Evangeline was simply exhausted from endlessly circling the room and pleasing people. No matter how composed she usually appeared, even she seemed to be struggling under the weight of the crowd.
Kinder, feeling a strange flicker of curiosity, nodded softly with a smile—then shuddered, as if frightened by her own expression. *How could she even smile on the day her son died?* The very thought made her feel monstrous. Trying to suppress the rising tide of anxiety, she instinctively ran her fingers over the crystal flower pinned to her bodice.
"Mrs. Toten, are you tired too?"
"Hm? Yes... probably."
Evangeline noticed her confusion. Without hesitation, she summoned a passing maid carrying a tray of wine and took two glasses. She kept one for herself but placed the other directly into Kinder's hand, touching the rim of her glass to Kinder's without asking permission. Her scarlet eyes held an unspoken command: *drink*.
Kinder hesitated for a moment, then took a sip anyway. At first, the wine revealed a rich, fruity bouquet; then a tart sourness lingered on her tongue. She had never liked wine before, and the taste struck her as strange—elusive, as if she couldn't quite grasp its meaning.
"Well? Is it easier with wine?"
"Yes... it's as if I can breathe more freely."
The alcohol did dull the tension, if only slightly. Her heart, which had been pounding as though she stood on the edge of a precipice, finally began to slow.
Kinder handed the empty glass back to the maid. For some reason, unlike the other servants, this one wore a scarf that covered the lower half of her face. Kinder's gaze lingered on her involuntarily, and the maid raised her hand, making the sign of the cross—a silent warning that she could not speak. *That must be why she's hiding her mouth.* Among all the servants in the hall, she alone wore a scarf, as if deliberately trying to conceal herself.
Having received the glass, the maid quickly departed and vanished into the general flow of bodies.
---
## — Evangeline —
*Maybe we should rest a little?*
My legs ached so badly I wanted to groan aloud. My throat was raw, and my face throbbed from the endless, forced smile. Gabriel had mentioned that Madame Toten possessed unusually extensive connections—which was precisely why he'd asked her to serve as chaperone—and now it was painfully clear that hadn't been an exaggeration. We barely had to pass by anyone before almost every second person turned out to be her acquaintance, and I found myself exchanging greetings again and again, like a clockwork automaton.
*Enough. I don't want to introduce myself anymore.*
I wasn't even Evangeline, and yet I'd already said her name so many times it was beginning to disintegrate into separate sounds, losing all meaning. Had Gabriel understood exactly how this would end and deliberately fled? No... he left on business. But then what did "I'll be back soon" actually mean? How long was I supposed to wait?
"Mrs. Toten, are you tired too?"
Upon closer inspection, I realized I wasn't alone in my exhaustion. Mrs. Toten looked utterly drained. Her son hadn't even received a proper sendoff, and yet she'd already been dragged here, forced to play the role of chaperone. Worse still, she had to pretend Ryder was perfectly fine—because if word of his death spread, the title would slip through her fingers. The weight of it all only deepened her fatigue.
*I couldn't handle this sober.*
A maid happened to be passing by with a tray, and without a second thought, I took a glass. I handed the second one to Mrs. Toten, pretended to clink glasses, and then drained mine in a single swallow. *There it was—a legal performance-enhancing drug.*
I handed back the empty glass and nodded my thanks to the maid, as was proper. Other aristocrats usually kept their glasses in hand because they never finished them. I'd drained mine completely, and that was probably why she took it away immediately. The maid looked at me strangely.
*What? Is this the first time you've seen someone drink in one gulp?*
Well, yes. I suppose it was.
"A beautiful scarf."
When things get awkward, a compliment always saves the day. But it seemed there was no one to save: the maid heard me, her expression tightening sharply for an instant before she quickly smoothed it away. She bowed deeply and disappeared with practiced speed. Even the palace maids moved as though they'd been trained since childhood to vanish on command.
"It seems she didn't like my compliment."
It was ridiculous, but I genuinely felt a little offended.
"I would like to hear it."
The words rang out with playful softness, and suddenly an unfamiliar face appeared in my field of vision. Wavy blond hair glinted beneath the chandelier light, falling in a gentle wave over one shoulder. He smiled, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle softly and a warm flush to bloom across his cheekbones.
*Are you kidding me? Is that even a human face?*
I'd thought Oratorio was incredibly handsome, but it felt awkward to even compare them. Judging by his attire, he was clearly a palace servant, and the mere thought that people like *this* actually worked in the palace was both amusing and deeply strange.
"Praise me as much as you like."
I realized that if I said anything too enthusiastic now, I wouldn't be able to stop—so I limited myself to a smile. He seemed to be seriously expecting the compliment, and when no words came, his gaze lowered slightly, his brow furrowing with unmistakable disappointment.
"Am I really not to your taste?"
*Oh, come on!* This was beauty from that realm where the question of "like it or not" lost all meaning.
"To my taste."
Only after hearing this did he seem to calm down, his smile broadening with satisfaction.
"I was worried, but fortunately in vain. And, Lady Evangeline—you will also drink the wine I served you, won't you?"
I had just drained my glass. But when I came to my senses, I found myself holding another one. *That's what it means to be captivated by a face.* The servant watched me with quiet approval as I raised the wine to my lips, and then, as if his task had been accomplished, he suddenly departed.
I stood there, slightly tipsy from two glasses, absentmindedly surveying the guests—and suddenly my gaze collided with the Count's. His expression darkened, and he pointed an irritated finger in the direction of Duke Hosakine.
*Yes, I understand, I understand... no need to rush things, I'll come myself.*
But a deal was a deal: I absolutely had to at least *demonstrate* that I'd gotten closer to the Duke.
"Mrs. Toten, perhaps now is the time to greet Grandfather?"
I wasn't in any particular hurry—the Count's impatience only made me want to delay further. But the crowd around the Duke had noticeably thinned, and the moment truly seemed opportune. Mrs. Toten appeared to have reached the same conclusion; she nodded slightly.
She explained that it was best not to address the Duke directly, but to initiate conversation through the man standing beside him. Baron Hvikel—the same one rumored to be so fond of making acquaintances and so utterly hopeless at reading the atmosphere—was practically glued to Hosakine's side. Mrs. Toten assured me that if we simply passed nearby, he would speak to her first.
"Who do we have here? Mrs. Toten, what a joy! Long time no see!"
"Baron Hvikel."
Well, well. Madame Toten had timed everything perfectly: the Baron, as promised, immediately intercepted her as she passed. He couldn't have been unaware of the Duke's relationship with me, but it was clearly more important to him to demonstrate to those watching his closeness to the people currently in the spotlight.
*And the Duke's gaze—with which he was literally burning into us—didn't bother him at all?*
"I sent you an invitation last week, but I still haven't received a response. It's a shame, honestly."
"Ah, I don't recall the letter. It must have been the butler's mistake. If I had seen your invitation, I would have definitely replied. As soon as I return home, I'll give him a proper dressing-down—so please don't hold it against him."
"Ha-ha! Mrs. Toten will give the butler a dressing-down! I see you've learned to joke around!"
*This is no joke! That butler really is in the basement right now!*
"It's all thanks to the young lady beside me. Oh, by the way—this is the same Lady Rohanson I mentioned."
"Nice to meet you. Evangeline Rohanson—"
**_DING!_**
Before I could finish speaking, the sound of shattering glass ripped through the hall. The culprit was obvious: Duke Hosakine's face had turned crimson, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles stood out along his neck. The fury in his gaze as he stared at me was so intense it made breathing difficult.
*He hates me to the point of shaking.*
*Count... you didn't mention it would be* **this** *difficult.*
The Duke hurled his glass to the floor, and it exploded into glittering fragments. The servants immediately bent forward, exchanging furtive glances before beginning to clear away the shards. For some reason, at that moment, I thought of our own servants at the estate.
*It seemed Evangeline's temperament truly had been inherited from her grandfather.*
"Oh, right—you two are grandfather and granddaughter!"
Baron Hvikel wasn't merely tactless; he seemed to possess no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. He was still beaming with a smile until the Duke turned that murderous gaze on him. The poor fellow hiccupped audibly. The Baron inhaled awkwardly, hiccupped again, and retreated in haste.
"I... I think I drank too much—I'm sorry...!"
Not everyone could shatter a person's composure with a single look, but Duke Hosakine clearly belonged to that rare breed.
The Baron vanished, but our objective had been achieved. The Count would see me approach the Duke, and that would be enough for today.
But then the *real* complications began.
If I slipped up, I might accidentally find myself drawn into that familiar scenario of belated remorse—where the Duke suddenly starts cherishing his "granddaughter" and, God forbid, decides to leave her an inheritance. *This cannot be allowed.* Count Rohanson was so desperate to get his hands on the Duke's fortune that allowing it to happen would be the height of stupidity.
In stories like these, the estranged family gradually softens because the heroine smiles, becomes affectionate, and pretends she harbors no hidden intentions. So I needed to do the **opposite**—refuse to hide my goals, and certainly never flash a carefree smile.
"Grandfather. Nice to meet you."
*For the first time?* Most likely, yes. If the Countess had severed relations with her father after her marriage, then we might never have actually met. But what difference did it make? I always had a convenient trump card called *memory loss*.
"Who told you that I am your grandfather!"
"So you don't consider your mother your daughter anymore?"
It was obvious. Hosakine was one of those stubborn patriarchs who only growled in words, but inside had long since burned out in regret. I seemed to have struck directly at the mark: the Duke fell silent, as if I'd driven a blade into his most vulnerable wound.
"It's cruel." I let my voice drop, softening. "Mother always missed you."
"...Amaranta?"
His voice changed—quieted. The Duke peered strangely into my face, searching. Indeed, as the Count had mentioned, Evangeline resembled the late Countess so closely it was as though she had simply been transported here unchanged.
*I hope he doesn't start using this resemblance to soothe his melancholy and then decide to leave an inheritance. No—that's impossible. He'll have to cross a line first.*
"Yes. She said she wanted to escape her difficult marriage, but she was afraid her father—who had cut her off—would never take her back. She was lonely. Frightened. And she thought about you every single day."
I lowered my voice further so no one around us could hear. It felt as though I was carving the Duke apart, piece by piece—but I wasn't lying. And frankly, I *wanted* to make him feel ashamed. There was no justification for coldly dismissing his own daughter simply because she had become "an outsider." Reading the Countess's diary had been enough to understand how much pain she'd endured.
"Why did you do that? Did you hate her for not listening to you? For running off and marrying a man you didn't approve of?" My voice hardened. "Is that why you never came—even when she was dying?"
"You... you..."
Cornered, the Duke stared at me as though he wanted to incinerate me with his gaze alone. I only added fuel to the fire.
"Yes. I'm Evangeline Rohanson. Your granddaughter."
Rage overwhelmed the Duke completely. He lost all composure. His hand shot out and seized a glass of wine—one of the ones the servants had momentarily set on the edge of the table while they cleared away the broken shards.
*Was he really going to—?*
*Splash it? Right on my white dress, on the day of my debut?*
I retreated quickly, trying to avoid the blow even by a single step—but in the next instant, I was suddenly pulled backward and pressed tightly against a broad chest. A familiar scent. Familiar warmth.
I raised my head and met blue eyes—unusually dark tonight, as if sunken into hidden depths.
It was already night outside, but those eyes still held the feeling of a sunny midday.
The wine struck him instead of me. Red drops ran down his black hair—a color that didn't suit Gabriel at all.
"Sir Gabriel."
"Yes, my lady." He narrowed his eyes slightly and smiled, gentle despite the crimson staining his uniform. "As promised, I returned before the first dance began."