"It suits you *perfectly*!"
Despite her cheerful voice, dark circles shadowed her eyes, and she looked as though she hadn't slept for ten nights straight. Artemisia gazed at my dress with a carefree smile, dabbing at her tears with a handkerchief.
"I'm so proud right now."
This wasn't the debut gown, but rather the outfit I would wear to meet the Marchioness of Toten—the woman who had agreed to serve as my chaperone. There hadn't been time to create something entirely new, so Artemisia had remade a ready-made dress from the boutique specifically for me. She'd explained the alterations in meticulous detail, but I had only been half-listening and could barely recall a word.
"Noble ladies adore vivacious young women, but they also prize modest, well-bred ones no less. And the Marchioness of Toten will likely draw parallels between you and her child's poor health, so I removed all the lace, reduced the embellishments, and emphasized your refined, understated beauty!"
Honestly, it wasn't so different from what I usually wore. But if I said as much, she would probably burst into tears.
"I truly love it. Thank you for all your efforts, Artemisia."
"Y-you can call me Misa..."
It seemed praise had been the correct response. The distance between us had surely narrowed now.
"Thanks to Misa, I'll be able to make a good impression on the Marchioness of Toten."
"*Phew*... Now I can die without regrets. Have a safe journey..."
Artemisia swayed back toward the dressing room, apparently determined to resume work on my debut gown. She looked as though she might collapse from exhaustion at any moment. How could she possibly stay awake in such a state? I hadn't forced her into anything, yet I still felt as though I were shamelessly exploiting someone else's talents.
"My lady, I believe it's time for us to depart."
Henna checked the hour, carefully gathered her things, and rose to her feet. There was no point lingering here any longer—better to focus on the task at hand.
We had arranged to travel today as a group of three: myself, Henna, and Melek. Melek had appeared unexpectedly and turned out to be our coachman for the day.
After the incident during the trip to the temple, the previous coachman had quit, and Melek had taken over his duties. According to Mary, he had demonstrated astonishing talent from his very first days at the stables. She'd even complained that all she could manage was feeding the horses carrots, and compared to him, she felt clearly inferior.
"Gamigin, be good."
Melek gently stroked the horse's sleek neck. It struck me as amusing—he hadn't chosen a name for himself, yet he'd given one to the horse. He promised the carriage would ride incredibly smoothly and helped me settle inside.
Still, one thought kept nagging at me. He was planning to drive *blindfolded*. Was that because he was a ghost and physical sight didn't matter? I knew the truth and could therefore ride calmly, but I worried that others might be frightened. However, Henna climbed in behind me without the slightest hesitation. Apparently, it only looked alarming from the outside. We were comfortable, and therefore nothing else mattered.
The coachman's talent truly was impressive. Previous carriages had been so jarring that my back ached for hours afterward, but under Melek's control, the ride was so smooth that movement was barely perceptible. Perhaps this was what a phantom coachman's skill looked like.
While I was marveling at the difference, we had already arrived at the Marquis of Toten's mansion. They must have received Gabriel's letter in advance, because the iron gates swung open immediately, and the carriage rolled calmly through before stopping directly at the entrance.
_Wow._
The estate was truly enormous.
Even comparing it to Count Rohanson's property seemed awkward—almost insulting to the sheer scale before me.
"Are you Lady Rohanson? Thank you for honoring the House of Toten with your visit."
"Thank you for your hospitality."
We were greeted by a man with graying hair who carried himself with the unmistakable bearing of a butler.
"The Marchioness awaits you."
Henna and I followed him into the depths of the mansion.
"Did he really drive horses with that blindfold on...?"
Behind us, a surprised cry rose from the servant directing Melek where to stop the carriage—clearly having just noticed the cloth covering his eyes.
I pretended not to hear. Better to get inside as quickly as possible.
---
The interiors of the Marquis of Toten's mansion were strikingly unusual. Every window stood wide open, as though the rooms were being constantly ventilated. The furniture gleamed with an almost obsessive cleanliness—not a speck of dust anywhere. Pious decorations adorned every surface. There was something odd about this excessive grooming, this meticulous perfection. It looked more like a stage set than a living home.
Sunlight flooded the rooms, making the colors rich and almost unreal. For a moment, I felt as though I were watching a film, sitting before a screen, my sense of reality dissolving into the brightness. But the butler's voice, addressing me directly, immediately pulled me back. I shuddered and mentally scolded myself.
_I need to stay alert._
"It has been quite some time since Madame last received guests."
He spoke with a soft, good-natured smile.
"Isn't the Marchioness of Toten held in high esteem?"
The question came naturally. Gabriel had assured me she possessed extensive connections and a keen understanding of society. That was precisely why he considered her the ideal chaperone—someone through whom one could meet all the right people.
Gabriel wouldn't lie, so the reason must lie elsewhere. Perhaps her relationships with those around her were more formal, more ostentatious than genuine. It suggested the cold detachment typical of high aristocracy.
"Ha-ha. Apparently, all the noise and bustle aren't exactly conducive to peace of mind."
I nodded slowly, piecing the picture together. It was about her sick son. Come to think of it, it truly was peculiar to host receptions and social events in a house where a child lay seriously ill. My own visit, too, seemed perhaps not entirely appropriate.
That was why Gabriel had suggested inviting the Marchioness to the Rohanson estate instead. And I, not knowing the full context, had insisted on coming myself. Frankly, he could have explained the situation far more forcefully.
"This is also the first time Madame has agreed to serve as a chaperone. It was likely influenced by the Order Commander's account of your circumstances."
"That I was ill?"
"Yes. I suppose that's why Madame made an exception and permitted this visit."
There was a clear hint embedded in those words. Both the invitation and her agreement to become my chaperone had been dictated by the fact that my fate somehow echoed that of her son. And between the lines, another accusation lingered unspoken: *I had, without a second thought, invaded their sanctuary.*
The butler had clearly mastered the art of elegant understatement through long years of experience. And since the blame truly did lie with me, there was nothing I could say in response.
_Forgive me for my tactlessness._
"And also, out of an old man's anxiety, allow me to say something rather forward..." He paused, his tone shifting. "Please, do not instill false hope in Madame."
_False hope?_ What did that mean?
"Madame had only recently come to terms with matters, but after hearing of Lady Rohanson's story, she seemed to begin hoping that Lord Ryder might also improve."
_Wasn't that a good thing?_ It seemed I had become something of a symbol of hope.
"But Lord Ryder's condition is so dire that even holy water no longer helps..."
The butler's voice softened, losing its previous edge of restrained sarcasm. I suddenly understood my error.
**_Hope can also be poison._**
He bowed his head. For a moment, I thought he might weep. So the illness was truly far more severe than I had imagined. If even holy water couldn't help, things must be desperate indeed. Perhaps it wasn't a matter of years, but of months. Or less.
To distill it to a simple conclusion: the butler was asking me for one thing—not to console the Marchioness of Toten with tales of her son recovering someday, as I myself had done. Because hope, ignited in vain and then extinguished, can leave a wound so deep it may never heal.
"Madame may ask you how you recovered."
"Don't worry." I met his gaze steadily. "Even if the Marchioness invited me hoping to find answers, there's precious little I can do to help."
Saying this, I felt a strange sense of calm. Evangeline was already dead. What appeared to be a miraculous recovery was merely a consequence of *me* inhabiting her body. This wasn't healing within the natural order of the world, and certainly not an example anyone could follow. To offer advice here would be nothing short of dishonest.
The butler visibly relaxed upon hearing my answer. He truly did care deeply for the Marchioness of Toten. A model of devoted service. Unlike our butler, who always turned pale and hurried away the moment he caught sight of me. Although, considering how much evil Evangeline had wrought, I could hardly complain.
"You're not at all what they said." A genuine smile crossed his weathered features. "It's easy to speak with you. I'm glad I was mistaken."
There was unmistakable relief in that smile. Though, to be honest, I sensed the old man had been subtly testing me from the very beginning.
Essentially, he'd just admitted that unpleasant rumors had been circulating about me, but in reality, I had turned out quite sane—and that was fortunate. Thanks to Dolline's eloquence lessons, I could now pick up on such nuances without difficulty.
After enduring the endless stares of people who trembled at Evangeline's notorious reputation, meeting someone so bold and self-assured was unexpectedly refreshing. They say butlers in noble houses often develop an inflated sense of their own importance. This seemed to be precisely such a case.
_Does he truly believe Evangeline should know her place and bow her head to the Marchioness who deigned to become her chaperone?_
"It seems you truly respect the Marchioness of Toten."
"Pardon?"
The butler turned to me, caught off guard by the unexpected observation.
"You are so concerned about how this might affect the Marchioness that you do not hesitate to share details of the household's private affairs with someone you've only just met."
It appeared a truly capable butler possessed a keen sense of insight as well. He understood everything without further elaboration, and I finally allowed myself to capitulate. I wasn't exactly a proud person to begin with—if I were, would I have ever gotten involved in romance schemes with characters from a novel?
Having decided to acknowledge his exceptional loyalty and intimate knowledge of the Marquis's household, I employed the "method of indirect expression" that Dolline had taught me.
"From the outside, one might almost believe *you* are the true master of this house."
_And your sense of ownership is impressive. It's precisely this type of person that employers value most. Truly admirable._
There was a pause.
The compliment seemed too generous, and the butler was momentarily rendered speechless.
_Oops!_
Of course, in romantic novels, it wasn't customary to shower subordinates with effusive praise—but without realizing it, I had broken the unspoken rule and delivered an overly frank, flattering tirade.
In truth, when he'd gently needled me earlier, I had wanted to respond in kind. But I had restrained myself, fearing it might spawn more ugly rumors. What if I lost my temper, said something regrettable, and the butler relayed it to the Marchioness? Who would she be more likely to believe—me, whom she had only just met today, or the man who had served her faithfully for years? If rumors began circulating, I could forget about securing a chaperone entirely. Since I had resolved to maintain my composure, it was worth seeing it through.
I mentally pictured my future chaperone and pressed on.
"You truly possess a rare gift for words. This must be how you've greeted every guest who has visited the Marquis's house."
_The manners are impeccable, and the reception is exemplary. If there were a guestbook here, I would certainly write something like: "The butler is exceptionally kind, and the Marquis's house is wonderfully comfortable." Five stars. Completely satisfied._
The torrent of compliments proved too much for him. The butler began to perspire visibly.