Chapter 3: The Adopted Princess
1153 Words
Arthur Bennett considered Maren’s request with the seriousness of a military strategist.
“Appropriate enough to remind them,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“That leaves a considerable range.”
Maren glanced down at the account folder still resting beside her breakfast plate.
“I don’t want to look like I’m trying to compete with Elise.”
Arthur nodded.
“I simply don’t want to arrive looking like the poor relation they expect.”
“Understood.”
He stepped away to make a call.
Across the table, Lucian continued reading the report in front of him.
Maren watched him for a moment.
“You’re not going to ask why my family needs to be reminded?”
“No.”
The answer came without hesitation.
She blinked. “You’re not curious?”
“Curiosity does not entitle me to information you haven’t chosen to share.”
That was almost unsettlingly reasonable.
Dominic would have demanded every detail, then used it against her during their next argument.
Lucian merely turned a page.
Maren lowered her gaze to her breakfast.
“This marriage may be the healthiest relationship I’ve ever had.”
Lucian looked up.
“We have been married for less than two weeks.”
“My point stands.”
Lucian paused over the sentence, as if he had not expected it.
Less than twenty minutes later, a styling team arrived at the Ravenscroft residence with garment bags, shoe boxes, and carefully arranged cases of jewelry.
Maren stared at the collection filling the sitting room.
“I asked for lunch clothes.”
Arthur stood beside her, composed as ever.
“These are lunch clothes.”
“For whom? Royalty?”
“Some of these designers do dress members of royal families.”
Maren looked at him.
Arthur remained perfectly serious.
She chose a pale blue dress with clean lines, a fitted waist, and a hem that fell below her knees. It was elegant without appearing theatrical. The fabric moved softly when she walked, and the understated diamond earrings made the entire outfit look effortless.
Which probably meant it had cost more than most people’s cars.
When the stylist finished adjusting the dress, Maren studied herself in the mirror.
She did not look like the frightened young woman from the original memories.
She looked calm.
Established.
Untouchable.
For the first time since waking in this world, the name Maren Beaumont did not feel like a sentence.
She reached for the account card Arthur had given her.
“I’ll pay for this.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Formal clothing required for your position is covered through the household office.”
“I have my own account now.”
“And it remains yours.”
Maren stared at him. “Lucian pays for the clothes, the house, the staff, and formal expenses. What exactly am I expected to pay for?”
“Whatever you wish.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“For whom?”
She considered that.
“Probably Lucian.”
Arthur’s mouth twitched.
Maren slipped the card back into her bag.
She needed to remember that this generosity was part of the marriage arrangement, not affection.
Lucian had married her because of an agreement between their grandmothers. He had fulfilled his obligations with exceptional efficiency, but that did not mean he wanted a real marriage.
The original novel had mentioned a woman who had grown up close to the Ravenscroft family.
People in their social circle had called her the Ravenscroft princess.
She had been abroad for years, and the story never made it clear whether Lucian had loved her. Readers had certainly believed he did.
Maren had no intention of becoming the inconvenient wife standing between a man and the woman he truly wanted.
Her plan remained simple.
Respect his privacy.
Fulfill public obligations.
Stay away from Dominic.
Rebuild her career.
Save enough money to remain independent if the marriage ended.
She was a temporary wife with an extraordinarily generous employment package.
Nothing more.
Maren walked downstairs.
Lucian stood near the windows, speaking quietly into his phone. He had changed into another dark suit, immaculate and severe, as though he had been created specifically to make everyone around him feel underdressed.
He ended the call when she approached.
Arthur smiled. “You look lovely, Mrs. Ravenscroft.”
“Thank you.”
Maren turned toward Lucian.
His gaze traveled over her once, controlled and unreadable.
For some reason, she found herself waiting for his reaction.
“It suits you,” he said.
Three words.
Apparently, three words from Lucian Ravenscroft carried the emotional impact of a standing ovation.
Maren smiled.
“Thank you. For the clothes and the account.”
“It was already arranged.”
“I know it may be routine to you, but it saved me from walking into a family ambush unarmed.”
Lucian’s eyes sharpened slightly.
“You are a Ravenscroft. You should not have to ask for what the position requires.”
A Ravenscroft.
Not his wife.
The distinction was clear, but it did not bother her.
Not yet.
Maren reached out impulsively and caught his hand.
“You’re a much better husband than the novel gave you credit for.”
The words escaped before she could stop them.
Lucian’s gaze dropped to their joined hands.
Arthur went very still.
Maren realized what she had done and immediately released him.
“I meant—”
She paused.
There was no safe explanation for that sentence.
“The imaginary novel in my head,” she finished.
Lucian looked at her.
“That does not improve the explanation.”
“No,” she admitted. “It really doesn’t.”
She grabbed her bag.
“Thank you again. I should go.”
She hurried out before she could say anything worse.
Arthur watched the front door close.
Then he glanced carefully at Lucian’s hand.
Lucian disliked unnecessary contact. He had disliked it for as long as Arthur could remember. Employees knew better than to touch him, and even old friends rarely crossed that boundary.
Maren had done it twice in two days.
Arthur reached into his pocket and offered a folded handkerchief.
Lucian accepted it.
He wiped his palm once, his expression unreadable.
Then he took out his phone.
Maren’s contact was still open from the night before.
He began typing.
Our marriage is an arrangement. Avoid unnecessary physical contact.
Before he could send it, a message appeared.
Maren: Thank you again. I promise to make the Ravenscroft name look expensive.
A ridiculous animated celebration followed the text.
Lucian stared at it.
Her touch had not carried calculation.
No lingering pressure. No deliberate attempt to seduce him. No performance.
She had simply been happy.
His thumb hovered over the message he had written.
Then he deleted it.
Arthur noticed.
He was too professional to smile.
Barely.
Skyline House was waiting, and so was the family that had already chosen Elise once.
- Writer
