Chapter – 06
Head maid Milette had said that my father, who holed up in the estate, hadn’t stepped outside Radele since the divorce.
‘He doesn’t even have a woman he’s seeing. Does he find any joy in life at all?’
As the only daughter of such a family, I didn’t need to actively eavesdrop to hear the gossip about me.
‘That daughter is unusually unsociable, just like her father. How can a family be this dull?’
‘That’s why the former wife divorced the current Duke, I suppose. She couldn’t stand it… She probably didn’t even have the pleasure of spending money, right?’
It’s true that my lack of hobby is partly because I’m lazy and dislike building social connections, but it’s also because I have a ‘record’ that prevents me from going to the capital to socialize, you know?
Given this, it’s a wonder how the House of Loire hasn’t been swept away politically. I know they donate enormous sums to charity and the royal family, but still.
‘Well, whatever. A wealthy father, spiritually unconnected in this second life! I want to enjoy my hobby-filled life for a long, long time, so I hope Father stays healthy and keeps pulling the strings effectively for a long time.’
I recalled my cold and blunt father’s face.
Unfortunately, the original Liberita did not have a close father-daughter relationship.
In such a situation, the noble family residing closest was the Forte County family, that of the original villainess, Vivian.
How could this be? The extra, Liberita Loire, had no one she could call a friend her own age except Vivian, who would lead her to her death.
An extra who was constantly gaslit by the villainess Vivian, only to end up executed together on the scaffold for the heinous crime of hiding Vivian.
That was the major problem of my transmigrated life.
But for me, who knows why the original Liberita in the story was so helpless against Vivian, in order to use countermeasures…
“Are you even listening to me?”
At Susan’s suspicious words, I replied without hiding my fatigue.
“I’m listening very well. Do you know how many times you’ve told me that if strange rumors spread about me, I can forget about receiving any marriage proposals?”
I couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh.
“Aunt Susan. I am the Princess of Aizar. For someone like me, the idea of marriage proposals drying up is as likely as my father attending another family’s ball and dancing five times.”
“That’s… true!”
Susan reluctantly agreed with my indifferent remark.
“You’re definitely your father’s daughter! How can you act like a precocious old soul even in such a serious matter, with not a single trace of anxiety?”
…I’ll take that as a compliment, meaning I’m a third-year novel transmigrator who has adapted well to this world, right?
My aunt in this second life, Susanette Rudelight Adena, the Viscountess Adena.
She is the one and only, three-years-younger sister of my father, Gaius Loire. We’ve met several times at the Loire family estate, so we’ve become quite close, to the point of using nicknames for each other.
Aunt Susan possessed a personality so different from my father’s that it was hard to believe they were blood-related siblings. If it weren’t for their similar nose bridges and jawlines, and the same black hair, people would easily misunderstand just how different they were.
My aunt, who had exceptional talent in swordsmanship, lived a life different from ordinary young ladies. Perhaps because of that, she had never once pointed out my noble lady’s demeanor.
In fact, she is a grateful person who dramatically increased my freedom.
Tonight, as the spring social season at the royal palace officially draws to a close.
Starting tomorrow, a play based on the original work *Ketherllyn* by author Chel Ibyvre will be staged exclusively for a month at the Sapranet Theatre, the largest theatre in the capital of the Kingdom of Aizar. I plan to watch all the performances of the *Ketherllyn* play being staged that entire month.
If my father had come to the capital with me, this would have been impossible. But our father is a workaholic and rarely left the Loire family domains.
In that situation, the Viscountess Adena, who dotes on me and was probably bored, took it upon herself to act as my chaperone.
“Aunt, please, don’t tell Father about today’s incident. Okay? If you do, I’ll tell Father that you made intense eye contact with that man and even kissed on the fourth day…”
“You really have no shame! Is there any word you won’t say?”
Susan exclaimed, startled, and frantically waved both hands.
Susan had been widowed for over ten years. She had said that for an arranged marriage partner, he was surprisingly affectionate and they got along quite well.
“If you keep it quiet for me, I’ll help things work out with that man.”
“I’d like that, but…”
Susan glanced at me and then burst into a giggle.
She took off her slippers, shifted to a comfortable position on the long sofa with her long legs slanted sideways, and looked at me as if observing a strange animal.
“You love romance novels so much, so why are you so uninterested in your own love? Were there really no sons of nobles you liked during your debutante season?”
“Nope.”
“Really? The other young ladies were causing a fuss, deliberately dropping their handkerchiefs and whatnot. You’re quite strange.”
“Reality is reality. It’s different from novels.”
“When you act like this, it’s like you’ve lived two lives.”
It’s because I *have* lived twice and been in love twice.
The love in fiction is so sweet it feels like my teeth might rot. When a character writhes in sorrow, my heart feels like it’s being torn apart. How can my heart race so much over the romances of people who don’t even exist?
But why is it that when love approaches my reality, its shelf life is so short and the aftertaste so bitter?
‘What about Author Ibyvre?’
What on earth goes through the author’s mind to write such amazing fictional romances? Is the author really… as in love with her husband as Marquis Orelleno said? To the point of readily agreeing to waste her talent?
A heavy weight pressed on my chest, making me feel stifled and sick.
‘If that’s the case, then I can’t just outright tell the author to get a divorce!’
Moreover, if the author finds my offer of patronage burdensome, the only thing I can really do is wait!
I can only hope for the author’s happiness, repeatedly reread her previous works countless times, recommend them to others to increase new fans, and wait for them to be reborn as other art forms like this play!
‘By the way, they say Marquis Orelleno discovered the author and still meets with her even now.’
Was my expression turning fierce as I recalled his god-sculpted looks? Seizing the moment, Aunt Susan raised her voice and slipped on her navy blue satin robe embroidered with gold thread.
“Oh my, look at Rita’s eyes! You really look like your father right now! Ugh, scary.”
“That’s not it, my legs hurt. It’s been so tough these past few days, wearing heels and even dancing.”
I made an excuse while gritting my teeth inwardly.
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“What is?”
“That nothing happened with that Marquis. I don’t like that family.”
A topic that looked like it could easily fuel three hours of gossip had come out of my aunt’s mouth. Exhausted to death, I sharply cut off Susan’s words.
“I’m not interested in the Marquis either. I’m going to wash up and sleep now. Aunt Susan, you should sleep early too, since that man, Louis Morris, might visit tomorrow.”
I successfully diverted Aunt Susan’s attention to that man, Louis Morris. My aunt, saying she needed to plan tomorrow’s outfit, started making a commotion and rushed out of the living room with her servants in tow.
Finally, freedom.
Slumping with relief, I slid down limply on the sofa. Lying half-reclined amidst the scattered wet clothes, I closed my stiff eyes and focused on the important event tomorrow.
The first work by Author Ibyvre that I read after transmigrating, and my favorite work, was being adapted into a play on stage.
Just thinking about that play made the chaotic mess from earlier completely fade away.
Why? Because I am an investor in the play *Ketherllyn*.
‘Is that why I can’t understand the Marquis?’
How can his attitude be so… indifferent?
No matter how money-crazed he is, how can he see a person merely as a business item? He even seems to know all about the author’s circumstances.
He has no idea how hard I struggled to hide my fan enthusiasm. I went through so much trouble, contacting people and sending investment money behind my father’s back long before coming to the capital.
Of course, my father would find out someday, but I was determined to brazen it out and tell him to deal with it then.
