CHAPTER 44

Sunlight streamed into Vivienne's bedchamber as she awakened to a flutter of nerves: Lucien had invited a Parisian designer to Belfoire to discuss a series of grand receptions. The estate was forging ahead with new social gatherings, partly to solidify Lucien's renewed status and partly to lift the manor's spirits.

When Vivienne arrived downstairs, Lucien stood with the elegant French designer, Madame Bernadette, a flamboyant woman wearing yards of lace. Madame Bernadette gestured animatedly, describing the latest in courtly fashion. Vivienne hesitated at the threshold, uncertain if she was meant to join them.

Lucien spotted her and beckoned her closer. "Vivienne, come. I'd like your input on these planned receptions and the décor." His tone was measured, polite.

She mustered a friendly smile. "Of course." She joined them, listening to Madame Bernadette's effusive plans for transforming Belfoire's galleries into a spectacle of color and refinement.

Madame Bernadette eventually switched focus to attire. She eyed Vivienne critically. "Ma chérie, you have fine posture. We must design a gown that weds classic English style with a hint of Parisian flair. The Duke insisted you be…magnifique."

Vivienne glanced at Lucien, cheeks warming at the memory of how he once adored selecting gowns for her, proud to show her off as his companion. Now, she felt that same flicker of closeness, tinged with uncertainty. "I'm honored," she said softly.

Lucien gave her a curt nod, though a flicker of warmth lit his gaze. "We want these receptions to mark a turning point. The estate fully restored, new alliances forged."

Madame Bernadette bustled off to fetch swatches from her carriage, leaving Vivienne and Lucien alone. She smoothed her skirts, shy all over again. "Thank you for including me."

He studied her face. "I meant it—your presence is vital to these receptions' success. The local nobility sees you as my…partner, in some form." A rueful note crept into his voice. "Even if that term is fraught for us now."

Vivienne's heart fluttered. "I appreciate it. Truly." She hesitated, then softly asked, "Are you sure you're comfortable parading me at these gatherings? People still gossip about the infiltration, about whether we're truly reconciled."

Lucien's mouth pressed into a line. "Let them gossip. I prefer honesty now: you remain here as an independent woman choosing to stand with me. If they see that—and sense no shame in our bond—they'll have less fuel for rumors."

Her eyes glistened at the notion that he still considered her by his side. "I'd like that."

He offered a small, genuine smile—perhaps the first in weeks that reached his eyes. "Then let's do it. We can shape a new narrative. My steward suggests an opulent ball next month, followed by smaller soirees. If you're willing, you'd be the hostess, guiding the estate staff."

A swirl of emotion flooded Vivienne. "I never dreamed you'd trust me like that again."

His expression turned grave. "Trust is still fragile. But…my heart can't dismiss you. And the staff respects your organizational talents. Let's see how we fare."

Tears pricked her eyes. She blinked them back, nodding gratefully. "I won't let you down."

In that charged moment, Madame Bernadette swept back in, arms laden with fabric samples and chatter, oblivious to the personal drama. She urged Vivienne to choose colors, encouraging Lucien's approval for each design. The tasks offered a welcome distraction, letting them share fleeting glances and occasional half-smiles.

But beneath the flurry of measurements and swatches lay a deeper tension: Vivienne sensed that forging a new future with Lucien demanded more than lovely gowns and receptions. It required healing. Julian's presence—or absence—still lingered in her mind like a missing puzzle piece. Could she truly be the lady of Belfoire if her heart remained divided?

For now, though, she embraced the moment. The stifled warmth in Lucien's eyes suggested they might find a path forward, at least in the public sphere. She would pour her energy into preparing for the grand ball, hoping that the swirl of dancing and finery might also chase away the lingering shadows of heartbreak.