Chapter 64
Cordelia tried hard to start a friendly conversation, but Jasmine still stayed silent. Cordelia wanted to snap and shout, as was her temper, but she swallowed it down and spoke gently.
“Look, I know you don’t like me, but isn’t it polite to answer when someone asks you a question?”
“It’s not that I particularly dislike you.”
Lies!
“For someone who doesn’t, you sure keep glaring at me.”
Her voice turned sharp without her meaning it to. Jasmine tilted her head as though she didn’t understand what she meant.
“I’ve never glared at you.”
“Then what was that—staring straight at me every time we met at a party?”
“I wouldn’t say I never did that… I suppose I did.”
When Cordelia narrowed her eyes, Jasmine reluctantly admitted it. Then she glanced at Eliza, and a sudden intuition flashed across Cordelia’s mind.
“Wait—don’t tell me, Lady Jasmine, you’ve read The Lady of Franda?”
Cordelia immediately grabbed Jasmine’s hand and asked. Jasmine pursed her lips, seemingly struck by Cordelia’s sparkling, eager gaze.
“Well, yes. It was quite popular, wasn’t it?”
Jasmine’s usually cold face showed embarrassment. With both Eliza and Owen’s curious stares added, she looked cornered.
Even though she looked clearly uncomfortable, she didn’t shake Cordelia’s hand away. A refreshing, grassy fragrance drifted faintly around her.
“So then, why did you come here today?”
“Just… curious, I suppose.”
“When you hardly ever attend parties?”
Faced with that sharp question, Jasmine only rolled her eyes. So she clams up when she’s at a disadvantage, Cordelia thought, then released her hand and leaned back instead of pressing further.
“Then, do you like reading romance novels?”
“Well…”
“I personally like them quite a lot. What about you, Sir Owen?”
“Of course I enjoy them. Truthfully, there are many authors I adore, but it’s so disheartening that so few accept invitations.”
Now that he had invited them personally, he understood why, and the old man apologized to Eliza. She received it graciously, saying it was her own choice to come.
“Then, Eliza, why did you decide to attend today?”
“Just call me Eliza. I was a little bored, and also curious what noblemen who are so interested in this genre are really like.”
“That’s still quite bold of you.”
“Well, I didn’t think anyone here would’ve read my work anyway. And I was right.”
She shrugged lightly, though her lips curved in a slightly bitter smile.
“What kind of novels do you like, Lady Cordelia?”
“Oh, I like quite a few. Recently I enjoyed A Holiday in Delrona, The Voice of the Fairy, and—ah! The Portrait of Elegant Jessica was so good, especially the male lead. He was totally my type…”
Cordelia was rambling excitedly until a pointed cough cut her off. Turning, she caught sight of Jasmine’s profile—expression perfectly calm, but her earlobes beneath her brushed-back hair flushed red.
Well, well. Cordelia narrowed her eyes. This felt familiar—hadn’t something similar happened earlier?
She leaned in close, thrusting her face right before Jasmine’s eyes.
“Eek!” Jasmine shrieked and pressed back against the sofa. Cordelia followed with a sly grin and asked directly:
“Lady Jasmine, do you perhaps like Troy Clarence’s novels?”
Troy Clarence—known, as Cordelia put it, as the “gentle male-lead specialist.” No matter how much else he changed in a story, he always wrote upright, tenderhearted heroes. My Lovely Beloved and The Portrait of Elegant Jessica were both his works.
Some said his novels were repetitive, but by Cordelia’s standards, they weren’t at all. The core plots all differed, and really—who goes to a bakery to buy meat instead of bread?
Feigning an innocent tone, she asked. Jasmine, after trying to avert her gaze, finally gave up and countered calmly:
“And you, Lady Cordelia?”
“Didn’t I ask you first?”
“…I do like them.”
“Right? Me too.”
But when Jasmine looked at her with suspicious eyes, Cordelia protested.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just… didn’t expect you to like such soft, fluffy romances.”
“What kind of image do I have, exactly?”
“You seem more like someone who would have… fiery, all-consuming love.”
“Fire? Please. Every time it flares up, it just burns out.”
“Well, usually your romances crash and burn within three months.”
Feeling unfairly insulted, Cordelia wrinkled her nose, while Jasmine stared blankly at her. Then Cordelia crossed her arms.
“What’s wrong with liking romance? Other people just aren’t as honest as I am.”
Cordelia lifted her head proudly. Eliza asked seriously:
“Don’t people often say you’re… unusual?”
At that, Cordelia frowned harder, but her beauty made even that expression look like art. Eliza murmured in admiration.
“I thought I’d seen my share of pretty faces, but seeing you, Lady Cordelia, makes me realize what ‘a true beauty’ really means.”
“Really?”
“From the moment you walked in, no one could take their eyes off you. You have that look… like men would court you even if you did nothing.”
“Well… maybe.”
She answered nonchalantly, yet without chill. Eliza tilted her head, curious.
“From the titles you’ve mentioned, it seems you really love romance.”
“Yes, I’ve read a lot…”
And written, too.
But she cut herself short, feeling shy. Eliza chimed in:
“Exactly. Someone as popular as you—why love romance so much?”
After a pause, Cordelia replied:
“Because all human relationships begin with attachment.”
She had been interested in stories since childhood. Growing up in Callisto Castle, she naturally overheard countless tales. Books were fun, but nothing beat the vividness of real-life gossip. She even once fell asleep hiding so she could eavesdrop on the servants, causing a panic in the castle.
“And the pinnacle of attachment is lovers’ love, isn’t it? A bond where two people are each other’s one and only. Digging into that is fascinating.”
So she loved love stories and admired those who loved fiercely. The older she grew, the more she realized how hard it was to like someone without calculation. And mutual love—how rare was that?
Cordelia smiled softly.
“And I want to meet someone who sees me that way.”
That was why she admired and envied her sister, who had found love even through an arranged marriage.
‘Cordelia, don’t be too romantic.’
Gerania’s words suddenly resurfaced.
‘Feelings are often simpler than you think. I respect your ideals, but if you cling to them too much, you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.’
Usually tight-lipped, her sister occasionally gave her such advice—especially when Cordelia was down after a breakup.
“You don’t seem like it, but you’re surprisingly pure,” came Jasmine’s dry remark, dragging Cordelia back from her dreamy mood.
“Are you mocking me?” Cordelia pouted.
“No. I actually admire it. In society, people usually pretend otherwise. I’m just surprised you’re cuter than I imagined.”
To say such a compliment in such a flat tone—what talent. Jasmine glanced at Cordelia’s cooled expression and coughed lightly, like someone about to confess something.
“Ahem. Truth is…”
“Impossible.”
On the carriage ride home, Cordelia muttered the same words over and over. She’d counted—thirty-eight times already. But still. It just didn’t make sense.
Lady Jasmine was Troy Clarence?!
‘What? Really? You’re not joking?’
Cordelia had pictured the author as sweet and gentle—not sharp, unreadable like Jasmine. Shocked into silence, she was even lightly scolded.
‘Why are you so surprised? You make it sound insulting.’
‘Insulting? Honestly, do you look like someone interested in love?’
‘Fair point, I suppose.’
‘Then wait—why were you staring at me all the time?’
‘Because you gave me ideas for material…’
So she’d been inspired—but did she have to look so terrifying while doing it? Cordelia was speechless. But since she herself had often watched people that way for inspiration, she stayed quiet.
Finally, with a sigh, she tucked her hair behind her ear.
‘If I don’t say this now, I’d feel cowardly.’
‘Say what?’
‘I’m in a similar position to you, Lady Jasmine.’
‘What?’
It was unavoidable. Everyone else had shared their secrets—she couldn’t be the only one holding back. Besides, during the reading circle debate, she had felt an odd sense of solidarity. Someone in the same position, someone she could talk stories with freely—how long had she wished for that?
So she confessed her secret. Three pairs of startled eyes turned to her. Eliza even jumped to her feet, clutching Cordelia’s hands with shining eyes, saying with the most excitement she’d shown all day:
‘Are you kidding? I absolutely adore your work! Especially your latest—it’s exactly my taste!’
Cordelia, flustered by this sudden outpouring of admiration, ended up chatting happily with them for hours. By the time they parted, it was already dark. Lanterns flickered past outside as the night watch made their rounds.
‘If you’d like, please come again,’ Owen said warmly. He explained he had no children, and after losing his wife, he had devoted himself to supporting a few people.
He hoped that when he reunited with his wife in the afterlife, he would have many stories to share with her.
‘If I have the time.’
Eliza, who planned to stay at Owen’s estate for a while, had given Cordelia her address and urged her to write. Remembering her eager face made Cordelia smile.
What an unexpectedly delightful day. Forget being frustrated—she’d had fun! It was her first time chatting so freely with people who shared her passion. Cordelia stepped into her mansion in high spirits.
“I’m home, Rosa!”
“Welcome back, Lady Cordelia! Ah—there’s a guest waiting.”
“A guest? At this hour?”
“Well… they’re in the parlor right now.”
Who could it be, to put such an expression on Rosa’s face? Handing her coat to the maid, Cordelia strode to the parlor and flung the doors open.
“What on earth kept you out so late?”
“Oh.”
The moment she saw the guest sitting on the sofa waving at her, Cordelia’s eyes went wide. That impossibly handsome face—
“Liam!”
