Page 94

“Is everything alright, Viscount?” Étienne’s voice filters through the wood.

The brush slips from my fingers and hits the bottom of the tub with a muffled thud, sinking through the thinning foam.

“Yes. Everything is fine.”

I bring a hand to my hair, combing it back, and the wet strands stick to my fingers and forehead. I watch them slide, black and heavy, then I let myself fall back against the rim of the tub, the nape of my neck finding the lukewarm marble. My arm burns.

“This fucking headache gives me no rest...”

The afternoon sun hits me the moment I enter, my mother is already on her feet among the guests, her lace-gloved hands brushing the flowers. I stand still for an instant, half-breathing, my chest pulsing beneath my ivory waistcoat.

My temples haven’t stopped hammering for a single second.

I begin to walk among the camellias and gardenias, nodding to guests who chatter among themselves while admiring the various species.

Once, this place was an Orangerie.

Ten years ago, it was transformed into this winter garden.

By him.

He was always obsessed with uselessly beautiful things.

My mother guards it with the same care one uses to protect a rare jewel. She never got over his departure, even though four years have passed.

Someone brushes my shoulder.

“Good afternoon, Viscount.”

“Richard, I thought you were allergic to pollen.”

“Only in the spring,” he replies with a quick wave of his hand toward the glossy leaves of the tree ferns, caressing them with his fingers.

“Besides, it had been a few days since we last saw each other.”

“Yes... what has occupied your time lately?” I ask, my gaze following his as we begin to move through the flowerbeds.

He coughs and shrugs. “Nothing in particular. Nathaniel returns in a few days. You know, there are things to organize.”

“Oh, so he is returning soon?”

“Yes.”

A few steps further, we encounter the Duke and Duchess Durant. He barely lifts his chin in a polite nod, while she slowly opens her fan and holds it before her face.

I see Richard look away and clasp his hands behind his back.

“Is everything alright, Richard?”

“Y-Yes... why do you ask?”

Passing between the daffodils and gardenias, I distractedly pluck a daffodil petal, letting it fall through my fingers. Richard chuckles softly, his gaze following the petal as it slides onto the polished floor.

A few steps away, my mother reaches us.

“Viscountess,” he greets her, bowing slightly as he kisses the hand she extends.

“Lord Brownell, it is a pleasure to have you here.”