My Unchosen Ex Chases Reborn Me (Soren and Fiona) novel Chapter 41

“You and I need only handle our duties. Any attempt at flattery is wasted on me,” Soren said, the edge in his tone left perfectly bare.He spared no courtesy, as though trimming fat from a blade.

By the time the carriage rolled beneath the lantern–lit gates of the Niven family estate, Fiona was still turning his contradiction over and over in her mind.

A man does not usually brush a woman’s hair unless there is intimacy, she thought, yet affection was clearly impossible. Women sense these things; in Soren’s gaze, there was not the faintest flicker of desire for her–only level, unemotional dark.

“These plum blossoms are gorgeous, far richer than the usual sort,” Pearl Winters said brightly when Fiona stepped inside with the bouquet. “Let me place them in water for you, Miss.”

Fiona wandered through Lily Garden in search of Meryl, calling softly, but her mother was nowhere to be seen.

Pearl Winters slipped past the brocade portière, her breath clouding in the cool morning air. She bent to Fiona’s ear and murmured, “Good news, Lady Fiona. Ms. Rita is expecting. Lady Meryl and Madam Joanna left at first light for the Wagner estate to congratulate her.”

The needle in Fiona’s hand paused mid–stitch. She silently counted backward through the recent moons. Yes–this was exactly when Rita had carried her firstborn.

Rita’s marriage had unfolded like a courtly ballad, every verse charmed. Her first child had been the Wagner family’s rightful eldest grandson. Her second, the household’s very first granddaughter–cherished, indulged, practically wrapped in silk and song. With those two births, Rita’s standing inside the Wagners had become immovable granite.

Though Fiona sometimes found herself nettled by her cousin’s easy luck, she still felt a swell of pride. When I visit, what gift can possibly match such joy? she wondered, already sifting through possibilities of silk, pearls, and rare tonics.

The climb up Frostenden Mountain earlier that day had drained every ounce of strength she possessed. She skipped supper, collapsed onto her mattress, and surrendered to sleep before the lamps had even been trimmed.

Night unfurled a startling, honey–scented dream. She was back inside the wooden lodge on Frostenden’s summit. Snow sealed the mountainside in white silence, yet the room burned with heat–breath mingling, hearts racing–and the man beside her was Xavier.

Fiona jolted upright at dawn and drained an entire pitcher of water, cooling the embers in her

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Chapter 41 Professional Distance

chest. Why on earth would I dream of a man–of him–in such wicked detail?

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Later that morning, Lilith bustled in and spotted the vase of crimson–edged blossoms on the windowsill. “Fiona, did you gather those plum branches on Frostenden Mountain?”

“I did,” Fiona replied. Lilith’s tone set her nerves humming–something about the flowers was suddenly suspect.

“When we went to admire the snow, we wanted to pick some too, but Lord Soren stopped us. He said the blossoms are called Dreamfall plum and carry poison. You ought to throw them out,” Lilith warned.

So that was why Soren had brushed the petals from her cloak with his own hands yesterday— yet never breathed a word of caution. Such a dark heart, she thought, though aloud she merely smiled. “The mountain scenery alone was worth the journey.”

“Cold, though,” Lilith said, rubbing hands reddened beneath her heavy cloak.

“Why didn’t you stay inside the wooden lodge where it was warm?”

Lilith blinked. “Wasn’t the lodge reserved? Ordinary guests weren’t allowed in, were they?”

Fiona’s eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. Harriet must have prepared that lodge for Soren alone–no wonder the doors were barred to the rest of us.

Lilith sighed, a note of envy threading her voice. “Having an elder brother like Lord Soren is a blessing. He considers everything for Naomi. Even when she stirs up trouble, he clears the mess without letting her worry.”

Fiona’s thoughts drifted to her own brothers. Vincent would do the same for me, if only they were still here in Jexburgh, she mused with quiet loyalty.

News of Rita’s pregnancy sent Hannah into raptures. She summoned Fiona personally, instructing her to pay a congratulatory visit to the Wagner estate,

Even the date of the visit had been chosen by a geomancy master. According to the calculations, Fiona would best bless Rita four days hence–no sooner, no later.

“Rita’s appetite is poor these days,” the matriarch said, tapping Fiona’s wrist for emphasis. “Your cook works miracles with pastries. Have him prepare a selection, and take them to your sister.”

Joanna interjected with a gentle laugh. “Mother, rest easy. The Wagners spoil Rita terribly. She simply craves sour flavors and refuses everything else.”

Hannah chuckled. “Sounds like a boy is on the way.”

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Joanna answered only with a knowing smile.

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The elder woman’s gaze softened toward Fiona. “If you can bring me half the pride Rita has given me, my girl, I shall count myself content.”

Joanna weighed the matter with a private, almost amused detachment. In her eyes, Fiona’s future husband would never eclipse the son–in–law already seated at the Wagner table; finding a man of equal worth felt as impossible as pulling starlight into a jar. “Set your mind at ease, Hannah,” she added, voice light as tinkling glass. “With that face, our Fiona could charm any suitor alive. Why, even a prince from the Imperial Palace would not overreach himself.”

Hannah exhaled a soft, age–worn sigh. “Better we leave the Palace unmentioned,” she murmured. “Royal sons sit on thrones made of sharpened chess pieces. Few pause to spare their wives; many would sacrifice them with the flick of a sleeve. I will not throw my granddaughter into that game.”

The Wagner clan had long ago divided its wealth among separate households, each branch with its own grand residence scattered across Jexburgh’s handsome avenues. Yet blood ran warmer than distance; visits, letters, and shared meals flowed back and forth almost daily. So when word arrived that Fiona would call today, Yolanda rose before dawn and hurried to her uncle’s estate—the very house where Rita now presided–to await her cousin’s carriage.

“I heard things have grown tense between you and Naomi,” Yolanda said the moment Fiona stepped through the lacquered doors. “Lessons at the academy must feel icy. If I run into Serena Prescott or Mindy Ronson in the next few days, I’ll see what can be mended.”

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