Chapter 41
The scenery here was completely different from the street they had just passed.
There were no hawkers calling out, and the elegant signs and items displayed beneath glass windows exuded a refined opulence, as if they were just waiting to be chosen.
“Welcome, Lord Hannibal!”
As Hannibal approached, the shop owner burst out and opened the door.
“I heard you stopped by 13th Street earlier today. Everyone’s been wondering when you’d come here! My lord, it’s truly an honor and a great privilege to have you in our store—”
As the shopkeeper’s overly enthusiastic words went on, Hannibal cut him off.
“Bring women’s shoes—ones suitable for a ball. The size is…”
He already knew it exactly, having just ordered the same size earlier. The shopkeeper quickly dashed inside and came back with several boxes of shoes.
“Yes, right here. May I ask which young lady these are for—?”
“This one.”
At Hannibal’s gesture, the shopkeeper’s expression briefly twisted, but he quickly masked it.
“Young lady, would you care to try these on?”
Anne ignored the glances being thrown at her and answered calmly.
“It doesn’t need to be for the ball. Just something suitable for practice will do.”
Shoes wrapped in white satin or adorned with lace and ribbons looked far too flashy and expensive to suit her.
“Practice shoes are ball shoes. No need to separate the two.”
Not quite. The price for “show-off” shoes skyrocketed!
Anne recalled her days as a duchess and suppressed a scowl as she replied politely.
“Please show me something plain, no patterns, preferably in a dark solid color.”
“Ah…”
The shopkeeper sighed, and Hannibal gave Anne a look, but she stood her ground firmly.
“Black or navy. If those aren’t available, brown. No patterns!”
In the end, Anne ignored all the shopkeeper’s efforts to persuade her and chose a pair of simple brown shoes with subtle stripes.
“I’ll take these.”
Since she had been brought here and offered the shoes, she couldn’t refuse. So Anne tried to leave no room for misinterpretation by sticking purely to practicality.
Once she made her choice, Hannibal stepped forward.
“So, what’s your best-selling item right now?”
The previously dejected shopkeeper brightened instantly and hurried to fetch another pair.
“This one! These are lilac satin shoes, so rare even among dresses. The white lace ribbon is exquisite, and we’ve surrounded the center with clear crystals shaped like flowers. If a young lady wears these to the ball, no one will be able to take their eyes off her feet!”
“Hm.”
As Hannibal examined them, Anne added from the side,
“The young lady is two sizes smaller than me, my lord.”
She naturally assumed the shoes were for Victoria.
“In that same size, please.”
“Yes!”
The shopkeeper quickly packaged them, and Anne, flustered, stammered at Hannibal.
“Y-your lordship?”
“Even if you never marry or spend your life alone, there may still come a time when you’ll dance with a man. Wear these then.”
With those parting words, Hannibal and the shopkeeper left with the purchase in hand.
“I really don’t need them. My lo— Lord Hannibal!”
He wasn’t acting like a lord—more like a self-indulgent young master. Anne called out in protest, and Hannibal turned around, as if something had just occurred to him.
“…Come to think of it, this is the first time you’ve called me ‘my lord.’”
“Huh?”
Well, that was because—for the first time today—he had actually seemed like the lord of Tegenes to her.
The title had just slipped out.
“Should I reward you for that separately?”
Hannibal said it like a joke, and Anne quickly shook both hands, pale with alarm.
“No, really, that won’t be necessary! I must decline.”
“Money, then?”
“…Ah. I’ll think about that.”
The more severance pay, the better. Anne was deadly serious about preparing for her retirement.
“You’re such an easy-to-understand and competent maid. Anne Perot, do your best and think of the reward after this party.”
Hannibal chuckled and paid for both pairs of shoes.
* * *
It was a hot and sunny morning, greeted by brilliant rays of sunshine.
Victoria Clayde’s birthday had finally arrived.
“Anne, how do I look?”
The dress faded from a pale sky blue at the top to a deep navy at the bottom—like day and night captured in a single gown, mysterious and beautiful.
Victoria’s silver hair shimmered like starlight, and her violet eyes gave her an alluring glow. Everything fit perfectly.
“You look absolutely stunning, my lady. Truly beautiful.”
Gone was the Victoria who once dressed in garish, clashing colors.
She had long since transformed into the graceful and refined young lady befitting the heiress of the West’s most prestigious family.
Anne couldn’t help but admire her as she said,
“This is definitely a dress by André Chan!”
Since the gown itself was so ornate, they kept accessories and lace minimal and elegant.
“My hands, neck, and head all feel so light. I love it, Anne.”
Victoria, once the type to wear every trinket imaginable to a party, now gazed at herself in the mirror with childlike delight.
“Remember. In conversation—”
“Smile gently.”
“In your movements—”
“Stay calm and composed.”
“And if you get angry—”
“Don’t hold back?”
“My lady!”
“I’ll be good, Anne.”
Victoria teased her with a mischievous smile, making Anne feel a little less tired.
Knock, knock. There was a knock on the door—her escort had arrived.
“Shall we go?”
The ballroom was already bustling with people. At Victoria’s nod, Anne opened the door wide.
“Hannibal! You look amazing!”
Standing there in a deep sky-blue suit to match Victoria’s dress was Hannibal Clayde.
“Ahem, I put in some effort.”
André, standing nearby, puffed up proudly—but no one paid him any attention.
Even Anne, who usually wasn’t swayed, found her gaze drawn to Hannibal’s sharp appearance.
She had always seen him as the gruff young earl and lord of Tegenes—aware he was handsome, but it never really struck her.
After all, their encounters were rarely friendly, often filled with arguments over Victoria.
Thanks to that, his handsome face was usually overshadowed by a furrowed brow and a testy expression.
“Let’s go, Victoria.”
But now, perhaps because all the misunderstandings about himself and his sister had been resolved, even his once harsh demeanor had softened.
His voice, with the hint of a smile, sounded unexpectedly kind—and for the first time, Anne’s heart skipped a beat.
Only a witch using magic could have a voice like that.
Watching him, Anne suddenly recalled her past self, entering parties arm-in-arm with her husband as a duchess, all finely dressed.
Then the memory shattered, and she snapped back to reality.
Smack! Anne slapped both cheeks hard enough to turn them red.
Get a grip, Anne Perot! You swore to live within your means now!
For nearly two months, Anne had worked herself to the bone to prepare for this party.
Normally, the lady of a noble house would take at least half a year to plan a birthday celebration like this.
And preparation was only the start—every day she took dance lessons in place of Victoria with the viscountess, then taught them back to her. She would arrive at her lodging every night utterly exhausted.
Things she had merely seen or heard during her time as a duchess were now proving unexpectedly useful—though whether to laugh or cry over that fact was unclear.
At any rate, the Viscountess Deruca would be watching closely from the ballroom, ready to judge how Victoria appeared, conversed, and danced.
There was no time to get lost in thought.
Anne had poured all her time and effort into Victoria’s 21st birthday party. It absolutely had to succeed.
“My lady—fighting!”
She clenched her fist and cheered quietly toward the two disappearing figures in the distance.
* * *
“My lady, if you’re enjoying yourself, smile.”
“You’re not just telling me to keep smiling all the time?”
Victoria smiled brightly at the suggestion that went against traditional etiquette books.
“You’re beautiful even when you’re not smiling. Your honesty is your charm, so there’s no need to force yourself to talk to people you dislike, or smile if you don’t want to. Just—whatever you do, absolutely no violence. Understood?”
Anne had made Victoria promise that many times.
Though she was younger, her maternal care and affection always came through—it was endearing, and comforting.
Just imagining how Anne would be pacing around, fretting, once she was gone made Victoria laugh.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I was thinking of Anne.”
“Anne Perot?”
“Would you have escorted me to this birthday party if Anne hadn’t asked you?”
“I would have—if you had asked me.”
If it had been Victoria’s request as a Clayde, not a maid’s, of course he would have made the party even bigger and grander.
Even hearing his confident answer, Victoria didn’t look very convinced.
“I didn’t know, brother.”
“Know what?”
“That I was allowed to ask.”
“…”
“No one ever told me.”
Victoria took Hannibal’s hand and walked forward.
Thanks to Anne’s efforts, the manor’s main building had been transformed into a dazzling ballroom.
Gone was the dusty atmosphere of years past—now, chandeliers glittered from the entrance, and ornate tapestries and lavish decorations lined every wall and column, earning praise from the guests.
As they reached the bottom of the grand staircase, Hannibal finally replied.
“Victoria, you’re a Clayde. There’s nothing you’re not allowed to do.”
