Carlos set Ashlyn down gently in the grand foyer. Ashlyn's heart was still fluttering with a mix of relief and malicious glee. She turned, expecting to see her sister's face twisted in pain, but Marissa was still standing perfectly still at the edge of the blossom path, her veiled head slightly bowed.
Lorena glided up behind Marissa, her polished shoes making no sound on the marble floor. A condescending smirk touched her lips as she saw the new Grand Duchess hesitating.
"Why hasn't the Grand Duchess moved?" Lorena's voice was like honey laced with poison, loud enough for Carlos and Ashlyn to hear clearly. "Is the path not to your liking, Your Grace? Must the Dowager Duchess come personally to beg you to walk?"
The taunt was sharp and insulting, a direct challenge to Marissa's authority on her very first day. Carlos looked uncomfortable, and even Ashlyn felt a flicker of surprise at Lorena's boldness.
Behind her veil, Marissa smiled. She had been waiting for this. The hesitation was not out of fear, but out of necessity. In the final moments of the carriage ride, as the estate came into view, the memory of this cruel tradition had surfaced in her mind.
She recalled Ashlyn's pained expression from their previous life. Knowing she would not be carried, Marissa had acted quickly. She had reached under her voluminous gown and torn several long, thick strips from the innermost layers of her linen underskirts. Working quickly, her fingers nimble, she had folded them into thick, dense pads, tucking them securely into the soles of her silk stockings. It was a crude, desperate measure, but it might just be enough.
Now, taking a slow, calming breath, Marissa lifted the hem of her heavy dress just enough to free her bare feet. And then, she began to walk.
Her first step landed on the soft petals. She could feel the sharp pressure of a thorn against the padding, but it didn't break through. Her voice, clear and melodic, filled the silent hall as she began to recite the traditional blessings.
"…First step, smooth sailing," she said, her tone serene as she took another graceful step. "…Second step, marital harmony." She moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, her body swaying gently, turning the painful ordeal into a beautiful, pious ceremony. "…Third step, many heirs and descendants…"
Lorena's smirk faltered. She stared, her eyes narrowed, trying to see any sign of pain. A wince, a hesitation, a slight limp. But there was nothing. Marissa's progress was as fluid and untroubled as a swan gliding across a lake.
How is she unaffected? Lorena thought, her confusion quickly turning to frustration. I laid the sharpest stems myself. Her feet should be bleeding by now!
Ashlyn, too, watched with wide-eyed disbelief. Her own memory of the searing agony was so vivid. How could Marissa be walking on that path as if it were made of softest moss? Had Lorena forgotten the thorns this time? No, that was impossible. Lorena's cruelty was as reliable as the rising sun.
"…Ninth step, a lifetime of joy," Marissa continued, her voice never wavering. She reached the end of the path. "…Tenth step, perfection."
She stood before Lily in the foyer, her ten steps completed flawlessly. Her maid immediately knelt, presenting the silk slippers. Marissa gracefully placed one foot, then the other, into her shoes, showing no sign of injury whatsoever. The ceremony was complete, and she had passed the test without a scratch.
Lorena was still standing at the other end of the blossom path, staring at the petals as if they had personally betrayed her.
Marissa adjusted her gown, then turned her head slightly, her veiled face angled towards the household manager. "Why haven't you moved, Miss Lorena?" she asked, her voice carrying the same note of mock concern Lorena had used just moments before. "Do you need the Dowager Duchess to come personally to lead you?"
Lorena's face flushed with a dark, angry red. She had been publicly challenged and defeated by the very woman she had intended to humiliate. Without a word, her lips pressed into a thin, furious line, she stalked forward, walking around the blossom path, and fell into step behind Marissa.
Marissa passed by Ashlyn and Carlos, who both stood dumbstruck. Ashlyn couldn't understand how her sister had managed it, and a new, unsettling feeling began to creep into her heart. The timid, foolish Marissa she had planned to manipulate was proving to be far more resourceful than she had ever imagined.
They were led from the foyer into a lavishly decorated ballroom. The walls were adorned with gold leaf and massive tapestries, and crystal chandeliers glittered overhead. Dozens of people—cousins, aunts, uncles, and distant relatives of the Thompson clan—were gathered, their fine clothes a riot of color.
They had come to share in the joy of the weddings, but the atmosphere was thick with tension and awkward whispers.
Marissa was guided to one side of the room, where she stood alone, a solitary figure in her grand dress, her veil still down. Ashlyn stood beside Carlos, who placed a comforting hand on her arm. The moment the brides were in place, the murmur of gossip, which had quieted upon their entrance, erupted once more.
"Did you see? The Grand Duke is still nowhere to be seen," a woman whispered loudly behind her fan.
Her companion nodded, her eyes darting towards Marissa. "I heard he is notoriously dissolute. Utterly wild. He hasn't changed a bit."
Another voice joined in, low and conspiratorial. "My maid heard from the Duke's valet that he sought out that dancer from the opera house again yesterday. He didn't even return to the estate last night."
"To cause such a scene at his own wedding is very distasteful," the first woman concluded, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "I feel such pity towards the new Grand Duchess. Her marriage is a tragedy before it has even begun."
Ashlyn heard every word, and a cruel smile bloomed on her face. This was a humiliation Marissa couldn't cleverly escape. She sidled up to her sister, leaning in close.
"The whole world is talking," she whispered, her voice full of venomous pity. "Surely His Grace won't be so shameless as to bring his mistress to the estate on his wedding night. I truly pity you, sister. Just wedded and already a laughingstock."
Marissa turned her head slowly. "Are you slandering the Grand Duke, the head of your new family?" she replied, her voice low but carrying a distinct chill. "It seems you have forgotten the sting of my slap so soon."
Ashlyn's face paled, then flushed with anger. She opened her mouth to retaliate, but a figure stepped smoothly in front of her, blocking her path. It was Carlos.
He faced Marissa and bowed deeply from the waist, a gesture of profound respect. "My wife meant no offense, Your Grace," he said, his voice earnest and clear. "She speaks without thinking. I apologize on her behalf. I hope Your Grace can show mercy."
Marissa looked down at her brother-in-law. He understood the new hierarchy instantly. Ashlyn could insult her sister, but the wife of the second son could not be seen insulting the Grand Duchess.
"Since my brother-in-law is asking so politely, I will let it go this time," Marissa said, her voice cold and formal. She then looked past him to where Ashlyn stood fuming. "But you had better discipline your wife properly. The next time her tongue runs away with her, my hand might do the same."
Just as the tense silence stretched to a breaking point, the head steward appeared at the ballroom's main entrance. He struck a ceremonial gong.
"Her grace, the Dowager Duchess has arrived!" he announced.