Chapter 50
With Emily’s help, Iella finished her bath and changed into a dress. Emily was the maid assigned to assist her while she stayed at Grenville. Quiet, steadfast, and dependable, she was someone Iella could trust.
Emily guided her to the tea room, where an afternoon tea set was waiting on the table. The three-tiered tray held cakes, open sandwiches, pecan danishes, éclairs, scones, and tarts, all arranged so beautifully they looked irresistible.
“The master ordered this prepared for you.”
The warm tea soothed Iella’s insides.
“Ah, thank you. Where’s His Highness?”
“The master has gone out to the club.”
“What? Really?”
Emily nodded as she answered.
“He was drenched in the rain like that…”
Iella worried he might catch a cold, but that aside, the table before her left her at a loss. It was too much food for one person, no matter how pretty it looked.
“So, I’ll have to eat it alone, then.”
Her voice came out oddly deflated.
She transferred a slice of cake and an éclair to her plate before glancing at Emily.
“Take some and share it with the others.”
“It’s quite all right, my lady.”
“There’s too much here for me alone. Really, go on.”
After some hesitation, Emily bowed her head. “Thank you.”
Iella slowly savored the desserts and tea while gazing out at the garden. The sweets that melted in her mouth were delightful, but so too was the view of Grenville’s gardens after the rain.
There were certain events no noble in the capital could avoid. The debutante ball that marked one’s entrance into society, the Founding Festival at the royal palace, the grand New Year’s Eve ball, the Thanksgiving ball, and the Rose Festival picnic and ball.
Beyond those were the Traditional Costume Ball, the Academy Festival Ball, the Charity Gala, and so on—at least a hundred large and small balls and parties were held every year. And if one counted small social gatherings, the number was staggering.
Since her own debutante, Iella had skipped most of these gatherings for one reason or another. She dearly wished to avoid them again this year, but Laura Clarence’s relentless persuasion left her with no choice.
Her hand still throbbed faintly when she thought back to the day of her punishment. But above all, she needed to protect Betty.
This year, the royal Rose Festival picnic was held, unusually, in Grenville’s lower gardens. It was the handiwork of Queen Elizabeth and Countess Winston. Franz, knowing their true intentions, pretended ignorance and accepted the idea for his own benefit.
The gardens buzzed with energy, filled with those eager to see Grenville’s courtyards and landscapes.
“It’s the first time for us to see Grenville’s gardens too, isn’t it, sister?”
“Hmm? Ah… yes.”
Luisa’s innocent remark pricked at Iella’s conscience, but she only nodded without showing it.
“They’re so beautiful. You can’t help but sigh in wonder.”
“You’re right.”
Iella agreed, recalling the breathtakingly mysterious beauty of the upper gardens, just as enchanting as the lower ones, and smiled softly.
“Who will you go with to the final ball of the festival, sister?”
“The ball?”
“Oh, right. You don’t like balls, do you?”
“Calling them balls sounds elegant, but in truth, they’re just places for shallow dancing and flaunting wealth. They’re dens of decadence and indulgence. Even if you have a fiancé, it’s about touching hands with other men or women. And how many affairs between noble ladies and officers begin at balls? Debauchery, adultery, elopements—it all starts there.”
“Sister, don’t you think you’re exaggerating?”
“Of course, from a business standpoint, it’s useful. Hosts, businessmen, and palace officials gather to exchange information, form alliances, and secure investments. Charity balls donate their proceeds, too—what better way to show off generosity? They have fun, recruit lobbyists, expand influence, and preserve their traditions. Outwardly, it’s noble pride; inwardly, it’s vanity.”
“As long as people are happy and enjoying themselves, what does it matter? You’re too harsh, sister. Stop reading so many newspapers.”
Remembering past conversations with Iella, Luisa shook her head.
“It’s not that I hate them exactly… Anyway, have you decided who to go with, Luisa? I’ve told you again and again not to believe in that ridiculous legend. You should really think carefully.”
“There is someone I want to go with, but I’m not sure. He hasn’t shown me any affection.”
“Really? I thought half the men in Billn had already courted you.”
Iella thought of the men who visited their estate daily, the letters, the bouquets.
“What good is that? None of them are the one I want.”
Luisa sighed softly, her expression downcast.
“Is it Prince Franz, by chance?”
Iella glanced around, then leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“What? No, of course not.”
Luisa waved her hands with a laugh, and Iella tilted her head in puzzlement.
Then who could it be?
“Just wait and see. I’ll make sure he proposes to me.”
“I don’t know who he is, but I hope you succeed and marry for love, Luisa.”
Watching her younger sister clench her fists and speak with determination, Iella smiled faintly. Smart and spirited as always, Luisa reassured her.
As she turned her head, smiling, Iella’s eyes met Franz’s. He was not alone.
When the Rose Festival picnic began, Grenville’s once-quiet gardens grew lively. Amid the bustling energy, Franz sat with an expression utterly at odds with the cheer, fighting his boredom.
He lifted his teacup and glanced at the young woman seated across from him—Ellen Zibermann. His gaze was cool, detached, almost indifferent.
“The tea is lovely. Is it Darjeeling?” asked Lady Zibermann.
Queen Elizabeth smiled as she answered, “It’s Darjeeling blended with fruit notes. The strong flavor of the black tea lingers, finished with a refreshing fruitiness that brightens the mood.”
Blended teas were the latest trend in the capital. With the rise of tea houses, young ladies were embracing it with enthusiasm.
“With such a rich aroma, I think it would make a fine milk tea as well,” Ellen remarked softly, sipping gracefully. Her movements, from lifting the cup to sipping without sound, radiated elegance.
Beside her, Lady Zibermann mirrored the exact same motions. The mother and daughter resembled each other somewhat—delicate, refined—yet also bore differences.
When Franz had arrived at the pergola earlier, Queen Elizabeth and Countess Winston had already been seated with the Zibermann ladies.
As he approached, Ellen Zibermann greeted him with a polite smile. Both the queen and countess looked pleased at her manners.
After a brief glance at Lady Zibermann, Franz also bowed with formality.
“This is Miss Ellen Zibermann, who debuted in society this year. This must be your first time meeting her in person, yes?” Queen Elizabeth introduced warmly.
He had glimpsed Ellen at various balls since her debut, but this was the first time meeting her up close. She bloomed like a flower in full glory, exuding a charm that explained why men praised her so fervently.
“I’ve just returned from staying in Eton on official business. This is our first proper meeting.”
Eton, a port city in southeastern Lapland. He could have delayed his trip regarding the hotel there, but he hadn’t—for reasons only he and Hans knew. Yet hearing his mother bring it up, it was clear she had seen through his true intent.
“You’re working so hard, I worry it might exhaust you.”
“I’m taking care of my health.”
“As you should.”
Though she had voiced concern about his health before, it was clear her words now carried another meaning. She wanted him to settle down, build a family, and find stability.
“Don’t they look splendid together, Queen Elizabeth?”
It was obvious from his aunt Sylvia’s radiant smile and his mother’s watchful gaze that this was a setup. The endless compliments directed toward Ellen Zibermann since they had sat down only confirmed it. Likely his aunt had lost patience with his delays and had arranged this meeting herself.
Did Ellen Zibermann realize what kind of meeting this was?
From the way she carried herself, Franz thought she probably did. But her calm composure in hiding it earned his silent applause. She was, without doubt, the kind of young lady his aunt would put forward as a crown princess candidate.
It was her mother, however, who seemed more elated. Lady Zibermann’s overenthusiasm in conversation with the queen and countess was obvious even to him.
