The Death of a Bachelor

Chapter Twenty Eight.

It was no secret within Rivera Manor that Elena was a sparrow in the mornings. She always skipped around, greeting everyone she met in the hallways with a sunny smile, occasionally striking jolly conversation.

She would have breakfast with her family members, and not an omelette day went by without her being giddy about it - she ate twice a much as the others.

Which is why everyone who met her knew something was wrong the minute her morning routine was done in a zigzag, flat manner.

The maid Grechen and the gardener Alfonse were standing in the back upper lawns, regarding Elena. Their mistress was kneeling in the wide circular garden in the lower lawns, packed with all kinds of shrubs and flowers, and she was busy hacking and uprooting.

"Lady Elena likes to weed, yes," said the gardener. "But I have never seen her attack the weeds as viciously as she's doing right now."

Grechen frowned. "Those poor ol' weeds. Something's wrong, alright. If only missus Mara was around, she would talk to 'er."

Elena was definitely angry. And it wasn't because the General had failed to show up for rehearsal, but the reason as to why.

He'd sent a letter the previous night explaining why he hadn't shown and it took all her willpower not to shred it to bits. He'd explained that a special friend had paid him a surprise visit, which he could not deny her.

Elena's eyes flamed just remembering his words, and she hacked with recuperated wild vigour at the weeds, sending mud flying everywhere.

"What? A special friend?" she gritted out. "Do all special friends - friends roll over themselves on the ground in such intimate positions? Do they!"

She grabbed onto a crawler and yanked it clean out of the ground, roots and all. She then started running her hands through the wet soil, fishing out the remainder of the smaller weeds and flinging them aside with as much vigour as she was using to hack.

She was just about done when a voice pulled her out of her thoughts and actions.

"Lady Elena Rivera, I presume."

She didn't recognise the voice.

"Yes, that is-" She stopped midway her sentence when she turned and saw a familiar leggy blonde standing a short distance from her.

The pants and high heeled boots emphasized her glorious long legs, and her white shirt was off-shoulder, slight cleavage revealed by the corset over it. The sleeves of her shirt were tucked into her brown leather vambraces.

With a hand on her hip, her posture only amplified the analytical, seemingly contemptuous look she shot down at Elena from her kohl lined grey eyes.

Elena rose to her feet with haste. "Your highness!"

Princess Debra's nose wrinkled in disapproval as her eyes graced the smudges of soil that painted Elena's beige dress, and hands.

"You're dirty," she pointed out, the words rolling off her tongue in a slow, factual manner. "I came here to meet Kieran's future wife, and I'm met with someone whose traits are akin to those  of warthog."

The comment was a spike and Elena's chest was the target, landing a bullseye.
Gulping, Elena lowered her gaze and touched the skirt of her dress, making to curtsy.

Debra's groan made her freeze before she could do so.

"Using your dirty hands to curtsy to me, is like offering a handshake with those same hands," she sneered. "I shall not accept it."