The sun seemed to have warmed the room beyond comfort, and the air hung heavy and still. I was dressed lightly, but the butler, bundled in several formal layers, must have found breathing far more difficult. At his age, such things truly do take their toll.
As for my recent slip of the tongue, I decided to be magnanimous and forgive him. I was a creature of a different order, after all, and therefore I must be forgiving.
"I will certainly convey to the Marchioness how devotedly you serve her."
As someone who had once been on the other side of such interactions, I couldn't bear watching the butler tend so diligently to a guest without acknowledgment. The best course of action was to praise him directly in front of the Marchioness de Toten. Usually, such words reach the higher-ups and result in either encouragement or, at the very least, sincere gratitude.
"Are you mocking me now?"
The same butler who, moments ago, had merely been dabbing at his perspiration was now trembling slightly, his gaze fixed upon me with unmistakable tension. I had only been praising him. Where had this sudden accusation sprung from? Did he truly believe I was ridiculing him simply because I had offered nothing but kind words?
I almost managed to convince myself of this interpretation—but the next moment, I nearly lost consciousness upon noticing my own hand resting casually on his shoulder.
_How did it get there?!_
I must not have even realized when I patted him. It was pure habit, developed from countless interactions with our own butler. They were dressed similarly, the setting was familiar, and so my body had simply acted on instinct.
Now his reaction made perfect sense. No matter what class structure one inhabits, when some green youth indulges in such unseemly familiarity, it can only be perceived as humiliation.
_Ouch!_ Our eyes met!
Yes, that was it! He had been shivering not from the heat, but from a keen sense of insulted dignity!
And yet, not daring to voice his displeasure directly to an aristocratic lady, he merely contained his irritation and continued to lead me onward. I had tried so earnestly to be polite, but one careless touch had demolished all the goodwill I'd carefully built.
_I despise my habits._
"It seems we have arrived."
Following him in mortified silence, I finally found myself before the Marchioness's receiving room. *Finally.* The walk to the parlor had seemed endless, as though it had stretched across an entire year.
*Knock knock.*
"Madam, I have brought Lady Rohanson."
"Let her enter."
A tired, exhausted voice drifted through the door.
---
Upon meeting her in person, my initial impression was hardly altered. Although the Marchioness de Toten was plump, fatigue was so evident in her bearing that for a brief moment she appeared almost gaunt. However, this impression vanished the instant she smiled. With that single expression, the exhaustion seemed to dissolve without a trace.
"Welcome. I hope the journey hasn't tired you?"
Her manners were impeccable and surprisingly gentle. _Is this how people conduct themselves when they have mingled in high society for so long that elegance has seeped into their very bones?_ With involuntary admiration, I settled into the seat opposite the Marchioness de Toten. The maids served tea and dessert almost immediately, as though every movement had been choreographed in advance.
Judging by the materials arranged beside her, she had been embroidering before my arrival. No matter how diligently I attempted such work, I always ended up pricking my fingers and leaving something completely incomprehensible on the fabric. But with the Marchioness de Toten, even a cursory glance revealed true mastery. In her hands, the needle seemed to possess a life of its own.
"Were you embroidering? I fear I kept you waiting."
"Not at all. Embroidery is more of a relaxation for me..." She paused, her gaze softening as it moved between me and her work. "Ah. When I look at this piece, you remind me of her somehow."
She said it so naturally, as though it were something self-evident. I couldn't help but wonder what exactly she was creating. An angel, perhaps?
To be honest, Evangeline's face truly possessed a beauty that could easily be mistaken for something otherworldly. Even now, when I glimpsed my reflection in a mirror, I sometimes caught myself feeling precisely that way.
Along the corridors, I had noticed numerous statues and paintings depicting the solar deity. Faith in the Marchioness de Toten's household appeared deep and sincere. This was likely why she had responded to Gabriel's request and agreed to serve as my chaperone, despite all the rumors and inconveniences my presence might bring.
"She resembles you far more than she resembles me, Marchioness."
"Ha-ha, what sweet words." A warm smile crossed her features. "You probably heard this from Sir Gabriel already, but I shall be your chaperone. Please, call me Kinder Toten."
"I am Evangeline Rohanson. That must have been a difficult request to honor, but thank you for so graciously accepting."
"Think nothing of it. You, Miss Rohanson, find yourself in circumstances that are... rather close to my heart. If I can help in any way, that is precisely what I should do. And besides, I have a separate obligation to Sir Gabriel, so please don't feel indebted."
"What manner of help might that be?"
The Marchioness Toten didn't respond verbally. She merely smiled faintly and raised her teacup to her lips. *Ah, so that's how it is.* Dolline had taught me this—a nonverbal way of conveying that a topic was unwelcome and should not be pursued further.
_Teacher, I noticed! A surprising number of your lessons proved useful today. I'll definitely have to report back later._
I also lifted my fork.
For a while, the Marchioness Toten simply watched me eat in silence. For quite a while. She was probably evaluating my table manners. Even if Gabriel had asked her to receive me favorably, she seemed determined to see everything with her own eyes and form her own judgment.
I concentrated fiercely on eating with perfect precision.
I grew so tense I could scarcely tell where I was directing my fork—toward my mouth or practically toward my nose. _I won't choke, will I?_ At some point, I could no longer bear the scrutiny and set my utensil down. I thought I had eaten a great deal, but when I glanced at my plate, I was startled to find barely a crumb remained.
Just at that moment, the Marchioness Toten lowered her cup and asked calmly:
"Why do you wish to enter society, Lady Rohanson? You have Sir Gabriel, so it clearly isn't a matter of the marriage market. Besides, a late debut could only fuel the rumors further."
_But it wasn't my idea—Gabriel suggested it._
And honestly, in novels, making one's debut in society seemed completely natural. I had simply decided to follow the flow of the story. Even setting aside the romance, since I was *inside* a romance novel, wouldn't it be worth attending a ball at least once?
But of course, I couldn't say any of that.
Just as in a job interview, no one here simply laid out the unvarnished truth. I, too, needed to choose my words with care and grace. What should I say? After a moment's deliberation, I constructed a suitable explanation.
"Do you know my relatives on my mother's side?"
"...It was the ducal house of Khosakin."
"Yes. Then you have probably heard that my maternal grandfather disowned my mother."
The only adored daughter of the ducal house, contrary to her family's fervent persuasions, had married a mere count as though fleeing for love. At the time, it must have been the subject of considerable talk throughout society.
"When my mother died, and when I lay ill and bedridden, there was no word from the ducal house."
I had asked our butler about this. He told me Evangeline's mother had written and sent several letters, but none had ever been answered. And, of course, they hadn't attended the funeral.
"Mother truly wished to speak with Grandfather again. It wasn't her dying wish, exactly, but... I want to fulfill that desire for her."
In truth, Evangeline's mother had often written in her diary that she was wrong to want reconciliation. Although, of course, curses directed at her husband—the Count—occupied the bulk of those pages.
_Ah, that diary has also shrunk considerably, since I've been tearing out a page each time I wanted something from the Count. He probably mistook these scraps for unpleasant correspondence, but they were merely my petty revenge. Let no one speak to me of fidelity in marriage. He brought this trouble upon himself._
_I should find another diary._
"Just as it was with my mother, I—bearing the Rohanson name—will likely be treated even more harshly. If I approach them in person, I'll probably be shown the door. So I hope they attend the reception, that I might at least glimpse them from a distance."
For a story I had invented on the spot, it sounded remarkably plausible. A few plaintive tears would have been the perfect finishing touch, but I was no actress, and such immersion lay beyond my capabilities.
"Is this answer sufficient for you?"
"Yes...?"
_Huh?_ That wasn't quite the reaction I had anticipated. Since she had seemed so sympathetic toward Evangeline, I had expected her to take my hand, murmur, "Yes, I understand," and offer gentle consolation.
_Oh._ Since she had become my chaperone at Gabriel's request, she had probably already heard everything from him?
I had chosen the wrong answer. I should simply have been honest!
"Have you already heard the details from Sir Gabriel?"
While I hesitated, uncertain how to salvage the situation, the Marchioness of Toten covered her mouth and laughed softly.
"I haven't heard the specifics, but I know that Sir Gabriel was the first to approach you with this proposal."
_Then why ask about my purpose in entering society?_ My head was on the verge of exploding from fabricating nonexistent excuses!
"So you simply wish to assist Sir Gabriel, and there are no other motives?"
"Was what I said a moment ago not an answer?"
"But, my lady, for someone who wishes to fulfill the dying hope of a mother longing for reconciliation, you spoke rather... dryly. Colorlessly." Her eyes held mine with quiet perception. "You're not truly lonely at all, are you? And you have no genuine reason to meet with the Khosakin ducal house. Am I correct?"
"Yes. You are correct."
_You hit the nail directly on the head._
Even from a romance novel's perspective, the appropriate time for a journey toward a repentant maternal relative had already passed. And from my own perspective, I missed *my* mother—not Evangeline's.
I had believed I was doing an adequate job of inhabiting the character, but apparently, the problem lay in my acting abilities. Had Daisy's discovery of my possession also been due to my abysmal performance? I had assumed my excessive kindness was giving me away! But it turned out the problem was my acting itself!
"But... why did you answer that way when I asked?"
"Because it sounds more plausible." I kept my voice steady, though my heart raced. "Is that a problem?"
_Please say no!_ It would be mortifying to return to Gabriel and explain that the Marchioness de Toten, whom he had secured as my chaperone, had changed her mind! And if he asked why, would I have to admit I had been exposed as a liar? Such a revelation would surely diminish his regard for me considerably.
"No. What problem could there be?" She waved a hand dismissively. "I asked merely out of curiosity. I was wondering whether you harbored any other goals. Of course, whatever your answer, I had no intention of refusing Sir Gabriel's request."
So, if it hadn't been for Gabriel's request, she would never have agreed to serve as my chaperone.
But was that truly the whole story?
Both the butler and Gabriel himself had said the same thing—that the Marchioness had agreed out of sympathy. That, looking upon the ailing Evangeline, she had seen her own son reflected. I had even been warned in advance that she might inquire about the reason for my recovery.
I slowly raised my gaze and, striving to speak with measured calm, said:
"I thought you agreed to be my chaperone because you wished to hear something from me."
The Marchioness of Toten's eyebrows lifted slightly.
"And what do you believe I wish to hear from you, Lady Rohanson?"
"For example..." I paused, choosing my words with care. "The story of how Evangeline Rohanson was able to rise from her sickbed."
I delivered this with a soft, almost cautious smile. And at that precise moment, I noticed a barely perceptible crack run across her carefully composed features.
_Wasn't this what she had been waiting for?_
I was about to state firmly, as the butler had advised, that I could offer no assistance and that there existed no secret to my healing—when a knock echoed through the silence.
Without waiting for permission, the door slowly opened.
The Marchioness of Toten's brow furrowed at such impudence, but her expression transformed instantly the moment she saw who entered. She shuddered, rose abruptly, and crossed the distance to his side in a single step.
"*Cough*... *cough-cough*. Mother..."
"Ryder! Why are you out of bed? Why aren't you resting as you were told?"
There was no reproach in her voice, no anger—only concern, too deep and too familiar to be concealed.