Chapter 63
“I thought it would take longer because of that one rare herb seed we needed, but the farmer we’d arranged the deal with came by early this morning and sold it.”
“What—! You’ve got to be kidding me! What a disaster!”
The Countess clutched her aching head.
What do I do? I didn’t manage to get a confession out of that Becker woman, nor did I find any other evidence.
Stay in the mansion? That wasn’t an option. If she missed today, there would be no chance to meet the Empress again.
How much I profited from my Salon Exhibition piece—there’s no way I can let go of the Empress’s connection. I must get invited to the exhibition again…!
Then, a sharp idea flashed across her mind.
There was an anonymous tip-off, so it’s certain that girl did steal. It’s not like I’d be accusing her of something baseless. And evidence? That can always be made.
“Dolly!”
Originally, the head maid was supposed to accompany her to the ball—to attend her, and at the same time, to keep an eye on Odette.
“Come here and lend me your ear.”
The Countess whispered something into Dolly’s ear, who had been waiting beside the carriage.
Thus, she decided to leave the head maid behind for tonight.
“Well then, everything’s ready. Coachman! Hurry, we must leave at once!”
Odette’s dress didn’t matter anymore. The real problem would be if the Count and Fernand returned in time to stop her from attending the ball.
How dare a doll with self-awareness act so insolently? It was outrageous. But then again—why should she bother breaking in the Count’s son as if he were some doll?
That cursed boy would surely stop her from attending if he returned.
If we don’t leave now, I might miss the Empress entirely.
The Empress would only attend the ceremonial opening of the ball, and then retire to the reception room to spend time with her close circle.
She must be quite offended. She sent me a handwritten invitation to the Salon, and I turned her down claiming illness.
Since that day, no matter how many letters she sent, the Empress never replied.
This might be her last chance to make amends.
Just imagining the Count rushing back even now made her all the more frantic.
“Hurry up, Paula. …Odette, you too!”
Had the Countess thought Odette looked refined enough—refined enough to raise her reputation—she might have taken the time to make her change into another dress.
Even if her relationship with Fernand had soured, when it came to maintaining the pretense of being a Purifier, they were still in the same boat. Odette’s wretched reputation was tied to the family’s future.
Pfft. She looks like some country bumpkin from the seaside.
To the Countess, Odette’s dress was one that would ruin her reputation, not raise it.
So why waste any effort changing it?
“Coachman, drive at once!”
At her shout, the carriage set off.
“Presenting the Countess of Albrecht and Lady Odette Albrecht!”
At the herald’s call, a hush rippled across the ballroom. Chatter fell silent mid-sentence.
Only the orchestra’s music filled the wide hall as every eye turned toward the doors.
Even the Countess of Lilienthal—the Empress’s closest friend—glanced toward the entrance.
Such was the power of the name Odette Lina von Albrecht.
Every paper, from newspapers to gossip rags, called her a “villainess,” yet her unique status as the only Purifier—and her beauty—always placed her at the center of fascination and envy.
Yes. Odette was flawless in face and in movement. She inevitably seized every gaze.
But what does it matter? Her taste is hopeless.
A sharply bobbed crop of silver hair. A middle-aged woman clicked her tongue in dismay.
Once, she had been Lady Lilienthal, maid of honor to the Crown Princess, a woman famed for her impeccable taste and refinement.
She had spent her entire life setting the trends of the imperial court.
Now, with age, she had stepped aside from dictating fashion, but she still bristled when something crude and gaudy was paraded as stylish.
And so, she loathed Odette’s corrupting influence—her childishly bright dresses, absurdly glittering lace. And to think such things were set as trends!
Today will be no different, I’m sure.
Already feeling stifled, she began to turn away—only for her jaw to drop as the doors opened.
“…Yes! Yes, this is it!”
The woman who had once been an icon of elegance forgot her composure and cried out like an excitable girl.
Had she been younger, she would have spun her cane wildly in the air.
Realizing herself, she coughed loudly into her hand, but there was no shame in it—because most of the cultured ladies and heiresses present were just as stunned as she.
To her, the Countess escorting Odette might as well have been invisible.
She saw only Odette crossing the hall.
(As for Paula—she was no more than another irrelevance.)
For sixty years, pure white dresses had been considered provincial. Even debutantes wore colors—deep green, crimson, violet.
And now, at the very center of that colorful crowd, stood Odette in a white chemise dress—striking, daring, unforgettable.
Her single braided plait was plain yet undeniably elegant. The simple pearl at her ear gleamed with refinement.
No gaudy jewelry—just soft blue flower ornaments at her wrist and hair’s end.
A modest gown one might expect at a seaside soiree in Méursault.
The overall impression evoked a clumsy provincial ball. Like some naïve young lady along a beach lined with noble villas.
And yet—the details erased all rusticity. A few accessories were of the highest quality. The lace trim was clearly embroidered by the Empire’s finest artisan.
Discreet, understated, but undeniably expensive. They gave her a subtle sophistication.
But above all, it is the boldness I love.
Countess Lilienthal—the only noblewoman at the ball dressed in tailored trousers—stepped forward, her face flushed with excitement.
She could hardly wait to speak to her.
“Lady Albrecht.”
I turned toward the voice.
Countess Lilienthal?
I blinked in surprise. She was one of the few women in the Varcheha Empire to inherit her own title.
Back when the current Empress was still Crown Princess, this woman had dictated not just the court’s fashions, but the entire Empire’s trends.
No—more than that. She had created them.
Women’s riding breeches, the very idea of a woman’s tailored suit worn to formal functions—that had been her. She had designed the first women’s trench coat as well.
And now she’s speaking to me with such kindness?
In my past life, I had never exchanged a single word with her.
Among society’s high ladies, it had been an open secret: “Odette is like a poisonous mushroom among debutantes.”
Gorgeous, yes, but fatally harmful—and contagious in her influence.
By contrast, this woman was treated as a living legend.
“Countess Lilienthal.”
Even with all these thoughts spinning in my mind, I bent my knees in a respectful curtsey.
I could feel it—the ears of half the hall were pricked toward our conversation, no matter how much they pretended otherwise.
