Lord Theodore's Favorite Ritual
Chapter 185: Lydia Theodore’s Sanctuary.

Chapter 185: Lydia Theodore’s Sanctuary.

Library, Theodore Mansion.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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With a final glance down the dimly lit hallway, Dorothy turned the brass doorknob and pushed the door open. The library greeted them with a hushed, almost reverent silence. Moonlight streamed through the little gaps in the tall windows, casting a gentle glow on the rows of mahogany bookshelves. The scent of old paper and leather bindings filled the air, a familiar and comforting aroma.

Joyous closed the door behind them, and they both moved deeper into the room, their footsteps muffled by the thick Persian rug that covered the wooden floor. Dorothy led the way to their lady’s favourite reading nook, a cosy corner with a plush armchair and a small table, where a teacup and saucer still sat from her last visit.

Joyous narrowed her eyes, "Dorothy we cannot sit on that chair" she pointed out.

"I was only going to check it out" Dorothy lied with an embarrassed grin.

"Refrain from doing so," Joyous said pointedly before walking away. "What should we read?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dorothy scanned the shelves, her fingers trailing along the spines of the books. "How about this one?" She pulled out a well-worn volume with a vibrant cover. "It’s one of her favourites. ’The Secret Garden’."

Joyous smiled, recognizing the title. "Oh, I’ve always wanted to read that." they hadn’t been able to read it because she would want to read something new whenever she was reading with them.

They settled into the reading nook, Joyous perched on the floor resting her back on the armrest of the chair while Dorothy sat cross-legged on the floor. Dorothy opened the book, and as she began to read aloud, Joyous closed her eyes, letting the words transport her to another world.

"’When Mary Johnson was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle, everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen,’" Dorothy read, her voice soft and melodic. "They judged her by her looks?"

"Like we judged the book would be good by its cover and title" They both laughed out loud before they continued their reading.

They read for hours, losing themselves in the story of Mary and her secret garden. Occasionally, they would stop to discuss a particularly intriguing part, their hushed giggles and animated whispers filling the room with a warmth that mirrored their lady’s presence.

"Oh, Dorothy, do you think we could ever find a secret garden like Mary did?" Joyous asked dreamily, her eyes sparkling in the dim light. Once in a while, Dorothy finds out Joyous has a lot of sides, for this side was the girliest Joyous had ever been.

Dorothy laughed softly. "Who knows? Maybe there is one hidden somewhere in the mansion. We will have to search for it when the weather’s nice." she said.

They continued reading, the worries and duties of their daily lives momentarily forgotten. In the library, they felt close to their lady, enveloped by the stories she loved and the space she cherished. It was a brief escape, a stolen moment of joy and camaraderie.

Eventually, the clock struck midnight, and reality crept back in. Joyous glanced at the clock and sighed. "We should go before anyone notices we’re missing."

Dorothy groaned, stretching her neck.

"Anyone? I mean if Hound has not noticed already" Joyous added.

Dorothy nodded, reluctantly closing the book. "You are right. But we can come back another night, can we not?"

Joyous smiled. "Yes, we can. It will be like our own little secret."

They carefully replaced the book on the shelf and tidied the reading nook, ensuring everything was exactly as they had found it. As they slipped out of the library, closing the door behind them, they carried with them the warmth and happiness of their shared adventure, a treasured memory to hold until their lady returned.

"Where are you coming from?" a low rumble of a male voice raised goosebumps on their arms the second they exited through the kitchen doors.

"The library!" Dorothy squealed immediately.

He raised a brow at Joyous who was glaring at his chest. "What about you?"

He smirked. She was a tough one. "Go to sleep both of you" he asked away.

"Thank you" Dorothy screeched before running away. Joyous marched away as though she could care less what the man thought and he couldn’t be any prouder. If he had a sister she had to be like this.

*

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Day.

Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.

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The city, Critic Arley was a bustling garden of life and colour for days now, the streets thrummed with the energy of its individuals. Nestled within its fortified walls, the city spread out in a harmonious blend of the old and the new, with cobblestone streets winding through ancient buildings and newly erected structures standing tall, the evidence of the city’s prosperity.

In the heart of Critic Arley, the noble quarter gleamed with elegance and refinement. The grand manors and estates of the aristocracy were masterpieces of architecture, with intricately carved facades, grand balconies draped with vibrant flowers, and sprawling gardens that seemed to stretch endlessly. Each residence was a show of its owner’s wealth and status, and the competition for grandeur was evident in every gilded detail.

The streets of the noble quarter were perpetually abuzz with activity. Carriages drawn by sleek, well-groomed horses clattered along the cobblestones, their polished surfaces reflecting the midday sun. Footmen in liveried uniforms opened carriage doors with practised precision, assisting finely dressed ladies and gentlemen as they alighted for their daily visits and social engagements.

Gossamer-clad ladies with elaborate coiffures and gentlemen in tailored suits strolled along the tree-lined avenues, exchanging pleasantries and invitations with the ease of a long-practised ritual. The air was filled with the scent of blooming roses and the distant strains of music from private orchestras performing in the many garden parties and salons that dotted the district.

"Miss Beatrice, do join us for tea tomorrow at the Harrington estate," a young woman called out, her voice melodic and filled with excitement. "We simply must discuss the latest fashions from the capital."

"I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Lady Arabella," Beatrice replied, her fan fluttering gracefully as she smiled. "And you must come to our soirée next week. We’re having a string quartet from Labrinth perform. It promises to be quite the event." she was Lady Lively’s sister.

Just beyond the noble quarter, the central marketplace thrived with an entirely different kind of energy.

Merchants hawked their wares from colourful stalls, the air thick with the scent of exotic spices, freshly baked bread, and the tang of the nearby sea.

Traders shouted out their prices, trying to outdo one another, while shoppers haggled with good-natured fervour.

The marketplace was a riot of colour and sound. Brightly dyed fabrics fluttered in the breeze, children darted through the crowds with infectious laughter, and street performers entertained passersby with feats of acrobatics and magic.

It was a place where the city’s pulse could be felt most keenly, a melting pot of cultures and classes all converging in a cacophony of life.

In the evenings, the city transformed once again.

The noble quarter glittered with the soft glow of gas lamps and the flicker of candlelight from within the grand mansions.

Elegant couples waltzed into high-class ballrooms, their movements graceful and fluid, as orchestras played enchanting melodies that drifted out into the night.

Balls were held for every conceivable occasion in Critic Arley, from birthdays and anniversaries to the mere joy of a full moon.

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses filled the air as guests toasted to health, wealth, and happiness.

"Lord Ashford, you must join us for our moonlit masquerade next fortnight," a hostess exclaimed, her mask adorned with feathers and jewels. "It will be the event of the new season!"

"It would be my honour, Lady Clarissa," Lord Ashford replied with a courteous bow. "I shall look forward to it with great anticipation, have you seen Lady Shi’Enz?"

"No!" she said curtly before turning away from him as she resisted an eye roll.

"Lord Reyes?" a miss called for the viscount the second she gathered the courage.

"I have a wife and even if I did not I would hate your company" he bellowed immediately.

The miss pressed her lips together "Oh of course," she left his side with her cheeks red as a tomato.

"He is the most crass man you would ever meet, I am horrified for his wife" words of comfort.

The celebrations spilt into the streets, where taverns and inns buzzed with merriment. Common folk and nobles alike gathered to share stories, drink ale, and revel in the communal joy that defined Valoria. Music played from every corner, and the city danced as one, united in their shared festivities.

They even forgot about the threats of witches invading that lurked the city.

As the night deepened, the city’s frenetic energy began to wane, but the spirit of celebration lingered in the air, it was always like that in Critic Arley, a vibrant life. From the bustling marketplace to the classic ballrooms, the city was a living, breathing entity, where every day was an opportunity to connect, celebrate, and experience the richness of life in the kingdom.