Chapter 40
“Well done.”
The Marquis leaned close to Belia, murmuring as he watched the people gathering around Bea.
The jewels adorning Bea glittered under the chandelier light.
Even Bea’s placement had been calculated by Belia for maximum effect.
She had promoted tirelessly—showcasing Bea through tea parties and decorating Bea’s salon with extravagant flair. And now, the effort paid off: the attention was overwhelming.
Clusters of guests whispered among themselves, some voicing intent to purchase, others even hinting at investment opportunities.
Relieved, Belia placed a discreet hand over her chest.
“Did I hide my nerves well enough?”
“You did. You handled yourself admirably.”
The Marquis reached out, gently stroking Belia’s hair.
She flinched, and startled, he quickly pulled his hand back.
“No!”
Belia caught his hand in a rush.
“Please… praise me more.”
With a playful smile, she pressed his hand back atop her head.
The Marquis’s eyes widened slightly.
“Oh… very well.”
Awkwardly, he stroked her hair again.
“I’ve been waiting for this,” Belia said softly.
“What?”
“Last time, when I brought you Bea’s prototype, you almost praised me the same way—but stopped.”
“…You noticed?”
“It was obvious.”
Belia laughed quietly, and the Marquis’s lips curved faintly as well.
For a moment, warmth welled unexpectedly in her chest. She hesitated, then decided—if she wanted to ask, now was the time.
“Father.”
“Yes?”
“I think… I’ve misunderstood you.”
“In what way?”
“I used to believe you didn’t love me.”
Belia turned her head, meeting his gaze.
“I thought you loved Mother, but not me. Because whenever I looked into your eyes…”
Her voice faltered.
“…you always looked away.”
The Marquis lowered his hand.
“That was…”
“May I ask why?”
“…Why?”
“Why you avoided me.”
Her unwavering gaze demanded the truth. The Marquis gave a strained laugh.
“As a father… I simply felt awkward—”
“The physician told me.”
Belia smiled, but the Marquis’s face stiffened instantly.
Ignoring his reaction, she continued:
“When I was eight, wasn’t it?”
“…How do you know that?”
“There was a fire accident. Even after I returned, something else happened in the manor, didn’t it? Something connected to you.”
“Did the physician tell you that?”
His eyes sharpened, but Belia shook her head.
“No. I asked.”
“What?”
“Things didn’t add up. The nervous looks of your aides when I first stepped into your office… how they always fidgeted when I came by… and the change in you.”
She fixed her eyes on him.
“I thought it was because you didn’t love me. But working with you recently on business matters, I realized—it wasn’t that at all.”
“That was only because I worried for you—”
“I know. Seeing you more often, I finally understood how much you care. Which only made me wonder—why were you like that before?”
“…And why did you seek answers from the physician?”
“I wanted to find the turning point.”
“Turning point?”
“You weren’t so cold when I was younger. But at some point, you changed.”
The Marquis groaned.
“Don’t make that face. Anyway—I searched through portraits of myself at different ages. Some even had you in them. And in those, you were smiling. Smiling as if you loved me dearly.”
Belia’s lips lifted faintly at the memory.
“But there was no portrait of me at age eight. From the accident onward. So I thought—that must have been when you changed.”
“…And that’s why you went to the physician.”
“Yes. Whenever I so much as mentioned ‘eight years old,’ everyone in the household went silent. Everyone but him.”
“And did he speak so easily?”
“No.”
Belia shook her head.
“After the accident, I often saw him for headaches, and we’d talk about my missing memories. I thought I could coax it out of him.”
“How?”
“I told him I’d begun remembering.”
“Remembering?”
“It wasn’t true. I lied—pretended memories were returning, hoping he’d reveal what really happened.”
She smiled mischievously.
“I still don’t remember the accident itself. But fragments after I came back… I could guess. Things between you and me, for example.”
The Marquis’s eyes trembled.
“So I kept pressing him, pretending. I didn’t hear everything, but enough to know—something did happen between us. That much, I’m certain. And now I want to hear it from you.”
“…What do you mean?”
“All he told me was this: you and Mother ordered everyone in the household to remain silent.”
The Marquis swallowed hard.
“So please, Father. Tell me yourself. What happened? Why did you avoid me?”
Belia’s expression turned grave.
“To protect you,” he whispered.
“Protect me?”
“I…”
His eyes clouded with anguish.
The events that unfolded after Belia returned from the accident—events that had nearly destroyed not only the Marquis and his wife Sophronia, but their entire house—still burned in his memory.
“At that time… you—”
Even now, seeing his healthy, radiant daughter, he couldn’t help but recall the frail, fragile, almost demonic figure she had once been.
Before he could continue, a cry rang out:
“His Highness the Crown Prince has arrived!”
Both Belia and the Marquis turned sharply toward the doors.
The ballroom erupted in murmurs.
“The Crown Prince? Did you invite him?” the Marquis asked in disbelief.
Belia frowned.
“No. He told me he couldn’t come today…”
Allen had said he was busy when she’d hinted at the party earlier.
Puzzled by his sudden appearance, Belia tilted her head—when another loud announcement followed:
“Th—the Master of the Magic Tower has also arrived!”
Her eyes widened.
The ballroom buzzed even louder at the proclamation.
“The Tower Master?”
The Marquis’s eyes went wider still—far more than at the Crown Prince’s arrival.
The grand double doors opened. Beneath the glittering chandeliers, golden and black hair gleamed side by side.
“This can’t be…”
Belia drew in a sharp breath.
“You made me late.”
“Ahem.”
Carlton tugged at his clothes.
“That suit looks good on you. You should dress like this more often. Throw away that dreary old robe.”
“Do I really have to wear this?”
Still uncomfortable, Carlton fiddled with his collar.
Allen only shrugged.
“You agreed without complaint when I suggested it. And it’s hardly fitting to appear in a dusty robe at an event like this.”
Carlton said nothing.
“No invitation, so at least look the part.” Allen clapped his back.
“There. She’s over there.”
“Who?”
“The one you came to see.”
Carlton followed Allen’s gesture—and his breath caught.
There stood Belia, clad in a white gown.
Almost unconsciously, his hand rose to rub the back of his neck.
Belia, seeing him, gripped her skirts tightly.
Their eyes met—and just as quickly, both turned away.
Carlton frowned.
Strange.
That same odd sensation he had felt since the academy washed over him again. He bit his lip.
Nervousness. Tension.
Tense?
His expression darkened. He wasn’t even facing Bain directly—so why? Was the trace of Bain lingering on Belia truly affecting him this much?
Belia, glancing back at him, noticed the faraway look in his eyes.
“Good thing I dressed you in white,” Allen said.
“What?”
“You two look like you matched on purpose.”
He chuckled.
And indeed, as they drew closer, Carlton in his white suit and Belia in her white gown stood out unmistakably.
He was the only man in white among all the attendees—making them all the more conspicuous.
