Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 171: The Gift.

Chapter 171: The Gift.

Garden, Citadel.

Critic Citadel, Critic-Ishire.

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The gift Lydia had brought for Sandra was one of her finest piece made, Sandra’s reaction, however, was far from warm.

Because with a haughty air, she had accepted the gift, barely acknowledging Lydia’s efforts which justifies why Lydia would ask if she didn’t like it.

"Oh, no, no, my dear. It’s just... not quite to my taste." Her eyes flicked over the wrapping with barely concealed disdain, and she made a dismissive gesture as if the gift was beneath her notice.

"I see. Perhaps I misunderstood. I shall take note for the future." Lydia replied softly.

"Yes, that would be wise. One must always be discerning in matters of taste." Sandra added making Lydia bite her lip.

Lydia’s heart sank at the lack of appreciation, but she maintained her composure, masking her disappointment with a polite nod. "Of course, Queen Mother. I shall strive to do better." she announced.

Sandra’s lips thinned as she whispered. "Indeed. Now, if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to." She was seated and expected Lydia to leave.

She did, nodding and turned to leave after she said. "Of course, Mother. Until we meet again."

Despite Sandra’s indifferent response, Lydia silently hoped that perhaps, over time, their relationship would thaw, and genuine warmth would replace the icy veneer of their interactions.

But for now, she resigned herself to the reality of their strained relationship, determined to persevere with grace and kindness, even in the face of indifference. Indifference which is Sandra.

Though she wasn’t Theodore’s mother, she was present and eldest in the royal family.

"Wait, We shall do some lady duties today" Sandra announced.

Lydia stood looking skeptical and unsure and Sandra didn’t like that so she added briskly. "It is leisure"

"Of course queen mother" Lydia approached her with a smile.

Maybe this was the time.

Lilith was gone and Liza upstairs.

Lydia thought perhaps this was her time to show Sandra she was best for Theodore but so far she was a nervous wreck

"Come, get the table" she instructed the maids who in turn rush to perform their task.

So under the dappled shade of ancient trees, within the tranquil confines of the royal garden, Lydia joined Sandra and sat upon ornate wrought-iron chairs

As Sandra had ordered, a group of maids bustled about, their crisp white aprons contrasting with the vibrant hues of the garden.

Their movements were precise, every action a choreographed dance of efficiency and practiced grace.

Their task?

To prepare the royal garden for a knitting session, a favored pastime of their mistress, Sandra, well Queen mother.

Under the watchful eye of the head maid, Martha, they meticulously arranged the knitting materials on a quaint wooden table adorned with lace.

With utmost care they laid out skeins of yarn in an array of colors, gleaming silver needles, and intricately carved knitting patterns.

They positioned each item just so it’ll ensure easy access and maximum comfort for Lydia and Sandra.

Lydia watched in respect while Sandra in boredom as with practiced hands, the maids unfurled a canopy of delicate lace to shield their mistress and her guest from the sun’s rays, creating a cozy nook amidst the verdant foliage. Sandra’s scowl ended freed her face after that.

The air was imbued with the scent of freshly cut flowers, mingling with the anticipation of the impending knitting session.

Lydia Theodore was a nervous wreck, she couldn’t knit!

She looked around for an alternative, a reason this couldn’t hold on but anything would’ve been too brash and she couldn’t do that.

As the preparations neared completion, the maids fetched refreshments fit for a royal gathering. Lydia smiled, that she could do.

Crystal goblets brimmed with sparkling lemonade, adorned with sprigs of mint plucked from the garden.

Silver platters displayed an assortment of delectable treats, delicate finger sandwiches, savory chops, and dainty pastries, all meticulously crafted by the skilled hands of the palace chefs.

The nervous Lydia wished her favourite snack was on the table but her mouth stayed shut.

With everything in place, the garden exuded an air of refined elegance, evoking the charm and sophistication.

"My lady" the head maid bowed presenting the area.

The stage was set for an enchanting rendezvous between the viscious stepmother inlaw and her esteemed guest, nervous lady Theodore, where the gentle click-clack of knitting needles would provide the backdrop to whispered conversations and the uncertainty of shared laughter amidst the beauty of nature.

Sandra, regal in demeanor and attire, knitted with practiced ease, her hands a blur of motion as she deftly worked the yarn into intricate patterns. She was almost as good as Sarah Jones but Lydia didn’t know her.

Beside Sandra, sat her step daughter-in-law, Lydia with a tension that seemed to radiate from her, her fingers fumbling awkwardly with the needles, each stitch a show of Lydia’s unfamiliarity with the craft.

She couldn’t knit.

"I must say, dear, your attempts are rather pitiful," remarked Sandra, heartlessly with a cutting edge to her tone, her words laced with a disdainful undertone.

"One would think you would have learned such a basic skill by now." She continued with a shake of her head.

Lydia flinched at the barb, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of shame and indignation.

"I... I apologize, Queen Mother," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

She blinked before she continued. "I never had the opportunity to learn before..."

Her words trailed off as Sandra waved a dismissive hand, her disapproval palpable.

"Excuses, excuses," she retorted, her gaze icy as it bore into Lydia. She wasn’t so pretty now, is she? She mused.

She couldn’t see that Maria had seen just as she came, the sister had refused to acknowledge Lilith all those years.

"A true lady knows how to adapt and excel in any situation, regardless of her upbringing." She continued, perhaps deciding Lydia was once poor.

As the tension between the two women thickened, a trio of maids approached with trays of refreshments, their presence a welcome distraction from the mounting hostility.

"Would you care for some tea, Queen Mother?" one of them inquired, her voice a soothing balm amid the escalating conflict.

She glanced at Lydia before quickly averting her gaze, this morning Theodore had gathered all of them to warn them never to stay at his wife, they weren’t in the place to disobey.

Sandra nodded imperiously, her demeanor softening slightly as she accepted a delicate porcelain cup.

"Thank you, my dear," she replied, her tone regaining a semblance of civility.

"And perhaps a glass of lemonade for the... less skilled among us," she added, casting a disdainful glance in her step daughter-in-law’s direction.

Lydia reddened further as just in time the needle pricked her, but she maintained her demeanor with a soft smile as she wiped the finger on her dress.

The maids exchanged furtive glances but maintained their composure as they fulfilled the request, offering Lydia a glass with a sympathetic smile.

"Here you are, my lady," one of them murmured, her eyes conveying a silent message of solidarity.

Lydia blinked and as she accepted the gesture with a murmured word of thanks, a flicker of determination ignited within her.

Though she may have faltered in this particular trial, she resolved to prove her worth through perseverance and resilience, she was determined to rise above the scornful judgments of Sandra and emerge stronger for the experience.

But Sandra suddenly dropped everything. "It is enough I have taken enough of your shenanigans, maids!" the maids came rushing in.

Lydia dropped the needle gently. "What is happening?" she inquired.

Sandra held her gaze and almost saw the beauty Maria had seen but she quickly averted her gaze with a frown. "We are no longer knitting, go have some rest"

"Lydia shall make dinner today, prepare the kitchen" she announced loudly for the maids to hear and soon a bucket full of murmurs poured on every maid.

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Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

Dear Critic,

I sigh in relief and wonder.

Is the Baron truly as inlove with his soon to be wife as he claims? Or is there something amiss.

Your daughters should be shown off not locked up upstairs where they only stare at the moon.

Now, If you do not read my papers, begin to.

Something is brimming.

Some of you young but old lazy bats had been ordered to protect your homes and city but I still see them, filtering in, waiting for the right time.

I hope we never give them that.

If you cannot sleep at night, there is a new shop for the plushiest of pillows right where the jewellery shop turned to ashes.

Not to worry, this one will not burn for the seller is noble.