Chapter 39
The current fashion trend was all about huge, puffed skirts that made a girl look frilly and extravagant, covered with ribbons and lace.
But I was wearing a dress that flowed down naturally and elegantly, without all that fuss. To keep it from looking too plain, I draped a fine embroidered shawl over it. Before leaving the Glentino estate, I’d had the maids practically remake the dress under my direction.
It wasn’t the latest style, so maybe some would think it strange—but since I wore a cloak while traveling, comfort mattered more.
And in a small pottery workshop like this, my style suited the setting. Proof? Lady Enica’s wide skirts nearly brushed against the teacups every time she moved.
Maybe that was why the old mistress of the workshop had been willing to take my order so readily. Even now, she kept throwing disapproving looks at Enica. She probably wouldn’t dare say anything outright, since Enica’s rank was high enough—but still.
Enica and I returned to where we’d been. The kerchief-wearing girl was waiting.
“What did you decide?”
Clearly curious about the outcome of our private talk.
I smiled lightly and answered,
“I’ll cancel my big order and change it to just ten cups of the same design. I don’t need them urgently, so let this young lady’s order take priority.”
“Okay!” the girl replied cheerfully, clearly aware her grandmother had already sided with me.
I had intended to buy a few anyway. Ten would be enough for family use and for hosting a tea party.
Enica glanced at me, and when I nodded slightly, she finally spoke.
“I’ll take seven of the same design. I’ll leave my address.”
“Yes, understood. How would you like the design?” the girl asked.
“Hmm… I’d like one to be a little more elaborate than the others,” Enica mused, glancing at the display. It seemed she was about to choose the same flower design I knew from my past life.
But then my mouth moved on its own.
“If it were me, I’d change the pattern.”
Enica turned toward me. “What?”
I hadn’t intended to say that. Too late now.
Feigning nonchalance, I added,
“I don’t know what you’re using them for, but if you personally picked the cups for a tea party, shouldn’t there be something a little fresh? For example… instead of flowers, why not have birds painted?”
Enica’s mouth dropped open.
Of course—everyone knew the current Empress loved birds. And if Enica’s mother had been the Empress’s lady-in-waiting, then Enica must know it too.
“…That’s a brilliant idea,” she murmured.
So she did know. I shrugged like it was just a casual thought.
Luckily, she didn’t seem to suspect I had guessed her purpose. Even if she did, she wouldn’t dare ask.
“I’m glad you like it. Well then, I’ll leave you to it.”
I returned to Owen and Arne before she could study me further. She stayed behind, still speaking to the kerchiefed girl.
As I walked back with a relieved smile, Arne piped up:
“Mom, you’re too soft-hearted. That’s your problem.”
Owen, hands in his pockets, added dryly,
“For once, I agree with you, son.”
I burst out laughing. If I were really soft-hearted, Enica wouldn’t have suffered so much just now, you silly boys.
But I let them keep their misunderstanding.
“Now, shall we choose some for ourselves?”
The three of us browsed the shelves, picking teacups and plates we liked. Surprisingly, Enica lingered quietly, watching us shop.
Owen’s taste was reliable, and even Arne’s choices impressed me. Every time he asked my opinion, I found myself agreeing.
As for me—I knew not only fashion trends but also future dishware styles.
Flower-painted, glossy ceramics would remain classics. But in a few years, rough-textured pottery in warm colors would become the next big thing.
And honestly, I preferred that style anyway.
I even peeked into a pile of unfinished pieces and placed a special request with the old mistress. By then, Enica had crept up beside me.
She whispered,
“Lady Bartoli, you’re truly ahead of your time. You don’t follow trends at all—you have your own style.”
Well, of course. I’d already lived through all those trends. I just pretended not to hear her praise.
At last, our shopping was done. The Glentino servants collected the items, to be delivered later to the estate.
Enica, grateful that I hadn’t asked why she needed the cups, said goodbye.
Though in truth, I already knew.
Just before leaving, she whispered to me:
“Lady Bartoli, I’ll never forget your kindness today.”
I hope you mean that.
“And…” She hesitated.
“…I was actually worried about you. But you look happy. The Duke must really care about you. He even spread rumors to protect your honor. Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone I saw you here.”
“…What?”
What was she talking about? Why would she, a girl I’d never even spoken to before, worry about me? What rumors?
Enica gasped.
“You mean—you don’t know?”
What?
She glanced around nervously, then suddenly shoved something into my hand. Without another word, she fled.
I stood at the entrance of the workshop, staring after her.
Soon Owen and Arne approached.
“What did she give you?” Owen asked casually.
“I don’t know.”
“Mom, show us!” Arne insisted.
I opened my hand. Inside was a small bundle of papers—stitched together into a booklet. The cover was plain, just bright red with no title.
Ah. The infamous ‘Red Book.’
I had heard of it, but this was my first time holding one.
Owen, on the other hand, had clearly never seen it.
“What is it, Sophia?”
“It’s a tabloid,” I explained. “The highest, most infamous gossip paper in society. It contains every scandal and rumor.”
Of course, it was illegal. All publications had to be approved by the Imperial family. But in high society, there wasn’t a soul who didn’t know of the Red Book. Even the Empress herself probably read it.
No one knew who wrote it or how it was distributed. It appeared irregularly—only when there was a hot issue.
Whenever a young lady somehow obtained an original copy, her maids would copy it line by line. Then other ladies would hear of it and rush to borrow it. In no time, its contents spread everywhere in the capital.
But how had Enica gotten her hands on an original? And why give it to me?
I opened it without thinking—then snapped it shut immediately.
Owen leaned over.
“What’s wrong? Let me see.”
“Me too, Mom!” Arne begged.
“No way. Absolutely not.”
They pressed harder, especially Owen, but I refused firmly.
Because right on the very first page—was my name.
There was no way I could let my family read that.
By evening, the air had turned chilly—weather you wouldn’t see in the capital until late autumn.
Arne and I wore thick wool cloaks, but Owen strolled along with only a trench coat, completely unfazed.
“Owen, aren’t you cold?”
“I’ve never been sensitive to the cold. I often stayed in my mother’s lands when I was young, so I suppose I got used to it.”
“Is Countess Verdi’s estate very cold?”
“Yes. Quite. But the harshest season is over, so we should be fine.”
That was good. I was sensitive to cold. Of course, this was the northernmost edge of the Empire—winter weather was inevitable.
One more change, though: our watchers had increased.
In Cantalice, only two or three had followed us. Now it was double that, and they weren’t even subtle anymore. Even someone less sharp than me or Owen would have noticed.
This is getting a bit much.
No matter how curious my would-be mother-in-law was about me, wasn’t this excessive?
Owen suggested quietly,
“Shall we return early today, Sophia? After three days in the carriage, you must be more tired than you realize.”
“That sounds good.”
I nodded quickly. Perfect—inside a hotel, at least, spies couldn’t peek in.
And so, on the third day of our journey, we ended early.
