Despite the whirlwind of lessons, Serena never abandoned her passion. Her nights were long, stolen between etiquette drills and waltz steps—but finally, the manuscript for her new novel was complete. The scent of ink still lingered on her fingers as she stretched her arms toward the ceiling with a satisfied sigh.
Just then, Rika entered with her usual cheerful bounce. "Your Grace, Countess Beaumont has arrived."
Serena nodded and stood, smoothing the creases from her dress. Eliza entered soon after, her hands neatly clasped before her, exuding the usual elegance.
"You're ready now, Duchess," she said, her tone firm but with a hint of pride in her eyes. "I believe I no longer have anything to teach you."
Serena blinked, surprised. "Are you sure?"
Eliza gave a rare smile. "Uhm… hm. Absolutely. You've done better than most who've grown up in this aristocratic society. I'll inform the Duke myself. You'll do fine."
She turned to leave, but Serena suddenly reached out and gently caught her arm.
"Wait—before you go, I wanted to give you this."
Serena held out a book, wrapped in simple fabric. Eliza took it, her expression shifting as she read the author's pseudonym printed on the cover: Rena.
"This is…?"
"My favorite novelist," Serena said, smiling. "This was her first book. I don't have much to give, but I wanted to give you something meaningful."
Eliza opened the wrapping slowly, touched not by the gift itself but by the gesture. For all her years moving among nobles and high society, she had never been given something so earnestly, with no expectation in return.
"I hope to see you again," Serena added softly.
Eliza looked down at the book again. Then at Serena.
And for the first time in a long while, something stirred in her chest—an unfamiliar warmth.
If I had a daughter like her… she thought, perhaps I wouldn't feel so lonely in this world.
She didn't say the thought aloud, but her eyes said enough.
"I'll treasure this," she finally said. Then with one last nod, she turned and left—carrying not just a book, but the quiet warmth of an unexpected bond.
Two weeks before the imperial banquet, a seamstress arrived at the annex to take Serena's measurements.
Nancy, the seamstress, moved around Serena with the confidence of someone who had clothed nobles for decades. Her fingers worked quickly, scribbling numbers while pins glinted between her lips.
"The design will be elegant," Nancy said, stepping back to get a better look. "Not too revealing, not too stiff. Just the right balance to make a statement."
"Exactly what I was thinking," Serena said thoughtfully. "I don't want all eyes on me… but I'd rather not be overlooked either."
Nancy smiled in approval. "A subtle radiance suits you, Your Grace. Let's craft a gown that speaks softly, but leaves a lasting impression."
She tilted her head, thinking. "Now, the important part—what color would you like the gown to be?"
Serena tapped her chin. "What about pink? I think it might match my hair and eyes."
Nancy paused, her brows arching slightly. "Pink would suit you, yes… but have you considered red?"
Serena blinked. "Red? That's a little… bold."
"It is," Nancy admitted, "but with your coloring, it could be striking—commanding even."
Serena hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Commanding doesn't sound like me."
Nancy chuckled. "Then perhaps something softer, but still unique. Lilac? Or lavender?"
Serena's eyes lit up. "Lavender… yes. It's soft, elegant, and a little mysterious. I think I'd like that."
"Lavender it is," Nancy said, already jotting down notes. "I'll start right away. You'll be the talk of the banquet, Your Grace."