Chapter 63

Erica and Catherine.

There wasn’t a hint of awkwardness between the two.

The count and countess, too, seemed to think a friendship with Lady Erica would be good for Catherine, who’d been away from society for so long.

“I hope you can stay this close and see each other often,” said the count.

“Of course. My sister seems to like Lady Catherine very much,” Martin added.

If Erica had heard that, she might’ve protested.

“Shall we begin with the luncheon we prepared?”

A long table was set with all kinds of dishes, and our two families took our seats.

Erica and Catherine had grown close enough to whisper to each other. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but I heard it anyway.

“Let’s go up to my room a little later.”

I never expected Erica to say that.

Even for me, it had taken time to step into my sister-in-law’s room. She usually came to mine; I hadn’t often gone to hers first.

Well, it’s Catherine. What trouble could there be?

I smiled, happy, as the juicy meat burst with flavor in my mouth.

Martin added a few more slices onto my plate.

I later learned Chef Baba’s salary had been raised to nearly double.

After lunch, we had sweets and a quiet tea time.

Martin and Count Melion settled together to talk about things only household heads could discuss.

Instead of heading straight to her room, Erica appeared in the hall with a gift Catherine had given her—eager to show it off.

“Sister-in-law, look at this painting! Isn’t it beautiful?”

In the frame she carefully held was Erica gazing at a sunset.

How much had Erica and Catherine connected as they wandered the maze-like royal garden that day they left Martin and me?

“The painting is lovely.”

If Erica hadn’t left a deep impression on Catherine, she couldn’t have captured that moment like a photograph—certainly not this beautifully.

I answered with a smile, and the two girls giggled and went upstairs.

Watching them go, I turned to the countess.

“We spoke about Baron Gilbert last time.”

“Yes, we did.”

“You know your daughter’s skill is exceptional, don’t you?”

The countess took her tea, then gave a wry, troubled smile.

“She wants it so much that we’re looking into it, but it isn’t easy.”

Likely because of the cost.

City painters are proud and charge whatever they please.

But Baron Gilbert of the small Delmant region…

If he saw Catherine’s work, he wouldn’t be able to sit still.

His passion for art is strong, and so is his desire to train a worthy student.

“As I said last time, I think I can arrange an introduction.”

“If you would do that, we’d be honored. After such a long illness, painting was what kept her going. Nothing interests her as much.”

The countess brightened.

“Lady Catherine is one thing, but you must have suffered too,” I said gently.

“I never imagined my child would become my entire world…” she murmured.

Warm eyes glistened as the countess dabbed the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief.

With such a long illness, the whole family’s attention must have centered on Catherine’s recovery.

Even when they had no idea when she’d get better, they never let her go.

Isn’t that what real parents do?

Unwelcome thoughts of Viscountess Harold rose unbidden.

There are all kinds of people in the world, true…

But for “family,” Viscountess Harold and Gemma had been a bond of convenience, nothing more.

Poor Gemma.

Just then, a scream rang out from somewhere.

The count couple and Martin all jumped to their feet at once.

Our eyes met—four people trading anxious looks.

No way…

Did something happen?

In stories like these, the heroine sometimes suddenly turns into a villainess…

Martin and I rushed up to the second floor, and the count and countess followed.

I threw open Erica’s door.

“My lady!”

What we saw the instant the door opened:

Two girls under the covers, tickling each other and laughing like mad.

The count couple arrived right behind us.

Realizing the situation, Erica and Catherine scrambled up.

“We’re sorry. We got a bit loud, didn’t we?” Erica said, scratching the back of her head with a sheepish smile.

“S-sorryyy,” Catherine added.

“It’s just—It’s been so long since we really played,” she said, and the Melions let out a long breath of relief.

They even apologized for interrupting and smiled, relieved they’d found the girls only… playing.

Maybe they were simply happy to see their daughter having fun again.

“It’s wonderful to see you playing so well.”

“It is. Ho ho.”

They didn’t want to disturb the girls and soon withdrew. Martin leaned close and whispered to me,

“Seems we worried for nothing.”

“Indeed.”

It was the first time I’d seen Erica bonding with a girl her own age.

And of all people, Catherine—someone she’d had no path to befriend before.

Erica braided Catherine’s hair, showed off her own hairpins, and bustled around.

It was a different feeling than with Aaron, a boy her age.

Smiling at the two girls, Martin and I quietly slipped away.

“How can I deliver it so it’ll mean more?”

The day after the Melion family went home, Erica let out a deep sigh.

“Deliver what?”

“My feelings.”

She twirled a quill, scratched her head, and fell into serious thought.

I sat beside her. “To whom?”

“Who else?”

She shrugged and pointed to the portrait she’d been given—the one of her looking at the sunset.

Catherine?

Catherine’s gift must have left a strong impression on Erica.

Before I could answer, Erica clapped her hands.

“Ah! A letter would be best.”

Letters are Erica’s specialty.

Her pure, honest letters had even melted iron-hearted Aaron.

“Letters are perfect,” I agreed, keeping my interference to a minimum.

I wanted to see her handle this herself.

“Sister-in-law, will you help me pick out stationery?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.”

Choosing stationery isn’t hard.

When I smiled, Erica smacked her forehead. “Oh! While we’re at the shop, I need to buy stationery for my sponsored children too.”

You can’t stop this girl.

Her list of sponsored children had grown.

After Aaron became a guard at the Cloud manor, Erica had gone out herself to find children to help.

Not just her bright, sparkling eyes—her willingness to reach out to our neighbors was beautiful.

I didn’t tell her to do any of this.

And volunteering to choose stationery? The last time she’d done that for anyone was for Aaron.

Her cheerful humming filled the hall.

She didn’t seem worried about “what if they don’t like the letter,” the way she had with Aaron.

Maybe she’d already learned that…

Hearts find a way to connect.

As she bustled around, I thought I saw a brief halo—the kind only a story’s protagonist wears—glimmer around her and fade.

For a moment, I even hoped our Erica had shed every trace of “villainess.”

That hope didn’t last.

“Why aren’t you stocking this item?”

How did we end up in this situation?

I pressed my fingers to my forehead.

Erica’s voice boomed across the general store.

When we arrived at a shop in the busy district, the stationery she wanted was out of stock.

[It was definitely here last time.]

She’d said the paper with flowers and butterflies was pretty—so why ask me to help pick if it had to be that exact one?

After searching high and low, a tired Erica click-clacked up to the counter.

I gently caught her wrist and smiled with my eyes.

If she made a scene here, all the goodwill she’d stacked up could topple at once.

An image is like a Jenga tower—built with effort, knocked over by a single careless move.

But when Erica locks onto a target, she never lets go.

“I’m buying that stationery no matter what.”

Watching her grit her teeth and blaze with resolve, I couldn’t just stand there.

So I rolled up my sleeves and prepared to ask the clerk nicely.

That very moment, someone stepped between us and the clerk.

He blocked us—and looked at us with a face that said he was thoroughly entertained.

Who is this man?

I couldn’t read a single thing about him.

He smiled with unshaken ease—even in front of the infamous Cloud family.

And I’m the duchess.

His brown hair reminded me of warm, toasty bread.

He didn’t seem like some random passerby…

Something’s off.

I wasn’t the only one thrown. Erica shuffled backward and grabbed my sleeve.

Seeing that, the brown-haired stranger came closer, voice smooth and sly.

“Would you mind if I cut in?”

He gave a light shake to a bundle of stationery—flowers and butterflies flashing in the light.

That was the very set Erica wanted!

Who on earth is this guy?

And “cut in,” really?

Such cheek.

A brand-new lunatic had entered the stage.