Amelia stood in the grand entrance hall, fidgeting with the delicate lace of her gloves. The morning light streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow on the marble floors. She was dressed and ready, having managed to put together a decent outfit that didn't scream "I have no idea what I'm doing." She hoped.
As she waited for the carriage, her mind wandered to the lessons she had watched. How hard could it be to act like a proper duchess at a ball? Surely she could manage a few steps without tripping over her own feet. Right?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps. She turned to see Ethan, the nephew, bounding down the stairs. His tiny suit made him look like an adorable miniature version of Alistair. Her heart swelled with affection. "Look at him! He's like a little gentleman in training!" she thought, fighting the urge to scoop him up and shower him with kisses.
"Good morning, Ethan!" she called out, her voice full of warmth.
"Good morning, Aunt Amelia," he replied shyly, a hint of a smile on his lips.
Before she could say more, the front doors opened, and Alistair stepped in. Amelia's breath hitched. He was always handsome, but today he looked especially striking. His tailored suit fit him perfectly, highlighting his broad shoulders and lean physique. His blonde hair was neatly combed, and his blue eyes sparkled with an intensity that made her heart race. "How is it possible for someone to look like a perfect cissled staue?!" she thought, feeling her cheeks warm. "Heart! Shut up!"
Alistair's eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. He walked over to them, his movements smooth and confident. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice as cool and composed as ever.
Amelia nodded, unable to trust her voice. Alistair offered his hand, and she took it, feeling a jolt of electricity at the contact. They walked to the waiting carriage, Ethan trotting alongside them.
As they climbed into the carriage, Amelia's heart pounded. She settled into her seat, sneaking glances at Alistair. His profile was perfect, each feature chiseled and flawless. "Why does he have to be so perfect?" she wondered, feeling both mesmerized and intimidated.
Alistair, on the other hand, was having his own internal debate. "I dressed up. Was it too much? Am I being too obvious?" He glanced at Amelia, her beauty amplified by the morning light. His heart did an uncharacteristic flip. "She looks stunning," he thought, his usual cold demeanor wavering for a moment.
The carriage ride was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated by the gentle clatter of hooves on cobblestones. Amelia tried to keep her thoughts in check, but it was hard when Alistair was sitting so close, his presence overwhelming.
Finally, the carriage came to a halt. The coachman's voice broke the silence. "We have arrived, Your Grace."