Deviating from the original plot

Chapter eighty-three

"That long?" Celeste gasped.

"I know, it sounds ridiculous," Evelyn said with a small laugh.

"It's not ridiculous," Celeste said earnestly. "Why didn't you ever pursue her?"

"I tried," Evelyn admitted with a rueful grin. "But she's so terribly dense. Every hint I dropped just—" she waved her hand vaguely "—went right over her head."

Celeste chuckled. "That actually makes sense. So... the person you liked wasn't the Viscount; it was her?"

Evelyn nodded. "Yes. But that's all in the past now. I have moved on."

Celeste asked, "With Freya?"

Evelyn flushed instantly. "Freya!? We're just friends!"

"Uh-huh," Celeste said, grinning. "She seems very into you."

Evelyn groaned, covering her face with one hand. "She did say something like that... but I wasn't sure if she was serious."

"She probably was," Celeste said with a knowing smile. "I can tell."

Evelyn peeked through her fingers, eyes narrowing playfully. "Oh really? And how would you know?"

Celeste leaned back with a teasing grin. "Because it's obvious. There's this tension between you two — the kind you can't fake. You both care about each other more than you're willing to admit. And the way she looks at you, the way she's always trying to be near you... it's hard to miss."

Evelyn blinked, caught between embarrassment and amusement. "You make it sound so dramatic," she muttered, looking away.

"It is dramatic," Celeste said, laughing softly. "You should see your face whenever she's around. You light up without even realising it."

Evelyn groaned, sinking into her seat. "Alright, enough."

Celeste let out a small giggle.

"Honestly, if you want to go after Victoria, don't be subtle. Be direct — she'll miss every hint unless you shove it in her face." Evelyn said,

"Oh... right." Celeste's cheeks warmed, but she didn't look away. "It's strange, though. I've never felt like this before — like my chest gets tight every time she smiles, and I want to make her proud somehow."

Evelyn smiled warmly. "Then don't hold back."

Celeste chuckled softly. "Maybe I'll try. I was never very good at being subtle anyway."

The carriage soon fell into a peaceful quiet, the kind that needed no words. Outside, the sky was painted in deep shades of amber and lilac as the last light of the sun melted over the rooftops. The rhythmic sound of the wheels against cobblestone filled the silence, calm and soothing.

When the carriage finally came to a stop in front of the small cottage, Clara was already standing by the steps with her arms crossed. "You're late," she said with a huff. "I already made dinner."

Celeste stepped down from the carriage and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry,"

Evelyn leaned out from the carriage window, waving. "Goodnight, you two! Don't stay up too late."

"Goodnight!" Celeste waved back, and the carriage rolled away down the road.

Clara stepped aside to let her in. "Come on, before the soup gets cold."

Celeste laughed softly and followed her inside, the warm scent of stew and herbs greeting her. As she sat at the table, a flicker of hope stirred within her—maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something better.