The carriage wheels rattled steadily over cobblestone, far too cheerful for the occasion.
I adjusted my gloves for the third time in a minute.
Lord Harrington's residence loomed somewhere ahead.
Which meant Eleanor Harrington.
Which meant formal introductions.
Which meant expectations.
I stared out the window like the passing trees might offer tactical advice.
"You look like you're on your way to execution," Edward said casually from across the seat.
"I might be," I muttered. "Socially."
He smiled faintly. "Relax. You're Arthur Wellesley, to be viscount of an estate. Nobility is practically your natural habitat."
"That doesn't make it less suffocating."
Edward leaned back. "You'll be fine. Nobles love three things—titles, tea, and talking about themselves. Just nod at the right intervals."
I exhaled slowly. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be solving the case?"
"I am solving the case."
"You're in a carriage with me."
"Holt's gathering reports and witness statements. I'm waiting on him to send word." He paused. "Assuming he figures out how to get a message through without texts."
"You haven't been in touch with him?"
Edward's expression tightened briefly. "Not for the past few days."
That flicker of concern vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"And besides," he added lightly, "the groom will need his best man by his side."
I turned sharply. "You are not my best man."
He placed a hand over his heart. "Wounded."
"You invited yourself."
"Correction. I foresaw disaster and volunteered."
I narrowed my eyes.
He only smiled wider.
Annoyed, I pulled out my phone.
The screen lit up instantly.
SKILLS SHOP
A bright banner slid across the top.
No Side Quests Available
"I have a shop," I murmured.
"In the carriage?" Edward asked, sounding only mildly concerned.
"What does yours say?" I asked as I looked over the screen.
"Be a good acquaintance."
I tried not to seem bothered as I scrolled through the absurd listings:
[Tea Pouring: Aristocratic Precision – 50 Points]
Guarantees zero spillage and a 12% increase in maternal approval.
[Polite Laughter: Level 1 – 30 Points]
Automatically laughs at jokes you don't understand.
[Noble Posture Enhancement – 75 Points]
Reduces slouching during judgmental stares.
[Dramatic Window Staring – 15 Points]
Wind effects not included.
"I'm being mocked by a skill shop," I whispered.
[9 Foot Wood – 120 Points]
Immediately increases the—.
I locked the phone immediately.
"No. Absolutely not."
"What happened?" Edward asked, far too amused.
"I am not spending hypothetical points on this."
"You should probably buy the tea one," Edward noted. "Last time, you held your cup like you were interrogating it."
I glared at him just as the carriage began to slow.
Through the window, the Harrington household came into view—tall gates, pristine hedges, polished brass knockers reflecting the afternoon sun like judgment made solid.
My pulse ticked upward.
I straightened unconsciously.
Edward noticed.
His voice softened just slightly. "You'll be fine, Kieran."
I hesitated.
I almost forgot who I was.
"You're not walking into a battlefield," he continued. "Just a drawing room. Worst case scenario, someone critiques your cufflinks."
"That is not comforting."
He tilted his head. "All right. Worst worst case scenario, you survive mild social embarrassment."
The carriage came to a full stop.
A footman approached.
I glanced at my phone one last time.
No Side Quests Available.
"Wonderful," I muttered under my breath.
Edward smirked as the carriage door opened.
"Chin up, Viscount's son."
The carriage door opened. Sunlight spilled in, bright and unforgiving. A servant in Harrington colours bowed deeply.
I stepped down onto the gravel, forcing composure into my spine.
Time to charm the Harrington household.
"Welcome, Lord Arthur Wellesley. The Harrington family awaits."
Right.
Arthur Wellesley.
Not Kieran. Not today.
He stepped down.
The Harrington estate wasn't as vast as the Wellesleys', but it had its own quiet elegance—white stone columns, wide lawns, carefully trimmed hedges shaped into animals that were meant to be lions. Some of them looked more like starving dogs, but the intent was admirable.
Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.
The Harringtons
A mother with sharp, assessing eyes.
A father with a perfectly groomed moustache and the posture of a man who trusted tradition more than people.
And several relatives arranged like furniture, clearly born with the sole purpose of judging others.
Kieran bowed, muscle memory guiding him. Arthur's memory.
"It is an honour to visit your esteemed household."
"Oh my," someone murmured. "Such manners."
Kieran smiled, careful and controlled.
So far, so good.
Lady Harrington gestured toward a seat. "Please, Lord Arthur. Tea has been prepared."
He sat. Edward positioned himself behind him, posture straight, expression respectfully blank.
The conversation unfolded predictably—weather, lineage, education, recent economic shifts. Kieran nodded, answered when required, and avoided saying anything catastrophically modern.
Then—
Footsteps behind the curtain.
The room's attention sharpened.
The curtain parted.
A girl stepped forward.
For a second, Kieran forgot how to breathe.
It was her.
Amira.
The same warm eyes. The same gentle presence. The same person who had smiled on the trail, shared quiet conversations, and then—without hesitation—gone back toward danger in the mansion.
The dinner table.
The screaming paintings.
Her slipping hand.
His chest tightened.
So she's the bride…
She bowed politely. "Greetings, Lord Wellesley."
Kieran bowed back automatically. "It's a pleasure, Lady—"
"Margaret Bell," she said, smiling.
"Oh."
The word slipped out before he could stop it.
Lady Harrington clapped her hands lightly. "Please sit, Margaret. Eleanor will join us shortly."
Kieran froze.
Edward's expression shifted—slow, deliberate, merciless.
Margaret noticed his confusion and leaned forward slightly. "Oh—I'm not the bride," she said softly. "I'm Eleanor Harrington's companion. Her friend."
Edward leaned closer to Kieran's ear. "You were seconds away from proposing to the wrong woman."
Kieran stared at the tea cup, suddenly fascinated by its pattern.
Then that means—
Don't tell me.
The curtain stirred again.
A presence entered the room.
Eleanor Harrington stepped forward.
It was Selene.
Not the furious, sharp-edged presence from the trail. Not the woman who looked like she might punch a mountain if it annoyed her. Not the one who stood her ground in the manor like she feared nothing.
This Selene was… different.
She wore a simple pastel dress, elegant without excess. Her hair was braided loosely over one shoulder. No armour. No sharpness.
Just calm.
Poised. Controlled.
Her eyes met Kieran's—steady, observant, searching. Not hostile. Not distant.
As if she were seeing him for the first time.
As if he were seeing her properly for the first time.
Margaret whispered, proud and quiet, "There she is."
Eleanor bowed gracefully. "Lord Arthur. My apologies for keeping you waiting."
Kieran stood too fast. "N—No problem. I mean— not at all. I— greetings."
Edward pinched the bridge of his nose.
A faint smile touched Eleanor's lips. Amused. Gentle.
The adults resumed their formal exchange—expectations, responsibilities, alliances. Kieran answered when prompted, mind half-present.
Eleanor spoke when addressed. Her words were precise. Thoughtful. Confident.
She wasn't timid.
She wasn't arrogant.
She was comfortable.
Almost like she wasn't the same person at all.
And Kieran realised—too late—that he was staring.
Eventually, Lord Harrington cleared his throat. "I believe it would be appropriate to allow the young pair a moment alone."
Kieran nearly choked.
Already?
Eleanor rose smoothly. "Shall we?"
He nodded, heart racing, and followed her toward the garden.
As the doors closed behind them, Edward's whisper followed him like a curse.
"If he proposes to the wrong tree next, I'm leaving him here."