Episode 8
I lingered for a moment, hesitating over how to properly greet the Duchess Harriet.
Having spent most of my days among the commoner staff of the trade guild, the etiquette of the nobility felt strangely distant. Each mental rehearsal of our first meeting seemed to stall halfway, buffering like a faulty projection.
I hurriedly practiced the formalities for addressing a high-ranking noblewoman. First, the bow: the one a noblewoman gives to someone of higher rank. My reflection in the polished display cabinet looked clumsy and awkward.
“I should’ve practiced more when Rebecca’s memories were still sharp,” I muttered.
After inhabiting this body, I’d had almost no reason to interact with nobles, and even the bits of etiquette lingering from Rebecca’s memories had mostly faded. Still, while upper nobles wouldn’t expect flawless manners from a merchant pretending to hold a title, it was better to do well than poorly.
I resolved once again, When I have free time, I’ll study languages and etiquette properly.
Of course, the chances of me actually following through were slim.
I should’ve paid closer attention to the setting of the novel, not just the romance between the male and female leads. It might have helped me even a little.
The original novel, “Your Majesty, Marry Me Instead of My Sister,” was a favorite for its deadpan style, which transformed Rosalyn’s unique character and the otherwise grim elements into something comical. I’d read it multiple times, but being an adult-rated work, only certain scenes remained etched in my memory.
Both the heroine and the male lead had bold, fiery personalities.
“That scene at the ball with them was so good.”
I thought back to the original novel. Realizing it now, the first original character I would meet in this life was the Duchess Harriet.
Unlike Rebecca, who was barely a background character, the Duchess was a significant supporting character. She was the heroine’s mentor and sister-like friend, a bastard-born noble who guided the socially naive heroine and brilliantly thwarted petty villainesses with nothing but sharp words. She was the kind of character I had always admired—a true crush-worthy figure.
“Her name is Sarah, though everyone online called her ‘Soda Pop Sister’ more often than her real name.”
“Oh my, mingling with a lowly bastard. I worry it may harm the Lady’s dignity.”
“Indeed. I’m sure that foolish girl overstepped by acting friendly with Lady Sarah. As someone of the same surname, I’d like to apologize on her behalf.”
Back before my reincarnation, the young heroine had suffered at the hands of her sister and her followers, only to be rescued dramatically by Sarah, who became a rare source of comfort. Perhaps because of that, post-reincarnation, the heroine’s usual cold detachment softened around Sarah.
“It’s a relief that she doesn’t understand boundaries when acting friendly. Did I ever permit her name?”
“Pardon? I merely wished to—”
“I, the Lady of Clifton, whom you wish to befriend, is not over there. It’s here.”
In that flashback, Sarah takes the heroine’s hand and leads her to the balcony, and the internet buzzed with comments like, “Is Sarah the real sub-lead of this story?” Their chemistry had been undeniable.
A thrill ran through me. It felt less like a business meeting and more like meeting a celebrity. My nervousness had eased slightly.
“Alright. I’m at a character fan-signing event. Fan-signing event. Sarah, you’re amazing.”
With that mindset, my reflection in the glass finally looked natural. The preparation was complete.
A voice called from outside the door—my turn had arrived. I brushed off the folds of my dress and followed the attendant with as much grace and poise as I could muster into the Duchess’s drawing room.
The marble corridor seemed endless, and the room that awaited me was a different world compared to my previous audience room. Was this truly the Duchess’s residence? My eyes traced the intricate carvings on the door as the attendant announced my arrival with a knock.
“Milady, Viscount Felice of the Felice Guild.”
“Enter.”
The approving voice likely belonged to the Duchess’s secretary.
I inhaled deeply and stepped inside, holding my dress modestly so my ankles weren’t exposed, and lowered my eyes slightly to quickly survey the room. True refinement meant moving through unfamiliar spaces as though one had always been there.
Fortunately, the Duchess’s presence dominated the room, allowing me to locate her without hesitation.
“Good afternoon, Duchess. I am Rebecca Felice of the Viscount Felice household.”
I delivered my hastily rehearsed greeting, my arms positioned correctly, voice steady. I look elegant… don’t I?
Thankfully, I was the type to perform well under pressure. This would do. Excellent.
I flattered my reflection internally, keeping perfect posture. One must remain still until the higher-ranking person acknowledged the greeting. Every glance and breath carried meaning in noble etiquette.
“One, two, three, four.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Viscountess Felice.”
The Duchess returned my greeting faster than I had dared hope. Slightly longer than a typical greeting, but not long enough to convey the dreaded social message of “I disapprove—behave accordingly.”
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
A good start, it seemed. Some marquises had clicked their tongues at me the instant I bowed. Being a noble merchant like me—rather than a commoner—they often treated me with disdain for sullying the family’s honor.
“Please, sit.”
Even offering a seat. She treated me as a guest. High-ranking nobles were notoriously fastidious, yet Sarah… she was effortlessly cool.
Following the secretary’s subtle cue, I moved quickly to my seat.
“Tea will be served shortly.”
The Duchess’s secretary departed, leaving a slight discomfort in the air. A senior secretary of the Duchess would be from a cadet branch or an illegitimate line—someone higher in rank than me serving tea felt… odd. Perhaps I had too much absorbed the hierarchy of this world.
I fell silent. Speaking unnecessarily in such company could backfire. Without the gift of captivating speech, one only appeared foolish. And I had a tendency to blurt nonsense when nervous.
“Stay still, and I’ll be fine.”
The Duchess looked slightly fatigued, likely from overseeing her daughter’s engagement preparations. From meals to decorating guest rooms, everything would have her hand in it, not to mention her other duties.
The silence was short-lived. The secretary returned with maids carrying a tray. The faint scent of lilac wafted in. When the attendant had handed me tea earlier, the fragrance was nearly identical. Impressive, the standards at the Duchess’s household.
I watched confidently as the maids placed the cups. One even presented a tea caddy on the table as though on display, right in the Duchess’s line of sight—a subtle gift, generously provided.
Her gaze lingered briefly. Difficult to read, as expected of a high-ranking noble, but I understood: she was intrigued by the new tea package. Nobles loved luxury in everything, from people to objects, yet most tea caddies in use were simple, made of ceramic or wood. The reasoning was simple: servants brewed the tea, not the nobles themselves.
Still, nobles flaunted opulence on uniforms, accessories, even servants’ gold buttons. Couldn’t such vanity extend to tea caddies too? I had poured thought—and care—into this package.
A craftsman had first sketched the design: a low cylindrical box adorned with spring flowers, topped with a mannequin dressed in a lilac gown. The wooden box was carved delicately, colors applied to emphasize depth. The mannequin’s dress, layered with flower-petal shapes in fine noble-grade fabric, even had embedded jewels.
Our client was the country’s wealthiest, the House of Harriet. Budget was no object. If the Duchess remained unimpressed, the losses from design and prototype costs would be steep—but it was a calculated gamble worth taking.
The finished product, I was confident, would be the most artistic tea caddy the Duchess had ever seen.
I allowed her ample time to appreciate it before speaking.
