Chapter 3
The **Augusta family** owned a modest three-story house with a small backyard in **Brantwood**, just outside of London. The sunflowers planted along the fence—planted when George and Lydia Augusta were first married—had become a symbol of their daughters, known for their beautiful golden hair.
With five daughters, the Augusta family wasn’t rich or powerful, but because of their charm and beauty, they were always invited to balls and parties in both London and Brantwood.
But on this particular night—when nearly everyone in Brantwood had been invited to **Count Oslo’s gallery**—the lights in the Augusta family’s drawing room were still on.
“You ruined everything, Charlotte.”
**Helena** paced angrily back and forth, her face red. Her perfectly styled blonde hair trembled as she moved.
“This is my third social season. If I don’t get engaged this time, I’ll end up like… someone.”
She glared directly at **Charlotte**, clearly pointing the blame.
“So what, Charlotte? You didn’t want to be the only failure, so you decided to ruin your sisters’ chances too?”
Her harsh words made their father, **George**, sigh and step in.
“Helena, Charlotte says she didn’t mean to embarrass you. It sounds like she acted based on something Aunt Elicia told her. Maybe it was a mistake to ask our elderly aunt to look after her…”
George adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. He had worried about sending **Lydia** to the event with three daughters alone, so he had asked their seventy-year-old aunt **Elicia** to help keep an eye on the troublemaker—Charlotte.
“Father,” Helena said, still angry, “Count Oslo is going to host a ball to welcome **Prince Leopold**. If we’re not invited to that, then this whole season is over.”
Helena looked between her parents, continuing her complaints.
“It’s not just me. Even **Bianca**, who just debuted, has had her reputation ruined. And what about **Jane**? Just because she’s engaged doesn’t mean we can relax. Our family isn’t exactly wealthy…”
“That’s enough, Helena,” Lydia interrupted.
They needed to find a way to calm Count Oslo before anything else. They couldn’t afford to replace those expensive Greek statues, so if the Count refused to forgive them, the girls’ chances at marriage—and their dowries—would be lost.
Then Charlotte, who had been quietly crying in the corner, finally spoke in a tiny voice.
“Helena, I’m sorry I ruined your performance. But people will just say the ‘silly third daughter of the Augustas caused another mess.’ So your reputation and Bianca’s shouldn’t suffer. I’ll make sure of it…”
Her face was still marked with tears and guilt.
“You’re beautiful and talented, Helena. You have lots of suitors. Even Jane, who had so many, only chose one after taking her time—and she got engaged in her second season. So you still have—”
“Sigh… You really don’t understand anything, do you?” Helena’s voice turned cold.
She was about to say more, her eyes sharp and cold, but their mother Lydia stepped in again.
“Helena, it’s been a long day. Go get some rest. Charlotte, you’ll need to start thinking about how to properly apologize to Count Oslo first thing tomorrow.”
Helena bit her lip at Lydia’s firm tone. She shot Charlotte one last glare and went upstairs to her room.
Charlotte, her face still wet with tears, turned to her parents and said:
“Mother, Father, I’ll go see Count Oslo myself this weekend. I’ll get down on my knees and beg if I have to. Maybe then, he’ll invite Helena and Bianca to the ball.”
George smiled faintly and nodded. He didn’t really believe their clumsy daughter could fix this—but he did agree that she needed to apologize in person.
—
Standing outside her room on the third floor, Charlotte let out a deep sigh. Through the door, she could see the soft flicker of candlelight—**her nanny Sidney** must have lit them earlier.
*Candlelight…*
The anger from Helena and the disappointment in her parents’ eyes had made her completely forget about the mysterious man from the gallery stairs. But seeing the gentle glow of the candles made her remember—his touch on her skin, his voice, their strange conversation.
*“Even now, I’m thinking about a man? Charlotte, you’re the worst. Ugh…”*
For a moment, Charlotte agreed with those who said she didn’t belong in the elegant Augusta family.
She opened her door—and froze.
“Ah!”
There was a man standing by her window, silhouetted by six candle flames. A large man, completely out of place in her small, feminine room. A strange man—in her room.
Charlotte screamed.
“Kyaaaaah!”
The man calmly raised a finger to his lips. Instinctively, Charlotte stopped screaming, like a scolded puppy. Then she saw his face clearly in the candlelight—it was **the same man from the gallery stairs**.
Charlotte’s voice shook as she shouted, “Wh-who are you?! What are you doing here? How did you even get into my room?!”
The man said nothing. He slowly walked to her bed and sat down, then casually ran his fingers through his dark hair, as if he had every right to be there.
“I told you I’d see you again, Lady,” he said with a smooth voice.
“I came because I have something to tell you.”
His voice echoed in the quiet room. He looked at her gently, with that same smile that was too calm for someone who had just broken into a lady’s bedroom.
Charlotte, more stunned than afraid, asked, “Forget what you want to say—how did you even get in here? If someone sees you in my room, my reputation is ruined!”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
He tilted his head slightly toward the door. The movement was so graceful that Charlotte stared at him without thinking.
“Oh… someone’s coming. You screamed too loudly.”
Just as he said that, **Nanny Sidney** appeared in the hallway, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
“Miss Charlotte? What was that scream about?”
Charlotte pointed frantically at the man and yelled, “Nanny! There’s a man in my room! I swear I don’t know him—he just appeared out of nowhere!”
Sidney peeked into the room. But even though the man was sitting clearly on the bed—calm and confident—she looked around blankly and said:
“Huh? What man?”
“The man on my bed! Don’t pretend you can’t see him!”
Charlotte jumped up in shock. But Sidney just stared at her with a confused, sleepy expression. She truly didn’t seem to see the man.
Charlotte turned to him, horrified. He only shrugged playfully, as if amused.
*“Is he… a ghost? A demon? What am I even looking at?”*
Charlotte was too shocked to speak.
Sidney sighed and muttered, “Honestly, Miss Charlotte, a man in your bed? Don’t tell me you’ve been reading those scandalous novels again in your sleep.”
“What?! I don’t read scandalous novels!” Charlotte cried, suddenly embarrassed.
Before she could explain further, Sidney turned back toward her own room.
“Either way, please keep it down, Miss Charlotte. I’m going back to sleep.”
As the nanny walked off, Charlotte bit her lip, unsure what to say. She couldn’t understand what was happening.
*“Did I hit my head when I fell earlier? Am I hallucinating?”*
That was the only explanation she could think of. Then, the man—now casually touching the books beside her bed—whispered:
“For a hallucination, didn’t the feeling on the stairs seem a little too real?”
At his words, the memory came rushing back: his warm hands on her neck and shoulders, his intense gaze. Charlotte’s cheeks flushed red.
She quickly shut the door behind her and walked straight up to him.
“Listen, mysterious gentleman—or ghost, or whatever you are—can you read my thoughts now, too?”
“No. But I can read the expressions on your face.”
He turned to look at her with those same green-gray eyes—far too intense to belong to a ghost, and far too beautiful to belong to a demon.
Then, as if reading her mind again, he gave a sharp smile and softly said:
“And my name is **Leopold**, Lady.”
—
