Chapter 10
Julian became public to the Wycliffe family three months later.
Small dinner.
No press.
No spectacle.
Amabel attended because she wanted to.
She wore no maid uniform.
That mattered.
One aunt asked:
“So what are we calling her now?”
I answered:
“Amabel.”
The aunt frowned.
Good.
People love roles because roles make hierarchy easy.
Housemaid.
Mistress.
Mother of heir.
Fiancée’s sister.
No.
Amabel.
Julian’s mother.
Then someone asked the inevitable question.
“Will she move into the family wing?”
Amabel answered herself.
“No.”
Good.
Another asked whether Julian would carry Wycliffe.
I looked at Amabel.
Her choice mattered too.
We had already discussed it.
Julian Bellamy-Wycliffe.
Both.
Arthur hated it.
Excellent.
Not because I wanted to punish him.
Because Julian belonged to no one person’s narrative.
Then my oldest uncle asked:
“First son means something.”
I stared.
“No.”
He laughed.
“Stellan.”
“He’s an infant.”
Silence.
“No titles. No promises. No factions.”
That rule mattered.
If Julian grew up and wanted nothing to do with Wycliffe business, good.
If he wanted in as an adult, he would prove himself like anyone else.
No automatic crown.
No mother elevated because she gave birth.
May you like
No aunt erased because she did not.
We would not solve one family’s obsession by creating another.
