Chapter 22: Amateur Theater
“Or… do you want to go see a play that day?”
This time, the question clearly caught Lili’s attention. Timothy, noticing the brief sparkle in her eyes, pressed on.
“What kind of play is it?”
“It’s an amateur play, so it probably won’t be that entertaining. But the venue… is grand.”
At that, Lili’s heart fluttered slightly.
“Where is it?”
“Rotunda Hall, of all places. A refined hobby of the nobility. They’re performing to raise funds for the orphanage…”
“Rotunda Hall…”
As Lili echoed the name, Timothy felt that her interest had been piqued and eagerly began explaining further—exactly what Lili had heard from the guest in Room 301.
“Many nobles will be there. Meanwhile, the Galli Party, which the Prime Minister belongs to, will hold a vote for his appointment… I need to observe the nobles’ reactions that day.”
“Can someone like me—someone not invited—go too?”
“If you say you’re Lady Rutland, they wouldn’t realize you’re just a maid…”
Timothy realized he had misspoken when he saw Lili’s face and quickly tried to recover.
“No, I didn’t mean it that way, Lili. I just meant that no one goes to the theater alone.”
Lili walked slightly ahead, understanding perfectly the sense of alienation one felt among nobles dressed in extravagant attire. Wearing a maid’s uniform was far more comfortable; after all, no one would suspect or challenge someone who was there to serve.
Had she been wearing a worn dress, they would have kept sneering and glancing at her.
“With you?”
Lili tapped the snow piled on the tips of her old leather shoes. Shoes that weren’t fine leather got wet instantly from even that slight touch.
“No one goes there alone. And I have a reason to go—many politicians come, not just the nobles. I can even get material for an article there. At worst, I could write, ‘The nobles performed a terrible play.’”
“It won’t be terrible,” Lili said, smiling. But Timothy seemed not to understand the meaning behind her smile.
“So, you’ll go see the play with me?”
“Weren’t you having dinner with your parents?”
“Well, we can push that back a bit and go later…”
Timothy’s muttered words grew more hesitant. Seeing his awkward expression, Lili finally spoke.
“All right, Timothy.”
She recalled the face of the man who had recited his lines with such seriousness.
“Really?”
When Timothy asked again for confirmation, Lili nodded firmly. At that moment, he understood why people had called her a ‘dowry in human form.’ If only his parents felt the same way.
“I’ll pick you up at the hotel that day.”
On Christmas Eve, a heavy snowstorm blanketed the capital. Snow clouds from the south covered all of Londinium.
Lili, forgetting the cold, lingered in front of the hotel in a thin dress.
The deep green velvet dress Summer had fetched for her smelled faintly of naphthalene.
“Lili, sorry I’m late. My parents wouldn’t let me leave… Ah, you look stunning!”
Timothy hurriedly stopped the carriage at the hotel entrance and dashed inside, exclaiming at Lili. Blushing, she adjusted her hat.
“Really?”
“Anyone who sees you will ask which country’s princess you are.”
Timothy’s casual flattery made Lili’s cheeks flush a deep rose. Watching her golden hair, elegantly pinned without the bonnet, Timothy continued:
“Truly beautiful. There’s no one prettier than you in the entire capital.”
“Doesn’t it smell a bit like mothballs? It’s been in the closet for a while.”
As Lili sniffed the dress, Timothy tilted his head.
“You always smell wonderful to me.”
Lili deflected his unexpected confession with a joke.
“Timothy Rutland, I’ll believe it only because you’re a reporter reporting the facts.”
Because of the snowstorm, they arrived at Rotunda Hall quite late. Everyone else had already entered, and the front was quiet.
Normally, only very important people attended here. Walking up the red-carpeted path, Lili struggled as her skirt kept catching under her feet.
“Hold my hand.”
Timothy took Lili’s gloved hand and led her briskly.
“They say the Queen held her wedding ceremony here with her husband.”
“The place with the most stairs I know is the Belmore Hotel. This hall is huge. Ah, my dress keeps catching.”
Lili clutched Timothy’s hand tightly to avoid falling. At last, they reached the entrance and presented their tickets. The attendant bowed politely.
“Are you Mr. Timothy Rutland and your lady? These tickets were sent by Congressman Gordon.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“The performance started twenty minutes ago.”
Their seats were at the very back. The stage was barely visible, and if the person in front was tall, half the stage might be blocked.
“Over here, please.”
Since nobles never rushed, Lili tried not to fluster herself.
“Why did Congressman Gordon send you tickets?”
Recalling the terrible cookie incident, Lili asked Timothy, but he, unusually, ignored her question.
“Shh! Lili, it’s starting.”
She almost tripped on her long dress several times before finally sitting down. The first act was already over. On stage, under the moonlight, a scene showed the lovers meeting for the first time. A man on the elaborately decorated stage was bathed in blue light.
Cecile Hobart’s gaze was not on the stage, but on the box opposite.
Belmore had not offered her the family’s designated seat, and it remained empty.
Cecile was frustrated beyond measure but pretended to ignore it and stayed seated.
The young ladies cast curious glances, trusting Cecile’s excuse that she just wanted a better view.
“The heroine’s terrible, isn’t she? She speaks like a commoner, not someone who lived abroad,” whispered Florence, fanning her face. Cecile might have missed the first act if not for Florence’s comment, as she was staring at the empty box.
“The girl that Evans raised in the countryside because the couple was frail?”
“Cecile, I don’t believe that. I heard she’s illegitimate. Her speech makes her sound like she’s from the outskirts of Londinium.”
“Well, we’ll find out when she’s invited to the tea party,” Cecile said, satisfied. She had no information about Rose Evans, Christopher’s co-star, but this at least reassured her.
“Why are you sneaking peeks at that side instead of watching the play?” Florence asked. Cecile leaned closer and whispered:
“Look at her! She’s stumbling over her lines. If the Evans couple weren’t trying to humiliate her daughter, they shouldn’t have let her on stage.”
Cecile turned back to the stage, her cold gaze fixed on the trembling girl like a frightened mouse.
In contrast, Lord Belmore performed flawlessly, his posture and voice impeccable. His excellence didn’t come from practice but from natural charm, and it felt completely effortless.
“Cecile, once the Serf House vote is over today, will the engagement date be set with him?”
Florence, too, couldn’t look away. Though he would become her friend’s fiancé, her attention was instinctively drawn.
Cecile liked it. Being the woman desired by others was far more thrilling than having a father as Prime Minister.
“Probably?”
Cecile fiddled with the necklace he had given her. A man who gifts such jewelry surely wouldn’t fail to propose.
“The adults will handle it. I don’t know,” Cecile said, feigning disinterest, leaving Florence slightly impressed.
“If it were me, I’d have chosen the dress already,” Florence said.
“Debut in society comes first, don’t you think?”
“After the engagement, no one could complain if you danced with Lord Belmore three times at the debutante ball.”
Florence’s voice betrayed envy.
“What do you mean? We should dance fairly. It’d be unsightly to hog him just because I’m his fiancée.”
Cecile tried to project the image of the most proper young lady in the world, gracious and composed—qualities she never saw in her father. Watching Lord Belmore, she tried to emulate him, observing his subtle habits and calm expressions.
To her, apart from the Queen, no noble seemed more elegant, more noble-blooded than Lord Belmore.
“Don’t you get jealous? If it were me, seeing him on stage with another woman would make me furious.”
“Lord Belmore didn’t want to perform on stage unless it was for charity,” Cecile said.
Florence looked genuinely impressed. It was nice, bringing her along when her mouth could spread rumors. Within a week, jokes about Rose Evans and news of her engagement would be the talk of the young ladies.
She just hoped Florence wouldn’t notice that she hadn’t sat in Lord Belmore’s private box. Cecile reinforced her plan with a final remark.
“Shall we leave first after the performance? I have something to discuss with Lord Belmore.”
Feeling slightly warm, Cecile fanned herself deliberately. Florence nodded with a sly expression.
