Chapter 07
The town square she hadn’t visited in a long time had not changed. Sephine wandered through the few alleys with small shops and stopped at a bookstore to pick up an old book.
Soon, she went to the post office to mail a letter and exited through the back gate. Knowing the area well, she moved toward the cafeteria located behind it.
Hiss? Did she see wrong?
Sephine blinked.
No, he was really there.
The man, dressed in a sharp suit like one seen in newspaper advertisements, was leaning against the cafeteria wall, lighting a cigarette.
Even when their eyes met as she came down the steps at the post office’s back gate, his expression did not waver.
When had he gotten there?
Holding her book tightly in front of her as a shield, she quickly glanced at her feet. The few stone steps seemed to stretch endlessly.
As she reached the last step, a voice greeted her.
“Miss Buchanan.”
“Sir Axen.”
She replied quietly, looking down, intending to pass by, but a low voice stopped her again.
“Is carrying books a habit of yours?”
She avoided his gaze and closed her mouth, but he spoke gently.
“When do you read them?”
His words carried more than mere curiosity. Still avoiding his eyes, Sephine looked at the café wall and answered.
“In moments alone, when no one talks to me.”
The man straightened his body from the wall. After taking a long drag from his cigarette and putting it out, he approached, drawing her attention.
The alley was narrow, and his mere presence blocked the path. Hands in his pockets, he stood with a casual tilt, showing no intention of politeness.
Sephine didn’t want to erase her fond old memories completely with rude incidents. To do that, she had to avoid spending time with him.
But he blocked her, standing directly in her line of sight. His gaze followed the delicate line of her neck over the thin summer dress, moving toward her chest.
“Ancient… art… history.”
His low voice echoed in the alley. He began reading the words visible between her fingers on the book.
“…and understanding of…”
Tilting his head and furrowing his brow, he seemed to want to read even the subtitle. Recognizing his intent to embarrass her, Sephine spoke.
“Seems like a subject you’re interested in. You can read it at the bookstore up ahead.”
He cut her off.
“No need.”
“You said you’re interested in beautiful things. What could be more beautiful than art?”
She recalled what he had said before and spoke politely sarcastic. Yet he seemed unaffected, smiling with the corners of his eyes creased.
“Something beautiful exists that is neither dull nor boring. But only after obtaining it first.”
Sephine knew where the conversation would go next. The “beautiful” he mentioned meant part of Greenwood, and the talk would turn to him wanting it. The dull part was on her side. It was best not to continue talking with a merciless businessman.
She glanced at the café entrance but didn’t dare enter. The café was small, and it would close in a few hours anyway.
Moreover, if he stayed in the square for any reason, they would inevitably meet again somewhere in the narrow square.
Then his attention would only be on profitable business, bringing up Hannah’s farm again, ruining her holiday.
That was why her shoulders stiffened every time she faced him.
Sephine twisted her dress slightly, signaling him to move.
“Excuse me.”
Only when she spoke did he step aside—but his next words caught her attention.
“I found something on the street, Sephine Buchanan.”
Surprised at her name, Sephine’s eyes widened.
“…A hat with your name on it. I found the owner and couldn’t not return it.”
She recalled the bonnet, violet-colored with her name embroidered, which had flown away in the wind.
“You… found it?”
He nodded and pointed behind him with his chin.
“It’s in the car. Let’s go. I can’t carry it around all the time.”
She hesitated, but he didn’t wait for her response and grabbed a book. Then he strode ahead, leaving the alley.
“Wait, the hat… no, the book—why?”
He turned and lightly shook the book, letting her know she couldn’t take the book even if she forgave the hat.
At the edge of the square where carriages gathered, a black car slowly drove away. The hat was neither in the trunk nor inside the car.
She had kept it in the car all along but had forgotten to move it yesterday to the office. Sephine considered asking for it later but realized she would need to arrange another meeting with him, so she got in the car.
He drove. Exiting the square, the car entered a path covered with lush green plants.
The view from the car felt different from walking the same road earlier. It resembled an exotic scene from a fancy postcard. The man beside her seemed to absorb the surrounding colors, standing out even more.
Unlike before, he didn’t speak. She expected his usual smooth smile, but now his face showed no trace of a grin.
Sephine held her book tightly on her lap, staring out the right window. The winding road led them along a river.
“Where is your office? Isn’t it in the town?”
“We’re taking a detour.”
“…Excuse me?”
“I thought you might enjoy the scenery, Miss Buchanan, so I chose the coastal route.”
“You should have told me. Then I could have…”
The view outside was certainly beautiful, but sharing the car with this stranger was not pleasant. He simply intended to fulfill his duty as a gentleman.
“Why? Afraid of rumors? That the daughter of a count is riding with some unknown businessman?”
Her sarcasm revealed he already knew everything—maybe since he picked up her hat.
He was pretending not to remember the days of piano playing and boat-floating by the lake, but she suspected he did remember.
“Rumors are unimportant.”
She said it small but clear. He chuckled softly. She turned to look out the window.
The sunlit sea sparkled, defenseless, like the emerald lake of that day.
<The wind is strong; it might blow it away.>
She was fifteen. Early spring.
Hiss had warned her. The small boat her mother used to ride had been neglected for years and was damaged in places.
<You can hold it yourself.>
She wasn’t the type to miss an opportunity to row on the lake for such fear. At fifteen, everything seemed possible, and the only obstacle was an adult.
The count was away investigating unused land, and she hadn’t seen her nanny, Hannah, for quite some time.
<The reeds are only knee-high. If you don’t want to hold it, just watch the oar. If someone comes, whistle.>
Ignoring the boy’s worried face, Sephine lay in the rocking boat, holding a prepared poetry book on her chest. She let the sunlight warm her as she floated on the lake.
She closed her eyes, waiting for his whistle. The first shout came when she dozed off.
The count, stressed from following a royal minister, yelled unexpectedly.
To the count, Hiss, holding the boat steady against the wind, was just a mischievous troublemaker.
That brat! How dare he be near my daughter!
Even though Sephine was clearly not at fault, the count blamed Hiss. Just for talking side by side two days before, the boy’s offense was exaggerated. Confined to her room, Sephine only worried about Hiss.
She did not know how long he had stayed with her, keeping the boat steady. His wet pants up to his thighs looked pitiful.
But she knew where it all went wrong: a protective count and a girl who wanted a friend by her side.
Hiss had done nothing wrong.
