The Duke And His Beauty

The Denford estate was the very image of aristocratic grandeur, where wealth and influence draped over every inch of its towering walls.

Unlike the Valentine estate, where quiet elegance reigned, the Marquess' mansion bore an air of extravagance, as if every detail was meant to remind guests of its superior standing.

From the moment the carriage rolled through its golden gates. Eleanor, subtly marvelled at the sight.

The sprawling gardens, gilded archways, framed corridors, chandeliers gleamed with the fire of a thousand candles, and polished marble floors reflected the grandeur above.

Servants moved seamlessly through the halls, their footsteps light, their presence barely noticeable yet ever-present.

Every flick of their hands and every bow of their heads was executed with near mechanical precision.

"It's more luxurious than I expected," Eleanor mused, her admiration carefully concealed beneath her usual pleasant demeanour.

Though she kept her expression measured, Rosellene noticed the faint gleam of awe in her younger sister's eyes.

Rosellene observed it all with her usual air of indifference.

Though she had once been engaged to Edric in her past life, she had never considered this place as her next home.

She was merely a prize possession ready to be handed to its next owner.

The engagement was a chain, not a promise, it was just another extravagant cage for her.

And now, as she stepped into the estate once more, she found herself with the luxury of foresight.

As noble ladies gathered around, their refined presence blended seamlessly into the lavish surroundings. The gathering was not large, but it was carefully curated.

Rosellene could already sense the undertones of political manoeuvring woven into the pleasantries.

But her attention shifted as they were led forward.

At the end of the grand reception hall stood the owner of the place, the Marchioness of Denford.

Her presence exuded quiet control.

Draped in the finest silk, she was the embodiment of a noblewoman who had spent decades navigating the intricacies of power.

And at her side, standing with that ever-familiar air of superiority was Lady Vivienne Denford, her only daughter.

The moment Rosellene entered, she could feel Vivienne's eyes on her.

She caught the brief flicker of disapproval in Lady Vivienne's expression.

Scanning. Assessing. Judging.

Her eyes are still above her head, as always, Rosellene mused dryly.

Vivienne had always carried herself with a certain aloofness, an inherent belief in her own superiority.

It was not an open hostility but rather an underlying air of dismissal, as though everyone was merely another name on a list of lesser beings.

Either way, Rosellene paid her no mind.

As the greetings began, Countess Valentine, ever the consummate noblewoman, stepped forward with an elegant smile.

"Marchioness Denford, it is always a pleasure to see you," she greeted smoothly.

The Marchioness returned the sentiment with a polite smile.

"Countess Valentine, indeed. It has been some time since we last gathered. I trust your daughters have been well?"

"Quite well, I should say. Eleanor and Rosellene have kept themselves busy in good company."

The Countess returned a smile with a graceful curtsy.

Rosellene and Eleanor followed suit, offering an adept smile.

Vivienne, however, did not bother to hide her lack of enthusiasm.

"How fortunate," she murmured, voice just soft enough to feign politeness. "We had not expected the Valentine ladies to grace us so soon after the grand ball."

Rosellene's lips twitched, but she let her mother respond first.

"How could we decline such a kind invitation?" Countess Valentine said smoothly.

"Indeed. Though I must admit, I was rather surprised to hear that Lady Rosellene would accompany us today," she said, Vivienne's gaze flickering briefly toward Rosellene. "You have always struck me as someone who prefers more… exclusive company."

The jab was delicate, but Rosellene caught it.

She smiled, her expression unreadable.

"Perhaps my preferences are more flexible than you assume, Lady Vivienne."

Vivienne's eyes narrowed a shade, but she said nothing more.

The conversation moved forward, shifting between political updates, economic discussions, and the usual pleasantries exchanged between influential families.

While Vivienne occasionally inserted herself to ensure her presence was felt.

Rosellene did not fully engage, instead chose to listen.

Just as another round of tea was being poured, an attendant stepped forward, his voice carrying over the room.

"The young masters of Denford have arrived."

The atmosphere shifted instantly.

All eyes turned toward the entrance as two figures stepped into the hall.

The Denford brothers.

The eldest, raised under their grandmother's strict supervision, carried himself with quiet authority. He was reserved, disciplined and impassive.

Beside him, however, stood a man of striking contrast.

Edric Denford.

The second son. The Marchioness' beloved child.

The man Rosellene had once been tied to.

He was, as always, carefully polished, his attire tailored to perfection, With ease, he carried himself as the ideal noble son…charismatic, confident, perfectly presentable.

His smile was just the right mix of charm and arrogance.

But to Rosellene, he was nothing more than a carefully polished ornament.

Indecisive and susceptible.

Some things just never change.

She lowered her lashes slightly, veiling her gaze as she took her seat.

She had no reason to care.

And yet—

She noticed it.

Beside her, Eleanor's breath hitched…so soft and fleeting that it might have gone unnoticed.

Except Rosellene noticed.

Her gaze flicked sideways, catching the faint spark in Eleanor's gaze.

That familiar light of admiration, the eager anticipation in her posture.

Eleanor's eyes gleamed with a quiet fascination that she likely did not even realize was so obvious.

Rosellene's finger curled up slightly as she felt a slow, cold realization settle over her.

How did I never see it before?

Eleanor had always looked at Edric like this.

Always watched him for a little too long.

Always glowed in his presence.

It had always been there.

Perhaps, it was her. She had simply never cared enough to notice.

The two Denford brothers stepped forward, their polished presence drawing attention.

"Mother." Their voices rang in unison, low and respectful as they greeted the Marchioness.

Vivienne wasted no time, rising gracefully from her seat. "Brother, you've finally arrived."

Her voice carried a mix of delight and complaint, as if their presence alone could brighten her world yet still fell short of her expectations.

She turned to the room, letting her gaze sweep across the gathered young ladies before sighing dramatically. "Honestly, there's not a single lady here who is truly worthy of you."

A few guests who heard it exchanged glances, but none dared to voice their offence.

Instead, Vivienne reached out and gently pulled forward a young lady sitting quietly beside her. "Except, perhaps, for Lady Evelyn."

Evelyn, a delicate beauty with soft curls framing her gentle face, blushed at the sudden attention. Her eyes, warm and reserved, flickered toward the brothers before lowering demurely.

"Lady Vivienne is too kind," Evelyn murmured, her tone as soft as her demeanour.

Vivienne smiled, clearly satisfied. "At least one person here meets my expectations."

Edric watched the exchange, and let out a polite chuckle, his expression carrying just enough amusement to appease his sister.

But even as he played along, his gaze flickered across the room.

Towards Rosellene.

For a fleeting moment, his dark eyes lingered on her.

Vivienne followed his gaze, and her pleasant expression darkened noticeably.

She knew that look.

Her fingers clenched against her skirts, but before she could speak, the Marchioness settled the matter with effortless authority.

"It is your brother's marriage, Vivienne. Not yours."

Her tone was light, almost playful, but the underlying meaning was clear.

Vivienne's dissatisfaction simmered, but she did not argue. Instead, she leaned back with a carefully concealed pout, while the Marchioness chuckled softly, breaking the tension with a well-practiced ease.

"Ah, youth. Always so particular."

With a graceful motion, she waved her hand. "Come now, enough of this. I'm sure our guests would rather not be bored with such discussions. Go on, my sons, enjoy the gathering."

And just like that, the moment was dismissed.

Across from Edric, his elder brother, Leonel, remained largely silent throughout the exchange.

He stood beside his brother, hands clasped neatly behind his back, his posture straight and composed, yet unmistakably distant.

Edric and Leonel inclined their heads before stepping past to leave.

Rosellene felt it before she saw it, Edric's gaze lingering on her, heavy and deliberate.

She resisted the urge to shudder.

It was a gaze she knew well. One she had once ignored and endured.

Now, it made her skin crawl.

She did not meet his eyes. She did not acknowledge him.

She did not need his attention. She never did.

Beside her, Eleanor suddenly straightened, her posture subtly shifting.

It was an unconscious reaction, a silent attempt to be noticed.

Edric passed by, his gaze flickering briefly in Eleanor's direction before moving on.

Rosellene, watching from the corner of her eye, felt nothing.

Edric's interest was meaningless to her now.

If Eleanor wanted him, she was welcome to try. She had no intention of standing in their way.

Let them play their little game, it was no longer hers to entertain.