“Clara, it is.”
Floralite declared Lindsey’s clear defeat.
“Pardon?”
Lindsey snapped her head toward Barbara.
Barbara gave the slightest shake of her head, as if to say there was nothing she could do.
Floralite was so taken with Clara’s piece that she neither listened to nor looked at Lindsey—completely absorbed in fondling Clara’s dress.
So Lindsey’s target shifted to Clara.
“Boarne! Be honest. That wasn’t what you intended, was it!”
“Mm? What do you mean by that?”
“The last time I saw it, that skirt hem was a plain design! It never looked like—”
“You know it quite in detail, Senior Lindsey,” Clara said in a clipped tone.
“N-not just me—everyone saw it! That it wasn’t this design!” Lindsey cried, flustered.
“Yes. Someone did see—saw you damaging my dress. As soon as Aileen and I went out to buy lunch, you slipped into the workroom and slashed my dress with the cutting shears.”
Gasp.
The staff sucked in a startled breath.
“What?!” Lindsey shouted. She looked ready to lunge at Clara, but one small gesture from Floralite stopped her cold.
Cold sweat ran down Lindsey’s back in streams.
“Keep talking, Clara.”
“And when you tried to slip out quietly, the room wasn’t empty. Of course you were startled.”
Lindsey suddenly found her breath caught.
Clara was laying out the situation with the face of someone who knew everything…!
“Right? Because Cookie was in the workroom.”
Clara had heard the whole story from Cookie.
Cookie had been napping in cozy comfort beneath the desk,
then snapped his eyes open at the sound of something tearing.
“Cookie rushed you, bit at your apron, and in the scuffle to pry him off, one of your apron buttons popped off. Afraid he’d start barking, you bolted in a panic. Am I wrong?”
The account was detailed—
the kind of story only an eyewitness could tell.
Floralite turned a suspicious gaze on Lindsey.
“This is a frame-up! Boarne, you’ve really gone too far! Want to do this with me now? Don’t you dare flap your mouth without a shred of proof!”
“Nicely said. Here—proof.”
Clara produced a button from her pocket.
Lindsey’s eyes flicked reflexively to her own chest, then shot back up.
“You lost an apron button yesterday, didn’t you? I found it on the floor of my workroom.”
Clara smiled askew; to Lindsey it looked like the grin of a devil.
“Will you still say there’s no proof?”
“I—I… why would that be there…?”
Lindsey stumbled backward.
“Lindsey. Is everything Clara said true?”
“N-no. I… that button isn’t mine! Both of mine are on just fine!”
“That button is definitely Senior Lindsey’s! I mended it before—I know it well! There’s a roughly 2 mm nick scored on the back of Lindsey’s buttons!”
Someone shouted sharply. Floralite took the button and checked—indeed, it was true.
“Yes, I saw Hannah mending Senior Lindsey’s apron too. Even when Hannah was swamped and politely refused, you threw it at her and left! You asked again last night!”
“That’s not all, ma’am! The dresses and pieces Lindsey Loveless—no, Lindsey Loveless—has been putting out? We’re the ones who made them!”
“And I heard she sent that dress to the Hurdwood ladies’ shop—the friend who works there told me!”
Testimonies about Lindsey’s misdeeds burst forth from all sides.
“I didn’t, I didn’t—I’m not!”
Lindsey stammered, throwing a fit.
“Well then, Ms. Lindsey Loveless? You lost the contest. Please leave this atelier.”
Clara smiled gently, the way one does at an unreasonable customer.
“Ma’am! You’re not really going to turn me out over this ridiculous bet, are you…?”
Lindsey rushed to Floralite in a panic and grabbed her arm.
Floralite flicked her arm free with an “Oh my!” as though something filthy had touched her.
“Lindsey Loveless, as of now, you are no longer an employee of this atelier. You proposed this wager yourself, and to learn you’ve been doing as you please behind my back all this time—my disappointment is no small thing.”
Floralite’s tone was as cheerful as ever, but what it carried was ice-cold.
“And knowing very well what I despise, you went crawling to Hurdwood’s shop, without a shred of pride? I’ve never employed someone like you.”
“I won’t go. I can’t accept this result. The bet was only verbal to begin with—there’s nothing on paper, so you can’t fire me!”
Lindsey clenched both fists.
“My, Lindsey, what a grand delusion. This is very easy to do,” Floralite said, crooking her index finger.
“Because as the owner, I can simply dismiss you.”
“W-what?!”
Lindsey’s knees gave out, and she collapsed.
Her legs had no strength to keep her standing.
Clara… because of Clara Boarne, my life…
If it ended like this, she would have to crawl back to her shabby country life—
no smart parties, no good food, no handsome gentlemen.
Back home.
That a single newcomer rolling in could twist things so badly—
how unlucky could she be?
Lindsey still hadn’t realized what was wrong, nor her own foolishness.
“Leave.”
With her usual gentle tone but absolute firmness, Floralite pointed to the door.
Lindsey chewed her lip until it bled, then sprang up.
She walked out on her own two feet, then suddenly whirled to glare at Clara.
Clara gave a bright little smile and waved. “Get home safe, Ms. Loveless.”
Huffing raggedly, Lindsey slammed the door.
The Ducal House of Irnosier.
When the duke returned from the imperial palace, the ducal lady ran out to meet him and threw herself into his arms.
“Brother!”
“Erna, did you spend the day well?”
“Mm! I finished all the assignments Lady Ardel gave me, and I didn’t go out alone without a word.”
Erna wore the radiant face she had shown only before their parents passed away.
Her unusually bright mood made Rupert smile.
“My Erna looks especially happy today—so I’m happy too.”
Hee-hee-hee.
Erna let out a giggle.
“It’s because of Cookie, right?”
“Mm. I get to see him again tomorrow! I can’t wait.”
That soft, fluffy fur beneath her fingertips—
if only she could touch it again. No, if only they could stay together.
Every night, Erna curled her fingers one by one, counting down the days with fluttering excitement.
For the siblings, dress designs were the least of their concerns.
Dresses were just a flimsy pretext to see Cookie.
Of course, it was also meant as thanks for having saved Erna.
“Hurry and let it be tomorrow… yaaawn.”
Having waited late into the evening for her brother, Erna yawned.
“Tired? Off to bed with you.”
“I want to talk with you more…”
“We can do that tomorrow. Harman, take hot chocolate up to Lady Erna’s room.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the butler.
Erna whined that she could stay up a bit longer, but with her eyes blinking drowsily, she let a maid lead her upstairs.
Rupert watched with a smiling face, then headed straight for his study.
There was still a mountain of work to process—and more so because he wouldn’t be working tomorrow.
He had to review documents from the duchy and go back over the tasks the emperor had assigned him personally.
After poring over papers for some time, Rupert happened to check his pocket watch—it was pointing to two in the morning.
He pressed his tired brow.
“Time to wrap up.”
He could wake at five and finish the remainder then.
After that, he would finally take breakfast with Erna—
and ride by carriage to the Floralite Atelier…
Clara Boarne will be there, won’t she.
Rupert was surprised at himself for thinking first of the owner, not of Cookie.
Brown curls and dark-brown eyes.
That steady gaze that had met him straight on, uncowled by his rank as duke.
From what he had learned, Clara was an orphan without parents.
Despite her straitened circumstances, she fostered strays and sent them on to new homes—surely a sign of a genuinely kind nature.
If so, Cookie must be one of those rescues.
They said Clara’s criteria for choosing a dog’s new owner were extremely strict.
It wouldn’t be easy to rely on status alone.
Only by passing her stringent conditions could one take the dog.
To be in a position to win someone’s approval—
it had been a very long time.
And so, curiosity rose in him.
How could he win her heart?
“Well then, I should catch a little sleep.”
Wearing a faint smile, Rupert rose from his chair.
NexT
