CHAPTER 143: CHAPTER HUNDRED AND FORTY THREE

Lily looked down, picking at a loose thread on her apron. Her cheerful demeanor faded slightly, replaced by a touch of sadness.

"Besides," Lily spoke, her voice quieter. "It’s a one-sided thing. I don’t think he feels the same way about me. Ian is so serious. He is always busy protecting the Grand Duke. He probably doesn’t even notice a maid like me."

Marissa just nodded slowly, her mind already drifting back to the carriage, to the way Derek had held her.

Lily watched her mistress. She saw the distant look in Marissa’s eyes, the faint flush on her cheeks. She took a step closer, choosing her words carefully.

"Is this about His Grace?" Lily asked gently. "Do you have feelings for him, Your Grace?"

Marissa snapped back to reality. She became defensive instantly. She sat up straighter, her spine stiffening.

"No!" Marissa said, perhaps a little too quickly. "Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous."

But her mind screamed at her.

"But you tick every one of the boxes Lily mentioned," her inner voice whispered. "You are happy when you see him. You get angry when he is late. You worry when he is hurt. And your heart... your heart races when he is near."

She closed her eyes for a second.

"Don’t do this to yourself, Marissa," she told herself sternly. "Remember the plan. One year. Then divorce. Feelings will only make it messy. Feelings will only get you hurt."

She shook her head, as if trying to physically dislodge the thoughts. She turned to Lily, forcing a casual expression onto her face.

"I’m just asking," Marissa said, waving her hand dismissively. "There’s nothing attached to it. Just... curiosity."

Lily nodded, though a small, knowing smile played on her lips. "Of course, Your Grace. What was I thinking? It was a silly question."

Marissa picked up a jar of cream, turning it over in her hands. She needed to know more. She needed a strategy, just in case.

"How does one..." Marissa started, then paused. "How does one reciprocate this feeling you talk about? If... hypothetically... one wanted to?"

Lily looked at Marissa. She saw through the "hypothetical" question immediately. She tried to hide her blush, delighted that her mistress was finally opening up to love.

Lily smiled. "Well," she said. "First, you tell them. You have to be brave. Let them know how you feel. You can’t expect them to guess."

Marissa frowned. "Tell them? Just like that?"

"Yes," Lily said. "Or show them. Do something special for them."

Marissa asked, "Then what next? After you tell them?"

Lily chuckled nervously. She scratched the back of her neck, looking a little embarrassed.

"I haven’t successfully passed this stage," Lily admitted with a sheepish grin. "I have confessed a few times before... to other boys. But..."

She sighed.

"They always turn me down," Lily said. "They say I am too loud, or too busy. That’s why I haven’t told Ian yet. I am afraid he will say no, and then I won’t be able to look at him."

Marissa looked at her maid with sympathy. She hadn’t realized Lily carried such insecurity.

"He would be a fool to turn you down," Marissa said firmly.

Lily beamed. "Thank you, Your Grace."

Marissa cleared her throat, realizing she was getting too personal. She needed to be the Grand Duchess again.

"Very well then," Marissa replied, trying to be serious. "You may leave. I’ll handle the rest of my preparations myself."

Lily bowed. "Yes, Your Grace. Sleep well."

Lily left the room, closing the door softly.

Marissa was alone again.

She turned back to the mirror. She stared at her own reflection. She saw a woman who looked composed, but whose eyes betrayed a storm of confusion.

"Do I really love him?" She asked herself aloud.

She touched her lips. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his embrace.

"I don’t know," she whispered. "But I know I don’t want to leave him."

She blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness, but sleep was a long time coming.

~ ••••• ~

The next morning, the sun rose over the capital, bathing the estate in golden light. It was the day of the Mid-Autumn Festival.

Marissa stood in her dressing room. She was being fitted into her formal court dress. It was a magnificent gown of deep emerald green velvet, embroidered with gold thread. It was heavy, regal, and imposing.

She looked in the mirror. She looked like a fortress.

A knock came at the door.

"Enter," Marissa called out.

The door opened, and Derek walked in.

He was dressed in his full Grand Duke regalia. A black coat with gold epaulettes, a sash of crimson silk across his chest, and his sword at his hip. He looked powerful. He looked dangerous.

And he looked tired. There were dark circles under his eyes, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

"You look beautiful," Derek said. His voice was low.

Marissa turned to him. "And you look... ready for battle."

Derek smiled grimly. "A royal festival is a battle, Marissa. Just with sharper words and better wine."

He walked over to her. He held out his hand.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Marissa looked at his hand. She thought about Lily’s words. "Let them know how you feel."

She took his hand. She squeezed it gently.

"I am ready," she said. "As long as you are with me."

Derek looked surprised by her warmth. He squeezed her hand back.

"I will not leave your side," he promised.

They walked out of the room together, down the stairs, and into the waiting carriage.

The ride to the palace was silent, but it wasn’t the awkward silence of before. It was a companionable silence. Derek held her hand the whole way, his thumb rubbing circles on her palm.

They arrived at the palace gates. The guards bowed as the carriage passed. They pulled up to the grand entrance.

Footmen opened the doors. Derek stepped out first, then offered his hand to Marissa.

She stepped down, the eyes of the court already upon them. Nobles whispered behind their fans. They were the couple of the hour—the "skiver" Duke and his fierce, new wife.

They walked up the grand staircase and into the ballroom.

It was a sea of color and light. Chandeliers sparkled overhead. Musicians played a lively waltz. The King sat on his throne at the far end, looking frail but watchful.

And standing near the throne, watching them with cold, blue eyes, was Prince Liam.

He raised a glass of wine in a silent toast as they entered.

Derek stiffened beside her.

"Ignore him," Marissa whispered. "Look at me."

Derek looked down at her. He saw the fire in her eyes. He relaxed slightly.

"Grand Duke Derek! Grand Duchess Marissa!" the herald announced.

They walked into the room.