eric’s face went stiff, a sudden flush of red creeping up his neck. He looked away, his jaw set.
“I have documents to review,” he muttered, standing up abruptly.
He practically fled the room before I could respond. I watched the door click shut, my brow furrowing in confusion. *What is wrong with him lately?*
I looked back at the fruit baskets. *Well, the fruit is innocent,* I thought.
I picked up a large, sun-warmed plum and took a bite. The juice was sweet and tart, exploding across my tongue. I closed my eyes, savoring the flavor. *Maybe I should build my own greenhouse later,* I mused. *The child would probably enjoy fresh fruit all year round. It’s good for their 'mental health.'*
***
Eric reached his office and slammed the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
*I almost said it,* he thought, his face still burning. *I almost told her.*
He looked at himself in the mirror over the mantel. He looked like a hero—tall, strong, and broad-shouldered. But he felt like a thief. He was a "fake" occupying a life that didn't belong to him. He was a man who had stolen his brother’s title and was now trying to steal his brother’s wife.
*She doesn't want you,* he reminded himself. *She wants the memory of Eric. She wants the man who gave her greenhouse flowers and promised her the world. She doesn't want the warrior who returned with blood on his hands and a lie on his lips.*
A tap at the window interrupted his self-loathing. He opened it to find Janet crouched on the ledge.
“Sir, I have a report.”
“Come in,” Eric said, grateful for the distraction.
Janet stepped inside and immediately dropped to one knee. “I have a request, Your Excellency. I wish to transition from discreet surveillance to open escort duty for the Duchess.”
Eric’s brow furrowed. Janet was an expert in stealth; having her act as a common guard was a waste of her talents. “Why the change?”
“The Duchess requested it personally,” Janet said. “She found me out, sir. She knew I was following her.”
Eric blinked. Cornelia had spotted one of his best scouts? That was impossible. Unless...
“She spotted you?”
“Yes, sir. And she made it clear that she would rather be guarded in public than followed in private. She said... it was more respectable.”
Eric let out a long breath. *Of course she would.*
“Fine,” he said. “If she’s willing to have a guard, I won't stand in her way. Starting tomorrow, you are her official escort.”
***
I walked toward the stairs, still savoring the taste of the plum. I felt refreshed, focused, and ready for the next phase of my plan.
As I reached the landing, I saw the Dowager Duchess standing there. She looked as if she’d just come from a particularly unpleasant meal, her mouth set in its usual line of aristocratic disapproval.
*Time for the gift,* I thought.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, velvet jewelry box from *The Gilded Solitaire*.
“Mother,” I said, offering a shallow, polite bow.
She looked at me as if I were something she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. “What is it now, Cornelia?”
“I went shopping today,” I said, my voice sweet and deferential. “And I saw something that I thought would suit you perfectly. Consider it a token of my desire for us to... get along better.”
The Dowager’s eyes widened in shock. She’d spent years ignoring my existence; the idea of me giving her a gift was unheard of.
“A gift? For me?”
“Yes. Please, open it.”
She took the box, her fingers trembling slightly with curiosity. She unwrapped the silk ribbon and flicked the latch.
As the lid popped open, she let out a low, strangled gasp.
“I don't understand,” she whispered, her face turning a pale, sickly shade of grey. “Why would you... why would anyone give me this?”
I offered her a bright, beaming smile. I reached into the box and pulled out the heavy ruby pendant, the deep red stones catching the light and casting blood-colored reflections across her face.
“Do you like it, Mother? Madeleine told me rubies were your absolute favorite. I spent a fortune to ensure they were of the highest quality.”
The Dowager stared at the rubies as if they were live coals. She looked at me, then at the necklace, her chest heaving with a sudden, sharp rage.
“Rubies?” she hissed, her voice low and vibrating with venom. “You gave me... rubies?”
“Is something wrong?” I asked, my voice pitched with a perfect, faux-innocent concern. “Don't you like them?”