Chapter 75
The Marchioness of Severia sat in the drawing room, pressing her throbbing temples.
“What brings you here?” she asked.
Having made sure Marsha had returned to her room, Claudio seated himself before her.
“The Duke, of course.”
Claudio raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
The sight of that infuriating expression made the Marchioness flare.
“I worried you might trifle with an innocent country girl.”
“Have I ever toyed with anyone?”
“You used to tease criminals into believing you’d let them go free, only to hand down punishment in the end.”
“Now and then, yes. But those were criminals. Marsha is my lifesaver. Do you truly think I’d treat her that way?”
Claudio shook his head, as though baffled by her inability to trust him.
Because he’s never once kept a woman by his side, that’s why, the Marchioness thought, swallowing a sigh.
“I’ll be staying in Delua until the party,” she said at last.
“You’ll be lodging at the Severia townhouse, I assume.”
“……That was my intention, but you say it as though you’re desperate to drive me out. Rather insulting.”
“I’m only thinking of my guest’s comfort.”
Claudio didn’t bother to deny it.
Worn though her years had made her, the Marchioness still had a gaze as sharp as ever, and she leveled it on him.
“I spoke with the young lady earlier—in the carriage. The Viscountess of Railford. She seemed overwhelmed with the party preparations. I’ve promised to come every afternoon and help until the event.”
“Why trouble yourself with such chores? I can assist her. I only asked Marsha to take part so she might enjoy the choosing, not to exhaust her.”
“And yet she said she was exhausted.”
“If you help, she’ll feel worse. She’ll be too concerned about your opinion. That’s the kind of person she is.”
Not yielding a single word, the Marchioness calmed her rising temper with a steadying breath.
“Be that as it may, I’ve already spoken with the Viscountess. Between a busy duke and servants who can offer only polite praise, I’ll be of far greater use. You’ll simply have to accept it.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. Anything you can do, I can do as well.”
“……Say what you will, but it changes nothing. The young lady knows you’re busy. If you hover around her, she’ll only believe she’s doing her tasks poorly and burdening you.”
“……”
Claudio’s lips curved into a cold smile. How remarkable—she had known Marsha mere days and already understood her so well.
As expected, the same blood ran in their veins.
“Let’s leave that matter. There’s something else I’d rather ask.”
“What is it?”
“Was your near-death a mere accident—or someone’s scheme?”
The Marchioness’s eyes turned colder than ice.
Claudio crossed his legs, tilting his head.
“I would like to say it was an accident. Unfortunately, it was the latter.”
“Who dared? The western lords? Or that deranged Marquis of Hemes—did he pull such a foolish stunt?”
“Well……”
Claudio only shrugged.
“What? Don’t tell me you still haven’t identified the culprit?”
“I can’t share details just yet. But soon…”
His gaze gleamed like a drawn blade, a razor-sharp smile on his lips.
“I’ll bring you good news.”
***
From the next day, the Marchioness visited Marsha daily.
Not knowing she was noble-born, she taught her in detail about aristocratic culture and etiquette.
Though the Duchy of Domic and Stravine lay close as neighboring nations, their customs differed in subtle but important ways.
A lady must offer her hand first for a gentleman’s kiss.
The host did not necessarily take the first dance unless it was an engagement or wedding celebration.
There were many such rules—not too difficult to learn, but enough to make one stumble without guidance.
She learns quickly, the Marchioness marveled.
Honestly, even before my lessons she already seemed like a noble young lady.
Other than using honorifics with servants, there was little to correct.
The Marchioness smiled in satisfaction, certain that no aristocrat alive would ever doubt Marsha’s station.
The preparations for the party were nearly complete.
Only her gown remained to be chosen, though for Marsha, that had always been the hardest part.
After all, appearances defined first impressions.
Dress too extravagantly, and they’d sneer that a country girl was reaching above her station.
Dress too modestly, and they’d scoff at how unworthy she looked beside a duke.
What on earth could she wear that would escape censure?
Truth is, no matter how fine the dress, beside him I’ll always fall short, she thought.
Claudio would have to be the one to shine.
While Marsha sighed, the Marchioness held a deep discussion with the designer.
“Her eyes are green, so a vivid emerald gown would suit her well. But her skin is so fair, she could carry a blue tone just as easily. A difficult choice…”
“If I may add, my lady, the Viscountess seems more radiant in lighter shades than in darker.”
“I agree. Then how about this soft mint? Though, is it suitable for an evening party?”
“On the contrary! It will make the ballroom glow as though it were daylight.”
“Hm……”
Overhearing the designer’s fervent words, Marsha shook her head inwardly.
Me?
Brighten the ballroom?
Nonsense.
At most, I’d be just another guest in a pale dress.
The Marchioness, however, had made up her mind.
She handed Marsha a gown the color of milk stirred with mint.
“Try it on. Just once more.”
That single word—last—breathed life into Marsha’s weary body.
While she changed, the Marchioness examined the jewelry.
Should it be gold? No—platinum.
And the gems? Topaz, emerald… no, diamond.
Yes, diamonds.
She’d look adorable and lovely in anything, the Marchioness thought with a faint scowl as she deliberated.
Just then, a voice cut in.
“Buy them all. Not just these, but everything that’s entered this house.”
Claudio strode in, the butler at his heels.
The servant nodded and went straight to the designer.
“How extravagant,” the Marchioness murmured.
“Extravagant?” Claudio arched his mouth in a half-smile.
She knew well enough: for the ducal estate, such shopping was no more than the purchase of an apple.
Still—
“If she learns you’ve bought everything, she’ll only feel burdened.”
“You do like to speak as though you know her so well.”
“After a few days in her company, I do know her better. She’s a sweet, innocent girl—her good nature shines right through her face.”
The Marchioness let out a weary sigh.
At that moment, Marsha emerged in the gown.
“Your Grace? What brings you here?” she asked, blinking innocently.
Good heavens, the Marchioness thought, her breath catching.
Even without proper makeup or matching jewels, Marsha shone.
She seemed as if she could indeed turn a moonlit ballroom into a sunlit garden.
“The Duke. This will be the dress,” the Marchioness declared. “So you must—”
She broke off.
Her grand-nephew, usually indifferent no matter what he saw, now looked as though struck by lightning—staring blankly, rigid as stone, hardly breathing.
Even a fool would see it: arrogant, insufferable Duke Gloria had fallen—hard—for this girl.
“……Duke.”
The Marchioness whispered softly, low enough for him alone to hear.
Claudio gave no answer.
His gaze remained locked on Marsha.
“When will you set the date?” she murmured.
Claudio’s eyes narrowed, his lips twisting as he glanced down at her.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
