The afternoon sun slanted across the streets of the city. A discreet messenger, carrying Evelina's folded letter hidden inside a quilt, walked quickly toward the Grand Duke's residence.
At Montclair's estate, the air was still. He sat in his study with reports spread before him. The usual noise of clerks and attendants seemed muted. Sir Gustav entered with a bow and handed him a folded bundle.
Alistair's eyes went at once to the seal. The Everleigh crest was clear. He lifted an eyebrow and broke the wax with deliberate calm.
He unfolded the letter. The words were plain and sharp.
I must insist that these whispers cease. They are not to be taken lightly. They misrepresent intentions I hold as serious and private. While I am grateful for your respect and friendship, my name and honor are not to be twisted by gossip or speculation.
Alistair leaned back in his chair. His face stayed composed, but each line struck harder than he expected. She had not written with malice. She had written with firmness. It unsettled him, not with anger, but with respect.
Sir Gustav cleared his throat. "Shall I respond, Your Grace?"
Alistair's eyes went to the window. Afternoon light spread across the gardens. "Not yet," he said. His voice was quiet but decisive. "Let the weight of her words remain. Few in court speak with such clarity. That she does is to her credit."
He placed the letter flat on the desk and smoothed it with one hand. "See that the household repeats nothing. No word must spread beyond what is needed. And Gustav."
"Yes, Your Grace?"
"See that her letter is acknowledged in private. I will answer her myself. Not through rumor. Not for others to hear."
Gustav bowed, making notes. Montclair's eyes stayed on the window. He pictured Evelina as she must have been, seated at her desk, the pen steady in her hand, her face set with quiet determination.
He let out a faint sigh. "So strong," he murmured. "So unyielding." He touched the letter again, his hand still against the paper. "Her honor will not be bent. Not by gossip. Not by power. Not even by me."
The thought burned in his chest, but not with ambition. It burned with restraint. Power was not always in force. Sometimes, it was in holding back. And he knew then that he would protect her choice even against himself.
***
The fire cracked low in Ravenscroft's study. Shadows stretched across polished oak. Lucian sat with a glass of wine in hand. Across from him sat Baron Leopold Whitcombe, his large frame relaxed but his eyes alert. Count Harry of Wrightwood County, and two other nobles from the north listened, the air heavy with quiet tension.
Leopold lifted his glass. "Three days in the city and already the Crown Prince's men grow restless. They stir as if peace is poison to them."
Harry's lips curved faintly. "Restless, yes. But never strong. They whisper because they lack anything greater."
One of the northern lords gave a soft laugh. "And yet whispers fall on ears that want them. A whisper can ruin faster than an army."
Lucian tilted his head, then sipped. "Better to know the truth than chase shadows."
Leopold leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Speaking of truths. I heard something this morning. From Marquess Everleigh himself, spoken in confidence."
Lucian's posture sharpened. "Say it."
"Lady Evelina," Leopold said, his tone measured. "She wrote to Montclair. Strong words. She told him to stop the rumors. She was furious, they say. She would not let her name be tied to him in whispers."
Lucian's jaw set. He kept his face still, but his eyes narrowed. The firelight struck his profile, hard and severe.
Harry swirled his glass. "Some might call it unwise. To confront Montclair so directly. But I call it bold. She guards her honor even against a man who holds such power."
Lucian placed his glass down. His voice was quiet, but the weight in it filled the room. "Determined. That is Evelina. She does not bend. Let Montclair spread stories. Let the court feed on them. Her choice will not be taken from her."
Leopold studied him. "You are not troubled?"
Lucian allowed a faint smile, though it did not soften his eyes. "No. I am reminded why she cannot be claimed. She chooses for herself. And when she does, no Duke, no faction, no court will sway her."
The fire crackled. Silence followed. One of the northern lords leaned forward. "And you, my lord? How do you act?"
Lucian lifted his glass again. "I will watch. Every ally Montclair courts. Every move he makes. I will not force her. I will wait. She will choose, and she will choose with wisdom."
Leopold gave a quiet laugh. "You have patience for storms, Lucian. Few men do."
Lucian leaned back, eyes fixed on the fire. Patience was not weakness. It was the only way to honor her.
***
The evening sun cast long light across Evelina's chamber. The air glowed faintly gold through the curtains. Anna entered with a folded note. She laid it on the desk and withdrew in silence.
Evelina's fingers trembled as she broke the seal. Alistair's hand was clear on the page.
Lady Evelina,Your words are heard. No further whispers will trouble you or your family. Your honor is not to be misrepresented. I remain respectful of your wishes.
Evelina read the short lines twice. Then she set the letter down with care. The words were simple, but heavy. He had answered her. He had not dismissed her. He had bent, if only in this.
Yet her chest tightened. He had stopped the rumor, but on his terms. The court still spoke, only differently. She felt the press of his power, even in respect. Her own voice seemed small against it.
Anna asked softly, "Shall I read it for you, my lady?"
Evelina shook her head. "No. I read well enough. The trouble is not the words. The trouble is the weight." She stood, walking to the window. "He answers me with honor, yet still the court writes me into his tale. Even when I speak for myself."
Her mind turned to the lake. To Lucian. His silence, his patience. The way he looked at her as if she alone could decide. He had never tried to bend the world around her.
Her hand pressed to her chest. Her breath came slow. "I will not be part of Montclair's story," she said. "Not now. Not ever."
She folded the letter again and placed it in a drawer. The candle flickered beside her desk. The shadows grew long across the floor. She sat, her hands steady once more.
The storm of rumor would pass. But her choice would not. She promised herself that no court, no Duke, no Grand title would decide her path. She would choose, and she would do so on her own terms.