CHAPTER 45: CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

Warm afternoon sunlight, the color of pale honey, streamed through the turning leaves of the oak trees. A gentle, cooling breeze carried the scent of late-blooming roses and lavender. On a small, marble terrace overlooking the grounds, a young woman sat, her fingers gliding over the strings of a large, golden harp. The melody was soft, intricate, and deeply calming, a soft sound that seemed to wash away the last, lingering stains of the recent horrors.

Beatrice, the Dowager Duchess, sat in a comfortable, high-backed wicker chair, her eyes closed, a rare, peaceful smile on her face as she enjoyed the music.

Opposite her, Marissa and Derek sat at the small, white-iron table. A pot of tea steamed between them, and the atmosphere, for the first time, was not one of open warfare, but of a careful, cautious truce.

Further down the garden path, Ashlyn and Carlos sat on a stone bench. Carlos was reading a book of poetry to her, his voice a low, pleasant murmur. Ashlyn, in a bright green gown, leaned against his shoulder, her face a mask of wifely adoration.

Marissa looked at Beatrice, her expression serene, then shifted her gaze to Derek. She gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod. Now.

Derek, who had been staring moodily into his teacup, seemed to gather himself. He cleared his throat, breaking his gruff silence.

"Grandmother," he began, his voice a little louder than he intended, making the harpist falter for a second. "Knowing how much you love music, Marissa arranged for this performer to be brought from the city. Do you like it?"

Beatrice’s eyes fluttered open. She looked at Marissa with genuine warmth. "Yes, my dear," she said, her voice soft. "It is wonderful. It sounds very good. It is the most peace I have felt in this house in many days."

Marissa smiled, a gentle, respectful expression. She picked up the heavy porcelain teapot and poured Beatrice a fresh cup, her movements graceful. "I am so glad you like it, Grandmother."

Beatrice took the cup, her old, ringed fingers steady. She looked at Marissa over the rim. "Marissa, I... I sent you to the outskirts of town. I sent you to the temple to keep vigil for Ryan, under a false accusation." She took a slow, steadying breath. "I hope you bear no grudge against this old woman for her foolishness."

The apology was clear, even if the words were not direct. Marissa shook her head, her smile unwavering. "You poured your heart and soul into protecting this family, Grandmother. I respect you deeply for that. There is nothing to forgive." She placed the teapot back down, her hands clasping in her lap. "But, I do have a favor to ask of you."

Beatrice’s eyes, still sharp as a hawk’s, brightened with interest. She had been waiting for this. The girl had saved her great-grandson. She had unmasked a traitor. She had earned a boon. "Go ahead, my child," she said, taking a sip of her tea.

"Miss Lorena has been... ousted... from the estate," Marissa said, choosing her words with care. "And in her absence, you have taken on the burden of managing everything. It is too much for you to bear alone." She met the old woman’s gaze, her own clear and steady. "I would like to learn about how to run the household. I would like to help you."

She had phrased it as an offer of help, a desire to learn. But everyone at the table understood her real meaning. She was asking for the household authority. She was making her move.

Derek, who had been watching this exchange over the rim of his own cup, set it down with a soft clink. He saw his cue.

Beatrice, however, was not so easily managed. She, too, set her cup down, her peaceful smile becoming something more calculating. "You want to manage the estate?" she asked, her voice still soft, but the underlying question sharp.

"Mmmm," Marissa nodded, a simple, firm affirmation.

"Grandmother," Derek interjected, his voice sliding smoothly into the conversation. "She is the Grand Duchess now. She will get this role eventually, it is her right and her duty." He leaned forward, his expression one of a concerned grandson. "Let her gain the experience now, while you are here to guide her. You have earned your rest. You should be enjoying the peace, not worrying about the price of wine or the household ledgers."

It was a perfectly executed, two-pronged approach. The wife’s humble request, backed by the husband’s logical support.

Beatrice looked from her grandson to her granddaughter-in-law. She saw their alliance, their shared purpose. A few days ago, this would have angered her, this pincer movement for her power. But now... she was just so very tired. The events with Ryan and Lorena had taken a toll on her that she was unwilling to admit. Still, a lifetime of authority was not something to be handed over in a hurry. Lorena took years before she could get it.

"There is no rush," she said, her voice mild. She was not refusing. She was delaying. She was testing. "In three days, the Crown Princess will be coming for a visit. I invited her personally some weeks ago. It is a very important social event."

She turned her full attention to Marissa, her gaze sharp and appraising. "Would you be willing to prepare a gift, on behalf of the entire Thompson family, to welcome her?"

Marissa felt her heart give a small jolt. This was it. This was the real test. A gift for the Crown Princess was not a simple matter. It was a political statement. The wrong gift could be seen as an insult, a too-expensive gift as an arrogant display.

Before Marissa could even form her reply, a bright, cheerful voice chimed in from the other side of the garden.

"Oh, what a wonderful idea, Grandmother!" Ashlyn had apparently finished her poetry reading and had approached the table, her face a mask of bright, sisterly support. Carlos stood just behind her, a polite, neutral smile on his face. "My sister’s talent and taste are exceptional. I am sure she will do a good job. The Princess is sure to love anything she chooses."

The interference was so sudden, so unexpected, that it stunned the table into a brief silence.

Beatrice, however, looked delighted. To see her two new granddaughters supporting each other, after all the rumors of discord, was a balm to her heart. "Well, that is wonderful," she nodded, her happiness genuine.

Marissa stared at Ashlyn. Her mind, sharp and suspicious, was instantly on high alert. Ashlyn had just watched her husband, her "loving" husband, slap her twice and reveal a dark, twisted nature. She had seen her own, carefully laid plans at the homecoming crumble. And now, she was here, smiling, and helping?

"Why did she speak up for me?" Marissa thought, her gaze narrowing,