Chapter 64
Pushed back, Iella looked at Franz with an awkward expression.
“If you’re trying to piss me off on purpose right now, then congrats—you succeeded.”
“That’s not it… No, I’m sorry.”
Again. She looked like she had something to say, but clamped her mouth shut. The sight only irritated him further.
“If you have something to say, then say it. Don’t make me feel like crap.”
Iella just gazed up at Franz’s face in silence.
At some point, their conversations kept going off track. They often ended abruptly, leaving only a sense of something being off.
It was uncomfortable, but still—just being with him made her chest feel full and fluttering. That feeling refused to fade.
“Don’t come anymore.”
The words weren’t from her heart at all. That was why her chest ached and sank heavily the moment she said them.
“Why?”
Franz curved his lips into a faint smile, his voice calm. But unlike the smile, his eyes were cold.
Iella hesitated under that chilling gaze, but this was something they had to face sooner or later, regardless of her feelings.
People’s eyes were constantly on the two of them, and Franz’s behavior only added fuel to the fire.
“If you have something to say, you can tell it to Mr. O’Neill, or… I can come to you instead.”
She spoke carefully, doing her best not to provoke him.
“I’ll think about it.”
There was nothing to think about. He had no intention of listening anyway, but Franz answered easily.
“So, why did you come today? Aren’t you busy?”
“I am.”
“Then you shouldn’t have come. I wouldn’t have minded.”
Part of her worried that his busyness might hurt his health, and part of her really did wish he hadn’t come. Half and half. Muttering almost like a sigh, she saw Franz freeze and stare at her in disbelief.
The sharp look that stabbed into her made Iella think, Ah, did I say that out loud?
Franz’s gaze, boring into her, carried a flicker of curiosity.
“Why… why are you looking at me like that?”
“I don’t know how I managed to hold back until now.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Fine. Let’s say it isn’t. Let’s go.”
Franz walked ahead. Iella quietly followed.
The streets bustled with people. Lined up stalls overflowed with trinkets and souvenirs, slowing Iella’s pace as she lingered to look. Franz matched her steps, slowing down with her.
She watched with interest as artists sketched faces onto paper, and occasionally those artists tried to solicit the pair. Each time, Franz declined.
The thought of Franz—over six feet tall—sitting awkwardly on a chair smaller than his body made Iella stifle a laugh. It would look so ridiculously out of place.
Her feet, squeezed into shoes, were starting to ache after walking so long, but she still felt she could walk all day. She wanted to enjoy this moment—walking beside him like this, without words, as if nothing had ever gone wrong, just like before.
Avoiding the crowds, they soon left Manchester Street behind and reached Pelga Square.
“Um…” Iella began to speak, when someone suddenly called Franz.
“Hey! Franz.”
Turning toward the voice, they saw Andrew Morris peering down at them with keen interest through the carriage window.
“We meet again, Miss Clarence.”
Though they’d only met a few times, Andrew greeted Iella warmly.
“Hello, Lord Morris.”
She bent her knees slightly, offering a demure greeting. An awkward air lingered between the three of them.
“Franz, I’m on my way to the club… you coming later?”
Mindful of Iella’s presence, Andrew’s tone carried an edge, but Franz looked completely unconcerned.
“No. I’ll go with you now.”
Then he turned to Iella.
“Tom Wagon should be waiting. You can get back alone, right?”
The carriage stand wasn’t far from the square.
“Yes, of course.”
She smiled faintly at him.
“What were you about to say just now?”
“Huh?”
“You were about to say something, weren’t you?”
“It wasn’t important. I can tell you later.”
“Alright, then.”
Without the slightest hesitation, Franz climbed into Andrew’s carriage. From the window, he glanced back at Iella. She stood there smiling, sending him off.
A strange feeling tugged at him. For some reason, leaving Iella there felt like leaving a child by the water’s edge. He’d never felt that way when she saw him off at the mansion. He wasn’t abandoning her, yet guilt gnawed at him all the same.
As the carriage rolled away, Iella turned and walked toward the waiting carriages. Spotting the prince’s carriage among the rest wasn’t hard.
“Hello, Mr. Wagon.”
“Good day, miss. Didn’t you meet with the master? Why are you alone?”
“Oh, he walked me to the square. Then he ran into Lord Morris and went with him to the club.”
Tom Wagon smiled good-naturedly and nodded.
“Ah, I see. Well then, please step in—I’ll take you back to the estate.”
“Actually, I have something to do today, so you don’t have to take me back. That’s what I came to say.”
Iella quickly waved her hands.
“Hmm. Then I’ll wait here until you’re done.”
“I don’t know when it’ll be over. Really, it’s fine. You can go on ahead. I’ll hire a carriage after I finish.”
After repeated refusals, Tom reluctantly nodded.
“Then at least tell me where you’re going.”
“I thought I’d sketch Pelga Square.”
She held up her sketchbook with a smile. Tom nodded in understanding.
Leaving the card room, Franz headed for the balcony. Among his companions, he lit a cigar, gazing down indifferently at the city as dusk settled.
Cough, cough. At that moment, Marco cleared his throat. He no longer smoked cigars, so the smoke sometimes bothered him.
A memory flickered through Franz’s mind, and the corner of his lips twitched upward.
“Marco, you can smoke, so why don’t you?”
“Didn’t you know? It’s because of the duchess. Even the duke—famous as a doting husband—quit for her.”
Marco’s father, Marquis Rondiaz and Duke of Richmond, Philip Rondiaz, was notorious for his devotion to his wife. Though the marquis held the strongest authority in the house, when it came to his wife, he was utterly powerless. The true power lay with Marco’s mother.
When his father ordered him to quit for the sake of his mother’s weak lungs, Marco obeyed without protest. Though that wasn’t the only reason, he gave a bitter smile and nodded.
“It’s fine. Go ahead and smoke comfortably.”
As the conversation around him droned on, Franz let his thoughts drift—like the pale smoke—to a pale face.
‘There aren’t many people around me who smoke cigars. Even Father doesn’t at home. I’m not sure about outside, but… And since I rarely go anywhere new, I never really got used to cigar smoke. Right now my stomach hurts and it feels like my lungs are tearing, but I’ll get used to it if I keep breathing it in. Please don’t mind me.’
How trivial. The memory made him laugh to himself.
“What’s got you so happy, Your Highness?”
“Another investment gone well, perhaps?”
“With all the chain hotels Franz owns booming like never before, I’d say he’s set. He must be satisfied without lifting a finger.”
Franz blew out smoke nonchalantly and shrugged. Whatever they imagined, reality far exceeded it—so why bother denying?
“Ugh, he’s so annoying, but you can’t argue with that.”
“Come on, share some of your good fortune. Don’t hog it all to yourself.”
“Maybe.”
Franz replied shortly and puffed on his cigar again.
“How’s Miss Clarence’s portrait work going?” someone asked.
Franz raised a brow and glanced sideways.
“Blair, why do you ask?”
“The whole city’s curious, isn’t it? Am I wrong?”
Blair Mossman looked around for support. Some ignored him, but many nodded in agreement.
“I was thinking of getting a portrait myself. Why don’t you introduce me?”
Gasps filled the group. Even if Blair always treated Franz as a rival, this was going too far. To provoke him over Miss Clarence—the very woman he was courting? Everyone thought he must be out of his mind.
“Ask the lady yourself. Don’t ask me.”
“So you’re not close enough to arrange even that?”
“More precisely, I’m not close enough to you to do you that favor.”
Not only Blair, but no one else could dispute that. It was the undeniable truth.
“Even if you did ask, I doubt Miss Clarence would accept the request of a man who made a wager on her.”
“What? You joined that bet too!”
“When did I ever say that?”
‘This year’s wager is far too predictable. There’s no thrill in it. If I win even this, wouldn’t that be far too cruel?’
Recalling Franz’s public declaration not to take part in the bet, Blair flushed red.
“Then what about that picnic day? What was that?”
Franz gave him a puzzled look, so Blair burst out, “You flirted with Miss Clarence!”
Franz inwardly scoffed, Not just flirted—it was the boldest move of all. He was about to end this childish quarrel.
“Your choice of words is offensive. It wasn’t ‘flirting’—it was courtship.”
A stunned silence fell over the group.
From Franz’s lips, the word courtship! Such a thing was unheard of. The silence of shock stretched on.
“Don’t spout nonsense!” Blair’s indignant cry finally shattered it.
