FLORAVALE CASTLE – Viviana’s CHAMBER
Next Morning
Sunlight spilled through the windows onto a battlefield of discarded dresses. A breakfast tray sat untouched by the door while Viviana sprawled in her window seat, lost in “The Warrior’s Heart.” Her court gown lay crumpled nearby, Madame Beaumont’s perfume lingering in its folds.
She flipped another page. In her book, clan warriors valued honest opinions. They didn’t weep to their husbands over perfume critiques.
The breakfast tray clinked. She raised her book higher. Princess Augusta’s monthly gathering could survive without her insights on fashion and fragrance. Better to lose herself in tales of clan chiefs who championed truth.
Wind scattered her romance novels across the floor, their covers flashing glimpses of clan chiefs and maidens before settling. Far better company than nobles who shattered at the slightest criticism.
The door opened without a knock. Lady Serafina entered, taking in the scattered books and cold breakfast. “Still not dressed for Princess Augusta’s gathering?”
Viviana burrowed into her book. “Is she coordinating everyone’s perfume selection today?”
“No, dear.” Her mother settled onto the window seat. “Though Lady Blackstone and Lady Sterling will miss your… refreshing perspectives on fashion.” She lifted a fallen novel, studying its cover. “Another tale of clan warriors?”
“They don’t waste time with pointless breakfasts and pretense.”
“Indeed.” Lady Serafina traced the embossed chief on the cover. “Some might say they’re too busy with real responsibilities. Leading their people. Making important decisions.” She paused. “Proving their worth through actions rather than words.”
Viviana peered over her book’s edge. “Unlike these breakfast gatherings where choosing teacups is considered leadership?”
“Quite.” Her mother’s smile held secrets. “Speaking of clans…”
“Let me guess – they’re not all savages?”
“Some build trade empires. Forge alliances.” Lady Serafina’s voice turned precise. “Supply our finest perfume houses.”
The novel drooped. “Perfume houses?”
“Clan Thorne controls the northern rosemary and bergamot trade.” Her mother studied her nails. “Their chief… well. Young, they say. Dark-haired. Commands respect through quiet strength.” She paused. “Practical man. Unlike those warriors in your novels.”
“A clan chief who trades perfume.” Viviana’s lip curled. “How inspiring.”
“Indeed.” Lady Serafina rose. “Far less exciting than hiding from breakfast gatherings while dreaming of real leadership.” She glided to the door. “Enjoy your stories.”
The soft click of the latch echoed. Viviana stared at her forgotten novel, her mother’s calculated words settling like weights. Lady Serafina never discussed clans without purpose, never noticed her books unless they served some greater scheme.
The window seat grew too small. As she paced, her gaze caught on betraying details – her sketches of northern landscapes, dog-eared novels, and the maps she’d pinned to track clan territories. Her mother’s strategic revelation had found its mark.
Dark hair in mountain winds. Her novels painted clan chiefs as fierce warriors melted by love, cherishing their ladies while freeing them from society’s chains. But since when did her mother notice clan chiefs? And why describe one like he’d stepped from Viviana’s favorite stories?
Her reflection caught her eye – honey-brown curls escaping yesterday’s style, green eyes bright with rebellion. At Princess Augusta’s gathering, they were probably dissecting her latest social disaster. Another lecture about proper behavior lurked in her future, Mother’s delicate hints backed by Father’s disappointed sighs.
The endless dance of manners stretched before her like a gilded prison. But in the mountains, clan ladies rode free across wild lands, their chiefs watching with hidden tenderness…
She pressed against the window glass, mind spinning tales of mountain paths and stolen glances. Of a proud chief who’d reveal his gentle heart to her alone. Of adventures beyond these stifling walls—
Wait.
”Mother had mentioned he was unmarried.”
Viviana tracked her mother’s lavender silk around the corner near the main staircase, her own slippers ghosting across the floor.
—”The menu for tonight’s dinner, my lady, and the new table arrangements—”
Mrs. Harrison’s voice drifted ahead.
Viviana smoothed her morning robe and swept back her curls.
“Mother.”
Lady Serafina’s lips curved before she turned.
“Darling? I thought you were lost in your reading.”
“How can I read”—Viviana slipped her arm through her mother’s—”when we haven’t shared breakfast in so long?”
She met Mrs. Harrison’s gaze.
“The garden would be lovely this morning, wouldn’t it?”
“Indeed.” Lady Serafina patted her hand. “Mrs. Harrison, please arrange breakfast in the rose garden. Any callers can be told I’m attending to family matters.”
White roses bobbed in the breeze as they walked arm-in-arm toward the garden. Through the open windows, their perfume promised the perfect setting for careful questions.
“The northern territories.” Viviana traced the window’s iron frame. “You mentioned their trade routes.”
“Did I?” Lady Serafina directed the servants arranging breakfast. “Near the white roses. The morning light is lovely there.”
“Their chief—”
“Ah yes. The young Lord Thorne.” Her mother surveyed the garden. “More cushions. My daughter and I have much to discuss.”
Viviana matched her mother’s casual tone. “You said he trades in perfume ingredients.”
“His clan’s herbs supply most northern perfume houses.” Lady Serafina led them past climbing roses.
“Including Madame Beaumont’s?”
“Let’s not dwell on unfortunate incidents.”
They reached a table laden with fresh bread and summer fruits. Steam curled from the teapot. Lady Serafina settled into her chair with practiced grace.
“Though speaking of clans and perfume houses…” She poured the tea. “There are opportunities for a young lady seeking to prove her diplomatic capabilities.”
Viviana’s fingers tightened on her cup. “What opportunities?”
“Trade negotiations require delicacy.” Lady Serafina stirred honey into her tea. “Particularly between noble houses and clan territories. It needs someone who understands both worlds.”
“Both worlds?”
“Someone who appreciates fine perfumes yet speaks her mind.” Her mother selected a grape. “Someone who might flourish beyond court constraints.”
The teacup froze halfway to Viviana’s lips.
“Of course, such an alliance must benefit both parties.” Lady Serafina’s voice carried a hint of doubt. “And clan chiefs can be rather particular about their choices.”
“Their choices?” The cup clinked onto its saucer.
“These arrangements must feel natural. Though I suspect a chief who values honesty might appreciate someone less constrained by court pleasantries.”
“An arranged marriage?” Viviana folded her napkin with precise corners.
“Not arranged, darling. A carefully cultivated opportunity.” Lady Serafina lowered her teacup. “Your father would make the introduction. After that, it would depend on the chief’s interest—and yours.”
The clan Thorne chief’s interest. Not a forced arrangement, but a chance to prove herself worthy of a clan leader. The thought stirred something wild in her chest.
“And you think someone like him might…” Viviana’s words trailed off.
“Find your directness intriguing?” Her mother’s smile held warmth. “He’s not one for false flattery or empty words. Rather refreshing for a man of his position.”
Different. A leader who might value spirit over simpering, strength over shallow charm.
“Well.” Viviana lifted her chin. “If Father thinks it worth suggesting…”
****
– DUKE ‘S STUDY, around 11:20 am.
Lord Dorian hunched over his desk, studying the illuminated trade maps. His third attempt at the proposal’s opening line mocked him. The first draft had mentioned marriage too soon, the second buried it in trade clauses.
“The rosemary fields,” Lady Serafina said at his shoulder. “Lead with their premium herbs.”
He lifted his hand toward his temple, then stopped. “The trade routes—”
“Are their immediate concern.” She leaned forward, indicating the northern territories. “But premium herbs suggest quality. Refinement.” Her smile carried layers. “Worth.”
Lord Dorian dipped his pen. “To Chief Thorne of Clan Thorne, regarding your exceptional herb trade…”
A drop of ink blotted the parchment. He reached for a fresh sheet, but his wife’s hand settled on his wrist.
“Perfect,” she said. “A small imperfection makes the effort more… genuine.”
She placed fresh morning pastries at his elbow. “We’re proposing a partnership, not presenting a court document.”
Lord Dorian studied the ink blot, diplomatic instincts warring with his wife’s strategy. The quill hovered as he continued:
“Recent events have highlighted the importance of secure trade routes between our territories. Your clan’s reputation for premium herbs, particularly the rosemary and bergamot essential to our perfume houses, suggests an opportunity for a more… permanent alliance.”
He paused. Trade first, as Serafina suggested. But how to bridge to—
“The delicate nature of such premium goods,” Lady Serafina said, selecting a glazed pastry, “requires the strongest of bonds between noble houses.”
His quill moved. “In light of these considerations, we propose a union between your lordship and our daughter, Lady Viviana.”
Serafina brushed pastry crumbs from her fingers. “Much better.”
“Should we mention her education?”
“No.” Lady Serafina swept the map clean. “Young chiefs care little for court accomplishments.” Her lips curved. “And we wouldn’t want to oversell certain… social graces.”
He cleared his throat. “Indeed.” The quill scratched across parchment. “The advantages of such an alliance would ensure stable trade routes, premium herb supplies, and strengthen both territories’ positions in the northern markets.”
“Perfect. End with that. Let him see the practical benefits first.”
“But surely—”
“My dear,” she touched his shoulder, “you’ve crafted the perfect hook. Let’s not tangle it with too much line.”
Lord Dorian frowned at the parchment. Years of diplomatic correspondence made this approach feel too direct, too simple.
“Our daughter—”
“Will benefit from appearing as straightforward as their clan customs.” Lady Serafina reviewed his careful script. “A young chief with trade routes to secure won’t waste time decoding court pleasantries.” She set the proposal down. “And Chief Thorne particularly values clarity.”
The proposal offered everything a clan chief could want – trade security, noble connections, strong allies. Yet something nibbled at his conscience.
“And Viviana?”
“Is currently imagining herself the heroine of her own clan romance.” Serafina’s voice softened. “Let’s ensure both sides find exactly what they’re looking for.”
Lord Dorian pulled fresh parchment forward. The proposal needed proper elaboration – trade quantities, route details, security arrangements. His quill moved with renewed purpose.
“The seasonal shipments,” Serafina studied the trade maps, “we should specify their value.”
“Premium herbs at premium prices.” He noted the figures. “Perhaps mention potential for expansion…”
“Excellent.” She traced the route with one finger. “Future prosperity makes an excellent dowry discussion.”
His hand stilled. “Should we—”
“After all,” her smile carried all the warmth of a winter sunrise as she gazed toward the horizon, “we’re offering something far more valuable than gold. The future mother of their next chief.”
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