Chapter 37
The Banquet
The spacious carriage of the Duke of Side’s household was outfitted with soft seats and specially designed ventilation, making the interior perfectly comfortable.
Yet Anze couldn’t settle. Forced to sit knee-to-knee across from the Duke himself, she shifted uneasily. No matter how luxurious the carriage, riding alone with one’s employer was its own kind of torture.
“Since we’re going the same way, was this really necessary?” she muttered at last, unable to hold back her complaint.
The carriage carrying the Dowager Duchess and Mariana was roomy enough—why insist on riding separately? “It feels like a waste.”
The Duke glanced up briefly from the documents in his lap, legs crossed in a relaxed pose. “Your discomfort is understandable,” he said coolly, “but…”
There was nothing understanding about his expression.
“It’s…commendable that you care so much for the household budget,” he added, eyes still fixed on the papers.
“Not an ounce of praise in that voice,” Anze thought grimly.
“And I do appreciate your concern for my mother and sister,” he continued, the faintest glint of mockery in his eyes, “but after all the effort you’ve put in, we can hardly let a few coins go to waste.”
“…Pardon?”
He clicked his tongue. “Usually you’re sharper than this. Didn’t you learn anything from shopping with Mariana?”
Anze narrowed her eyes, puzzled. The Duke shook his head as though she were hopeless.
“Merchants always keep their rarest treasures apart,” he said. “You don’t display a one-of-a-kind gem with the ordinary stones.”
Was he calling the Dowager Duchess and Lady Mariana ordinary jewels?
‘Wait—does he mean I’m the rare gem?’ she wondered.
“Of course, that’s not what I mean,” he said dryly, reading her mind.
Naturally.
Anze’s lips puffed out in silent annoyance.
“But there’s no harm in letting others think so—especially today. The most noble, the most beautiful….”
“…Right.”
Sure, whatever you say.
Anze turned to the window, letting his words drift past. From the early morning she’d been polished to perfection: skin glowing, hair gleaming from the attendants’ careful brushing, the pale blue gown chosen over days of deliberation fitting her like a dream.
Yet she couldn’t help but wonder—would all this really make her “Lady of the Year”? Her gaze dimmed.
“Your Grace,” she began hesitantly, “I’m sorry to say this, but—”
“Speak.”
Still reading, he hadn’t looked at her once since they’d boarded. No wonder Lady Hildegarde could never understand him, Anze thought. Contracted engagement or not, he was cold to a fault.
“Please look at me,” she said. “No matter how expertly they styled me, dressed me up to resemble a noble lady—”
The Duke’s pen twitched, and a faint huff of air escaped him—surely a stifled laugh.
But at least he was listening. Encouraged, she leaned forward.
“Do you really believe the noblewomen here will vote for me just because I look the part?”
He finally raised his eyes, folding his arms, giving her a small nod to continue.
“As I understand it, society has its own strict standards. Thanks to your help I may appear a noble lady for a time, but—”
“Get to the point,” he interrupted as the carriage rolled through the palace gates, his tone as icy as ever.
Heartless man. His father hadn’t been this way—how had he turned out like this?
Anze sighed inwardly and pressed on. “If I were Lady Hildegarde, would you treat me like this?”
His brow furrowed, but she hurried on. “I’m not complaining. You know I’m a commoner, an information broker. Your behavior toward me is perfectly proper—and you pay me well for it.
“What worries me is whether lifelong nobles will be fooled. If they call me coarse or say vulgarity runs in my blood, they wouldn’t be wrong. A polished exterior won’t win their votes. Isn’t this all for nothing…?”
She fell silent, frowning.
Her late mother, Sienna, had believed until her last breath that Marquess Crow would one day acknowledge Anze, and so she’d taught her every lesson and courtesy a noble young lady should know. But the marquess never came, and Anze eventually abandoned the dream of a noble life. Her mother’s training helped her survive—but only to a point.
Now she was supposed to be a lady of high society? Absurd.
As an information dealer she’d faced all kinds of rough characters, even brawls. How could she compare to pampered debutantes whose heaviest burden was a teacup?
“The Duke of Side and Miss Anze Beaufort have arrived!”
The herald’s loud announcement coincided with the carriage slowing to a stop.
“Is that all you wanted to say?” the Duke asked calmly.
The coachman knocked. “Your Grace, we’ve arrived.”
“One moment.”
Outside, a murmur rose as people recognized the Duke’s carriage. He set aside his papers, adjusted his cravat, then unexpectedly extended a hand toward her.
“You’ve been worrying for nothing.”
“…?”
“Titles, etiquette—nobles are as weak to money as anyone else. They were just born lucky and spend their lives acting superior.”
“….”
“So hold your head high.”
“….”
He smiled faintly, tilting his head until his brilliant blue eyes curved like crescents.
“It’s time. Shall we go in, Miss Anze Beaufort?”
At his signal the door swung open. Curious eyes peered inside.
When Anze hesitated, he wiggled his fingers. “Come.”
No backing out now. She exhaled softly and placed her lace-gloved hand in his.
The warmth of his rough palm startled her; the tension in her chest eased as their hands met.
“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “Simply standing beside me proves your worth.”
The compliment almost moved her—until his next, conceited line made her narrow her eyes at his profile.
“Chin high, gaze lowered. And don’t forget who stands beside you,” he murmured.
“The Duke of Side and Miss Anze Beaufort!” the herald repeated, drawing every eye as the music halted.
“Is that the aide everyone’s talking about?”
“Black hair and eyes—surely she’s of foreign blood. Is she really a noble?”
“Lady Hildegarde must be furious, losing the Duke to a woman like that.”
“Lost him? I heard the Crow heiress chose another partner first.”
“Already a lovers’ quarrel?”
“And who does she think she is, barging in like that? No sense of her place.”
The whispered barbs cut sharper than Anze expected, pricking at her heart.
‘Lady of the Year’? What a foolish dream.
Once she had believed effort might make it possible—how naïve that seemed now.
“They say youthful passion excuses His Grace, but why does the Dowager Duchess tolerate this? And with Lady Mariana right there….”
Dragging the Duchess and Mariana into it too—how cruel.
Irritation flared just as a warm, familiar voice rang out.
“You started with us and only just arrived? The road must have been crowded.”
The Dowager Duchess approached with a radiant smile and swept Anze into an embrace.
