Erna, wearing Clara’s dress, looked as pretty as a fairy.
If the outfits made by Madam Hudwood had failed to bring out the individuality of Erna’s face,
the dress designed by Clara made her features come alive.
Its design was suitable for both balls and teas alike.
“Brother, do I look okay?”
“You’re beautiful. Do you like the dress, Erna?”
“Mm-hmm!”
Erna spun in a circle.
Each time her body turned in the mirror, the pink lining flashed, which she found amusing.
It was the first time Erna actively expressed her own wishes:
that she wanted to bring Cookie along,
and that she liked the dress—words that moved Rupert deeply.
Smiling, Clara held out a pair of shoes in the same emerald color as the dress.
“Thank you for liking it, my lady. These shoes are my gift to you.”
(Bought with the Duke of Irenosier’s money, but still…)
When someone other than her brother Rupert addressed her, Erna’s expression froze again.
She was still unaccustomed to talking with others.
They had brought the duke’s household maids today because she seemed frightened by the touch of unfamiliar atelier staff.
“Please give them to me. Thank you.”
Rupert accepted the shoes on her behalf and put them on Erna.
What in the world? I’ve never seen a noble like this.
Clara’s eyes went round.
He accepted the shoes himself—and even spoke politely.
A noble who extended courtesy to commoners was, the more she saw, truly likable.
“They suit you perfectly, Erna. I’m very pleased as well, Miss Fluorite. You’ve hired an excellent employee.”
“Oh my, coming from Your Grace, I don’t know where to put myself. I’ll have sweet dreams tonight!”
The proprietor Fluorite’s mouth split in a wide grin.
To be called “Miss Fluorite” at her age—by such a handsome face, no less.
Was Rupert the sort who unintentionally charmed women wherever he went?
“I’d like to request that Miss Boarne, who made this beautiful dress, become Erna’s exclusive designer.”
“Goodness!”
Fluorite clapped a hand over her mouth.
Yes!
Clara clenched her fists tightly.
Rent, solved!
“Well then, Miss Boarne…”
“Your Grace the Duke of Irenosier, the young lady is our employee, so please discuss contractual matters with me.”
Fluorite told an assistant to bring a contract.
It was time for the important people to speak among themselves.
Wait—wasn’t he about to contract with me directly just now?
Clara tilted her head.
Whatever. As long as the rent is covered. I don’t even know this world’s contracts that well; better to leave the fussy parts to the owner.
Clara stuffed her tape and needles haphazardly into her apron and tried to slip out of the VIP room.
“Just a moment, Miss Boarne.”
A handsome voice.
Could a voice itself be handsome?
Clara quickly turned back.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“As thanks, I’d like to treat you at the grand ducal house. Are you free to dine now?”
…Eh?
If this hadn’t been before a duke, Clara would have yelped aloud.
What an out-of-the-blue offer.
“My, I was just about to give Miss Boarne a holiday as a reward for making such a splendid dress,” Fluorite replied tactfully.
In truth, Rupert’s words were closer to a command directed at Fluorite:
Grant Clara Boarne leave.
But Clara didn’t want to spend precious money-making time having a meal with a duke—
even if that duke was stunningly handsome.
It’s a shame but… yes. A huge shame, but still.
“I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’m truly grateful, but I fear my attire today doesn’t befit the ducal house and might reflect poorly on your noble reputation.”
Rupert flowed on smoothly.
“Then I suppose you’ll also refuse to accompany me to a restaurant I’ve reserved that allows companion dogs.”
Ha… ha…
Why bring up dogs?
Clara gave an awkward smile.
“It’s my loss to refuse a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Your Grace.”
“In that case, how about tea here in the VIP room?”
Good heavens.
It seemed Rupert intended to keep making offers—
until she said yes!
I can’t refuse three times!
Screaming silently inside,
Clara had no choice but to accept Rupert’s proposal.
An awkward air floated in the VIP room.
Clara, Rupert, and Erna sat together.
Eileen entered and set down three cups of bright cherry black tea.
At the same time, she signaled to Clara with her eyes—she clearly had a lot to say.
“Cookie…”
Erna tugged Rupert’s sleeve and whispered.
“Ah, my lady—you wish to see Cookie.”
Come to think of it, yes.
Cookie had said there was a special bond between the young lady and him.
Since they had run into each other again by chance at the atelier, it would be a happy reunion.
“I’ll bring him!”
Eileen chirped.
Soon Cookie appeared in Eileen’s arms.
He blinked his black eyes as if just woken from a nap.
Then, spotting Erna, his tail began to swish.
A bright smile spread across Erna’s face as well.
“May I hold him—just once?”
Please.
Her face said as much as she looked to Clara.
The girl longed for Cookie so much she seemed to forget her shyness toward Clara.
Cookie was already stretching his long legs, wriggling in Eileen’s arms to get to Erna.
“Of course, my lady. Cookie wants to be friends with you, too.”
No sooner had Clara given permission than Erna scooped Cookie up.
Eileen didn’t leave; she casually leaned against the wall.
Her friend face-to-face with His Grace the Duke, and an extremely handsome one at that—there was no way she’d miss such prime entertainment.
Rupert didn’t mind that Eileen stayed.
It was common enough to have another staffer waiting in a VIP room, and they weren’t discussing anything secret.
Since it seemed to be her first time holding a dog, Erna’s posture was awkward.
“Like this is better.”
Clara smiled and adjusted her arms.
More comfortable, Cookie tried to enthusiastically lick Erna’s lips.
At first, Clara wondered if that was proper on the young lady’s face and moved to stop him—
but when Erna burst into peals of laughter, delighted, she let it be.
And His Grace looks pleased, too.
The smile on Rupert’s face, watching Cookie and Erna, could not have been more beautiful—
like spring flowers blooming between receding patches of snow at winter’s end.
A god among men…
Clara and Eileen had to squeeze their eyes shut for a second lest they go blind.
On days when Rupert laughed, perhaps they ought to wear glasses. Or sunglasses.
“Why is Cookie named Cookie?”
When Rupert asked about the dog, Clara’s expression brightened.
When the topic became her companion, she inevitably grew chatty—
especially welcome in a moment as awkward and topic-starved as this.
“Cookie’s color has lightened with age, but when we first met, he was a deep reddish-brown—just like a freshly baked cookie.”
Clara gazed fondly at Cookie. He and Erna were playing hand-games.
When Erna tried to catch his paw,
Cookie neatly pulled it away,
then lifted it again to tap at her arm—over and over.
“So that’s why he’s Cookie.”
“Yes. It suits his brown fur—and also because he’s so cute you want to nibble him like a cookie.”
“He resembles it.”
“You think so too, Your Grace? Cookie really does look like a cookie.”
“Ah. I meant that Miss Boarne resembles Cookie.”
“I hear that a lot. I suppose family who live together start to look alike. I’m not as cute as Cookie, though. Ha ha.”
Rupert tilted his head once, then said,
“Miss Boarne is cute as well.”
Her heart dropped with a thud.
What? ‘Cute as well’?
What had she just heard?
Cute?
For Clara—who’d grown up being called a tomboy and a hoyden—the word felt unfamiliar.
Startled by Rupert’s sudden, flutter-inducing remark, her mind went blank for a moment—
and then his next words left her even more dazed.
“Miss Boarne, as Erna’s exclusive designer, I hope we’ll see each other often.”
And he even lifted the corners of his lips in a light smile.
Clara, what is that—what is that—what is that! His Grace’s flaming flirtation!
Eileen’s face began to flush with excitement.
See each other often? Why? Why should Clara often see His Grace? Clara is the young lady’s exclusive designer!
“And Cookie too.”
Ah. So Cookie is the excuse to see Clara! Your Grace, you’re more strategic than you look!
Clara herself sat still, while Eileen’s inner world made the most fuss.
“…Yes. I look forward to working with you, Your Grace, my lady. I’ll do my best.”
Clara had to work hard to believe Rupert was speaking without any deeper intent—
that with a face like his, even breathing looked like flirting.
The color combination of his features was museum-worthy enough to make her dizzy:
golden hair that seemed to melt at a touch, sapphire-blue eyes that gleamed differently with each angle, lips tinged just enough like a rose petal.
Whew… I must be careful. Careful.
The duke had no intention of putting himself in a fishbowl for her—
so it would be trouble if Clara held her breath and dove in all on her own.
