Chapter 10
The woman, newly turned twenty, was wrapped in a heavy cloud of perfume. The scent was so overwhelming that Hiss narrowed his brows in discomfort.
The Duke, who had been watching the two exchange greetings with a pleased expression, finally rose from his seat with a weighty movement.
“Now, shall we go and listen properly? There will be plenty of opportunities to discuss Lord Axen, but seeing Miss Veloa perform is not something one can witness every day.”
Veloa lowered her eyes in embarrassment, and Hiss gave a slight nod in agreement with the Duke’s suggestion. Rather than spending the day on a conversation that would favor the Duke, he preferred to use the excuse of listening to music as a brief respite.
The piano’s melody began to resonate through the living room, filled with fine furniture.
Hiss watched Veloa’s hands dance across the keys. Her fingers, plump enough to suggest youth but nimble, leapt across the keyboard with vigor.
It was obvious she had chosen a brisk waltz to showcase her skill. Behind her, the garden fountain’s water seemed to leap in rhythm, rising and falling with a steady force.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that his life had started with the piano. Even before he could walk, he had been placed before the massive instrument. His father, who worked in the court orchestra, had been unable to perform after injuring his hands, and so he was forced to learn.
Although he played quite well, it was never enough to earn a living. He was too young to carry himself onto the streets and collect coins, and unless one were a renowned prodigy, no customer would pay to hear a child perform.
When he lost his job in the orchestra, his father sold the piano first. Their family fortune, such as it was, vanished.
They wandered from place to place. Wherever someone needed an accompanist, he would attach himself to them. They became known as a troupe of gypsy musicians.
That summer, when he was seventeen, if he had not gone to the Buchanan estate, he might now be visiting the Tailored Duke’s household as just another member of a traveling ensemble.
Instead of discussing business, he might have spent the night in barns or attics, uneasy, eating meals with servants. He might have spent long nights quietly giving bread to his father at the local tavern, worrying that the other musicians would overhear his father’s lament over a life ruined by wandering and hardship.
“I’ve heard that you can play the piano rather well.”
Hiss slowly tore his gaze from the window and turned it toward Veloa. She had requested a performance, though he had no idea from where she had heard that rumor.
He wasn’t in the mood. With a bitter smile, he declined.
A fleeting expression lingered on his face—a smile of parting for the old days when he had to play, smiling, even when he felt he could die of despair.
Pouting slightly, Veloa’s voice carried a note of disappointment.
“I thought it would be truly romantic if a gentleman could play the piano.”
The Tailored Duke chimed in.
“It hasn’t been long since instrument mastery became a pastime of the upper class. When did he even begin practicing? There is always something to be said for staying one step ahead.”
“Compared to the lady’s skill, it’s nothing. If you grant me the refusal, it is only sparing me embarrassment. May I request another piece? Listening to Miss Veloa perform is one of the pleasures of visiting your household.”
It had been over five years since he had fired cannons on the battlefield instead of pressing keys, so he truly meant it. Listening to a lady’s imperfect playing was far preferable to the deafening explosions of war and witnessing comrades dying.
Behind the satisfied smile of the Tailored Duke, Veloa straightened her shoulders and prepared for the next piece.
Hiss crossed one long leg over the other, staring past the performer’s back at the crimson setting sun.
Clink—the ice in his glass melted slightly, sending the brandy rippling. A perfect accompaniment for remembering Greenwood.
“As you can see.”
Her reply met his gaze boldly. The first question had been about her connection to Count Rohuman, and the answer was far from satisfactory in his eyes.
“As I saw?”
What he saw was a mismatched pair—a conventional couple stitched together for marriage, from an ordinary noble family. Could it truly be read so easily?
Sephine appeared the same as she had at fifteen, only slightly taller.
Or perhaps even the same height. She had simply grown out of her childish looks into a young lady.
Her slender frame, though fully grown, seemed unchanged from her childhood. Ankles visible beneath her slightly lifted skirt were delicate as if they might break. The waist of the young man next to her, whom Hiss silently mocked, wrapped loosely around her.
She had attended the Royal Academy, known for producing scholars. Her pale complexion, and light green eyes, seemingly unable to endure the sunlight, still looked lively and clear.
It wasn’t entirely by chance that he had chosen the day she visited. The nearby Buchanan estate was the only place he expected she could be reached, so he had opened an office there. The thought that he might one day meet her was not completely absent from his mind.
But if they met? Even then, what difference would it make?
His purpose was not some accidental reunion. All he intended was to ensure that the Count would fall apart, unable to stand on his own—just as he had done on the battlefield. Everything else was irrelevant.
No one, nothing.
As the final notes of the music drifted to an end, Hiss drained his brandy.
Behind the performer’s head, swaying to the melody, the sun vanished. Veloa’s blonde hair, like Sephine’s in Greenwood, took on a brownish hue in the fading light.
Among the emerald sea and moss-covered rocky hills, she shone alone.
Was it the alcohol that painted her hair in the wind, or the image of him lifting her hood and kissing her forehead?
His body was in the Duke’s living room, but his mind lingered on the Greenwood cliffs—a bittersweet vision, like a lost puzzle piece.
The girl he remembered was not someone who could play piano beside him and exchange playful words while laughing together.
Sephine Buchanan was someone he could only be grateful to see in dreams.
As Veloa concluded her piece, she cast a glance at Hiss, who offered a sincere round of applause.
“Such scandal could ruin that child’s life. I do not seek your understanding of how grave your sins are.”
The stern voice of Count Buchanan was drowned in the Tailored Duke’s clapping.
It would not be a bad lesson for the Count to witness what it means for a noblewoman’s reputation to truly fall.
And all of this crossed Hiss’s mind before his second glass had even been filled.
The festival was approaching.
The harvested grapes were turned into jam and neatly stored in each household, used in sweet dishes or simply celebrated as the finest fruit of Greenwood.
Every year, after the grape harvest, a festival was held in honor of the gods of grapes and wine, enjoyed with neighbors.
Sephine settled in a rocking chair under the porch, gazing past the linden trees at the orchards.
The trees that had already been harvested still shone with deep green leaves, swaying in the breeze. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the sticky-sweet scent of fruit.
Three books lay beside her: one for a letter to Felix, two for research references. Yet she had no desire to open any of them that afternoon.
Inside, the house buzzed with the chatter of neighbors preparing for the festival.
After appearing with Karl’s representative at the village hall, a few neighbors had eyed Sephine with suspicion.
The young village ladies whispered about whether a romance might have blossomed between the Countess’s daughter and the foreign man who flitted around her.
Most villagers worried that the Beringheims, siding with the Countess’s daughter and her foreign acquaintance, might turn their backs like Mojave.
However, since she had merely retrieved her lost hat and Hannah had scolded everyone against spreading needless rumors, the fuss died down.
In reality, it was only that simple. He had found the hat and returned it. There was no need to justify it to Hannah, who had warned her about the ruthless businessman.
