Amelia stood before the mirror, tugging at the fine lace at the neckline of her dress. It was a plain dress, but its pale blue material made her feel lighter, more herself. Her hair was loose curls that fell over her shoulders, a few strands caught by the morning wind.
She paused for a second, considering how Claude would react to the dress. She wasn't trying to impress him, not really, but she did want him to think of her as more than just his wife, something. independent.
"Are you coming, or have you lost yourself in the mirror again?"
Claude's voice came from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts. He leaned against the doorframe, his customary loose arrogance, one raised eyebrow as he observed her with a half-smile, obviously entertained by her abrupt halt.
"Just making sure I present myself decently," she answered, swinging around to stand facing him. Her heart gave a funny little skip as she looked up into his eyes. He wore a dark jacket and pants, his face as always—un readable, but something in his eyes was different, something softer than the normal keenness.
He nodded in agreement. "You look fine, though I'd say your aim was to be invisible. If you wanted to blend in, you may need a plainer dress."
Amelia smirked, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Not trying to blend in, just trying not to stand out too much."
Claude extended his arm in silence, his tacit approval in the glance he gave her, though he would never say it.
They left the manor in concert, the warm sunlight welcoming them like an old friend, and walked down the winding path that led to the town. The sound of clopping hooves was heard as they rode past the stable, where the horses were waiting for their next trip.
"Do you dislike the town?" Claude asked, his tone soft, as if probing the waters. "The noise, the people?"
Amelia looked at him, her brow creasing in contemplation. "No, actually. I think it's rather refreshing. There's life here." She smiled, gazing out at the people thronging through the square, a gentle breeze ruffling her curls. "I never got to go out much when I was younger. My family wasn't exactly. keen on letting me out much."
Claude nodded, his eyes drifting forward as they walked in comfortable silence for a few moments. "I couldn't imagine being locked up like that. Your parents were strict, then?"
She shook her head, the memory of her family bittersweet. "Not strict. Just. protective. I suppose they had their reasons."
Claude didn't press her further on the subject, sensing that it was a conversation better saved for another time. Instead, he steered the conversation toward a lighter subject.
"I suppose you'll want to visit the market. I'll accompany you, of course. But be warned, it will be chaos. Everyone will be watching you. The 'Duchess of Everthorne' walking through the town square. You'll be the center of attention."
Amelia laughed, the sound light and unbridled. "Are you saying that you won't like that?"
Claude smiled wryly, his eyes playful. "Not at all. I'm merely observing that you'll have to become accustomed. People will gossip, people will stare, and nobody will believe I wed someone as beautiful as you."
Her cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment, though she tried to keep her composure. "I'll manage."
The town square appeared, and sure enough, it was filled with people. Merchants cried out their goods, brightly colored carts stood laden with fresh fruit and flowers, and children darted through the throngs, their giggles filling the air. The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat hung in the air, blending with the rich smell of the nearby river.
As they walked through the marketplace, Amelia couldn't help but grin at the simplicity of everything. The ordinariness. It was a different world from the imposing walls of Everthorne Manor. She was a little more herself here, even with the townspeople's eyes upon her.
"Do you want anything from around here?" Claude asked, his voice easy as he surveyed the booths. "Some cloth, perhaps? Or a fresh hat to fill your wardrobe?" He teased her with a look. "Although I doubt I could ever hope to match your existing collection."
Amelia quirked an eyebrow. "I'm not exactly one to hoard hats. Although, now that you bring it up, a fresh bonnet might be in order."
Claude's lips curled into a smile. "A bonnet? My, my. I didn't think you were the free spirit type, but maybe you're becoming a lady after all."
She mock-scowled and rolled her eyes. "I'm a duchess, Claude, not a princess in a fairy tale."
He grinned, clearly taking pleasure in the repartee. "But every duchess deserves a good bonnet, I hear."
Amelia couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the exchange. It was so far removed from the tension that typically pervaded their exchanges. It was pleasant to be able to enjoy this moment with him, even if briefly.
As they walked through the market, Claude paused by a stall with jewelry on display. His eye landed on a pair of shiny earrings, and before she could protest, he was buying them for her.
"You didn't have to," Amelia complained, although she couldn't help but ooh and ah over the slender silver work.
"I wanted to," Claude said easily, his eyes meeting hers with an impassive expression. "It's just a small gift."
She longed to argue, but there was something in his gaze at her—something soft, although he'd never use the words.
"Thank you," she murmured, taking the gift.
"You're welcome." His voice was low, and for a moment, the usual coldness seemed to lift. "Let's get the rest of our shopping done. I guess we're not quite finished here, are we?"
Amelia smiled, her lips curving upwards. "Not quite."
They walked on through the market, trading friendly insults and intermittent laughter, their past and tension of their marriage forgotten, at least temporarily. It was just the two of them, in the sun, walking side by side in the town they both had begrudgingly grown to love.
The afternoon was a blur of sun and the gentle hum of talk as Amelia and Claude strolled through the market. The bright colors of the town — the whirling scarves of brilliant fabric, the golden sheen of fresh fruit — were in stark contrast to the subdued opulence of Everthorne Manor. Amelia was caught up in the simplicity of it all, and for the first time in weeks, she let herself breathe.
Claude, as ever, was ever-present at her side, his eyes always measuring, always intense. But today, there was something different in his demeanor. It wasn't the cold reserve that was usual with him. No, today he was… different. A faint warmth existed between them, unspoken yet palpable.
As they passed a stall selling freshly baked pastries, Amelia's stomach growled loudly, reminding her of the light breakfast she had skipped in favor of leaving early. She looked at Claude, her cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment.
"Are you hungry?" Claude asked, his voice gentle for once.
Amelia blinked, surprised by the concern in his tone. "I'm fine. I just… didn't have much this morning."
He arched an eyebrow, looking at the pastries. "Maybe you could use a snack then. I'm sure you'd like something sweet."
She paused, then relented. "I guess a pastry would be all right."
They approached the stall, and Claude bought a variety of delicate sweets. He offered her one small honeyed pastry, its flaky crust warm from the oven. Taking a bite, her eyes grew wide with astonishment.
"This is delicious," she said between bites, feeling a bit more relaxed. "I didn't think the town had such good bakeries."
Claude grinned, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. "There's a lot you haven't experienced yet, Amelia. The town has more than just the market. There's history here, small details that make it… charming."
She looked at him, sensing the whisper of something unspoken in his tone. "I guess I've been so preoccupied with the estate that I never really thought about the town."
Claude's face relaxed. "There's more to life than the boundaries of Everthorne. I hope you'll find that out."
For a moment, she looked at him, the weight of his words settling in. He wasn't talking about the town. He was talking about her life, her future, her choices. And she realized, in that moment, that perhaps she had been too focused on what she had been given — a title, a life within the stone walls of Everthorne Manor — instead of what she could choose for herself.
Amelia put down the pastry, a faint smile playing at her lips. "Thank you, Claude."
He nodded once, his face impassive. "It's nothing."
They walked on, the conversation segueing into less serious matters. The children's laughter carried on the breeze in the distance, the market's noises increased in volume, and yet, for an instant, it seemed that the world had narrowed to encompass only the two of them.
Amelia was finding herself to enjoy this fleeting moment of calm with her husband, a man she had learned about in fragments, but never really in entirety. The tension between them that was always so present before was not as oppressive as it once was, although there were still things that went unsaid.
As they came to a less busy part of the town, Claude halted, his eyes coming to rest on a tiny bookshop between two buildings. The wooden sign above the door creaked gently in the wind, and the scent of old paper and ink wafted out from inside.
"I've heard that this shop carries a good selection of rare books," Claude said, nearly idly, as if he were proposing they just go for a walk in the garden. "I know you like to read."
Amelia blinked in shock. "You've been listening?"
He looked at her, the edge of his mouth curling up very slightly. "You've mentioned it once or twice."
She arched an eyebrow, a tiny laugh breaking out. "I suppose you have been listening, then."
Claude's smile didn't waver, though his eyes grew more guarded. "I always listen."
Amelia looked at him for a moment before nodding slightly. "Then, let's go inside."
The bookshop was dark, the air heavy with the smell of leather-bound pages and dust. The shelves were filled to bursting with novels, histories, and the occasional odd trinket. Amelia felt an instant sense of comfort here — a place where silence was paramount, where knowledge and stories hung in the air.
She walked the aisles, her fingertips tracing the edges of books, lost in the silent excitement of finding something new. Claude stood by her, his presence unshakeable and steady, but not intrusive. He left her alone, letting her get lost in the shop, as she always did when she was among books.
After a while, she picked up a slender volume, the cover faded but the title still clear: *The Art of Poetry.* She ran her fingers over it, the words feeling familiar, almost like an old friend.
"You know, I've always wanted to learn more about poetry," she said softly, almost to herself.
Claude, who had been observing her with quiet intensity, took a step forward. "You enjoy it?"
Amelia nodded. "I do. It's. an escape, I suppose. A way of communicating things without necessarily saying them out loud."
He stared at her, his eyes intense. "And what is it that you want to say, Amelia?"
The question left her momentarily stumped. She had always been reserved in matters of thoughts, desires, and feelings. But something in the look on Claude's face — something vulnerable — compelled her to respond.
"I don't know," she whispered, her hands following the lines of the book. "I guess I've always hoped that there was some way of saying things I could never say out loud."
Claude moved closer, his words barely above a whisper. "You don't have to keep anything from me."
Amelia swallowed, the uncertainty of his words tugging at something within her. She spun the book round in her palms, seeking something to look at, something by which she might distract herself from the strain gathering between them.
But she was not allowed to answer, for the shopkeeper emerged, a thin elderly man wearing spectacles at the end of his nose. He smiled brightly. "Ah, I see you've found something interesting."
Amelia returned his smile tactfully and put the book back on the shelf. "Just browsing. Thank you."
Claude moved forward then and his whole attention was settled on the shopkeeper. "We will take the book," he said curtly, sliding the man some coins.
Amelia blinked. "Claude, I—"
"It's nothing," he cut her off once more with that enigmatic smirk, his tone final. "Consider it a gift."
The shopkeeper smiled once more and wrapped the book in brown paper. Handing it to Claude, he looked at Amelia with a knowing smile. "A gift for the lady, I presume."
Amelia had her mouth open to protest, but Claude was already heading towards the door.
"Thank you," he said brusquely, giving a polite nod as he escorted her out.
Stepping out into the cooler air, Amelia breathed in the fresh and cool air on her skin. Holding the book between her palms, she could feel its weight.
Behind her, Claude accompanied her slowly. "I hoped you'd be pleased."
She looked up at him in surprise, as if by his tone he spoke the truth. "You didn't need to."
Claude did not answer at once, but the gravity of his words was suspended between them. "I know. But I wanted to."
Amelia's heart skipped a beat. For an instant, she saw something in his eyes — something gentle, something that made him less the remote man she had wed and more the man who had walked beside her that morning, strolling through the market, sharing a moment unspoken.
And in an instant, it seemed like a tiny crack was seen in the armor surrounding his heart.