Chapter 72
“Wow, so pretty.”
The ivory-colored empire dress fit Ann Perot’s long and slender figure perfectly.
Broad lace and embroidery adorned the chest, sleeve edges, and hemline, so despite being a single-colored dress, it didn’t look plain at all—it exuded a bright and elegant charm.
“……”
Even while Victoria voiced her admiration, Hannibal, standing beside her, seemed frozen, not reacting at all.
Seeing this, Ann forced her lips into a higher curve, trying not to let her bitter feelings show.
If only it had been a woman you truly loved standing here instead of me…
“It suits you so well, Ann.”
“No, it’s the dress that’s beautiful.”
“No, it’s you who’s beautiful.”
The two exchanged compliments with flushed cheeks, but suddenly Victoria seemed to sense the odd tension and quickly turned to Hannibal.
“Brother, your fiancée looks so gorgeous, and you don’t even have one word of praise?”
“Uh, uh… beautiful.”
His dazed gaze, slightly parted lips—he looked every bit like a man in love.
Victoria smiled in satisfaction at his expression, yet Ann Perot was the only one unable to properly read his heart.
Despite her keen perception and wit, the sting of the wounds she had suffered earlier from his coldness loomed larger in her mind.
“Now let’s pick out the matching accessories.”
Ann’s hair was neatly done, but aside from the dress, she wore no jewelry, leaving her appearance incomplete.
“Then, thank you—I’ll just borrow some for now.”
With Hannibal standing behind her, arms crossed, she felt too self-conscious to refuse.
So Ann focused entirely on the jewelry laid out before her.
Victoria liked colorful, flashy things, but Ann’s taste was different. Even so, she carefully picked out a simple silver bracelet and necklace, along with a soft lavender ribbon headband and a pale flower corsage to adorn her hair.
With that, her appearance grew even more radiant.
“Ann, you really have a good eye. I never know what goes with what.”
“You just need to match the color and feel. Since you like combining many colors, just think of it as leaving out one shade to balance it.”
“Not too over the top? Got it. Okay, now try on the shoes—”
Just then, a maid brought in shoes from Ann’s room.
They were the ones Hannibal had given her, still tied up in white lace ribbons inside their box—she had never once taken them out, almost like a precious gift.
Feeling awkward, she untied the ribbon, and the shoes were revealed.
“Oh my! They’re so pretty, and they match the dress perfectly!”
Fortunately, Victoria broke the tension hanging in the air.
Ann quietly passed Hannibal and stood before the mirror.
“Ann, they look so good on you—!”
Victoria clapped her hands in excitement. Hannibal, still with his arms crossed, simply gazed at Ann without a word.
So Victoria gave him a sharp nudge on the arm.
“Isn’t Ann beautiful?”
“…Yeah, she is.”
Her chestnut hair gathered like a bouquet of flowers, her elegant dress, the subtle jewelry—
Ann Perot was like a pure lotus blossom. Just looking at her gave one a sense of calm and peace.
Hannibal unconsciously placed a hand over his chest, pressing it quietly.
“We should get going now.”
“I’m coming too.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Victoria and Ann walked arm-in-arm ahead.
From behind, they looked less like mistress and maid and more like close friends—two young ladies of similar age.
If Victoria were asked who her closest friend was, she’d likely name Ann Perot rather than any noble lady.
Does Ann Perot have friends of her own? If so, they must be in the capital… Do they still write to each other? Are they close? Will they hear about the engagement too?
As these questions spun through Hannibal’s mind, he hastily shook his head to clear them.
Before he knew it, they had arrived at the banquet hall.
“Oh, at last, Lord Clyade’s fiancée has arrived!”
At that announcement, Ann faltered in her steps. Victoria, however, beamed and said loudly to everyone:
“Isn’t my new sister-in-law so beautiful?”
Some burst out laughing and applauding, while others stared at Ann with displeasure.
And Victoria—who mistakenly believed Hannibal had finally won the heart of the woman he loved—was simply overjoyed, smiling brightly all the while.
Then, Count Arthur stepped out of the crowd and approached Ann.
“Hannibal told me everything. Once the war with Ruto is over, the wedding will take place immediately. Until then, carry yourself with the responsibility of the lady of the manor.”
Marriage? What does he mean by that?
Ann looked at Hannibal with wide eyes, only to see his face even more flustered than hers.
He had arranged this engagement as a convenient pretense but had clearly never thought beyond that.
It was only natural, and yet Ann felt an unexpected pang of disappointment.
“A love that transcends status… Truly enviable, Lord Clyade.”
As soon as Count Arthur stepped back, Prince Daniel appeared, offering his congratulations.
With the Crown Prince’s younger brother showing support, none of the western nobles dared voice their complaints any further.
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
So this is Prince Daniel, the second prince. He had a surprisingly friendly and approachable look.
When he turned to Ann, she recalled her memories as a duke’s wife and offered him the most graceful curtsy.
“You carry yourself like a noble lady—elegant and refined. A pleasure to meet you, Lady Ann.”
Like a noble lady—he was reminding her she wasn’t one.
A man who valued peace and preservation, he had the backing of the high nobility.
And yet, here he was, acknowledging a noble who had taken a maid as his fiancée. Perhaps for him, practical benefit outweighed social standing.
“With a mistress from Edith Tara, the ties between the West and Haiman will grow even closer.”
His words made his intent clear—political advantage mattered more than Ann’s status.
Hannibal clasped the prince’s hand firmly.
“It seems even with Haiman’s prince, we can find common ground.”
Their shared smile carried countless unspoken messages.
Ann, watching, felt relief, and prayed that her altered choices would indeed bring about altered outcomes.
If war could not be avoided, then at least may the West suffer as little damage as possible.
“Now, let us proceed with the betrothal vow.”
After countless introductions, a priest in ceremonial garb finally appeared before them, guiding the couple to the center hall.
Ann followed, her eyes glancing nervously around.
The Haiman prince, Count Clyade, and nobles from the capital—all powerful figures surrounded them.
Once this ceremony was complete, there would be no turning back.
She heard the priest reciting vows ahead, but none of it registered in her ears.
Fortunately, since it was only a brief betrothal rite, the speech ended quickly.
“Here today, I declare Hannibal Clyade and Ann Perot officially betrothed!”
With the priest’s proclamation in the name of God, and nobles like Count Arthur offering congratulations, the engagement was finalized.
“That white dress looks just like a wedding dress. Isn’t that what today was really for?”
One noble lady grumbled, frustrated that her dreams of standing beside Hannibal were crushed. But her voice was drowned out by music and cheer.
Some noblewomen muttered in discontent—how could a maid marry into nobility?—but Hannibal’s authority silenced them.
Still, many young ladies, their pride stung, seemed intent on finding some way to humiliate this commoner.
“Dance, the two of you.”
“Yes, to the music of the West! A true lord’s fiancée must dance!”
They waited eagerly for Ann to make a mistake, ready to seize upon it.
But Ann, responding quietly to their demands, danced with such grace and dignity that no one could believe she had ever been a maid.
Instead of appeasing the jealous glares, her poise only sharpened them further.
Forgotten sensations stirred—memories of survival, of scars that had honed her senses into something sharp and keen.
“Ann Perot.”
“…Yes?”
“From now on, you are Clyade. You are my fiancée, Hannibal Clyade’s betrothed, and the mistress of Tegennes Manor. Do not let anyone look down on you. I grant you that right.”
Perhaps sensing her unease, Hannibal pulled her waist firmly, clasping her trembling hand tightly. His warmth seeped into her, calming her slowly.
His gaze, lifting her up from the edge of collapse, burned intensely—
Like that of a man gazing at the one he loved most in the world.
The onlookers seemed to notice too, their whispers dying down, until soon the hall was filled with applause for their flawless dance.
“Even their outfits match—they look perfect together—!”
Before long, friendly compliments replaced malicious murmurs, filling the hall with goodwill.
Thus, in a banquet overflowing with music, laughter, and wine, a new bond was born and showered with endless blessings.
✦ ✦ ✦
Ann Perot’s world changed in just half a day.
“From now on, you’ll sleep here, Lady Ann.”
“Please, just speak comfortably, Steward. I feel awkward.”
“Once you marry my lord, you’ll be mistress. I cannot speak informally to you.”
“Ah…”
She couldn’t deny it either. With a sigh, Ann accepted it, moving not to the maids’ quarters but to the room across from Hannibal’s.
A plush bed, elegant sofas and chairs, her own fireplace, and a scenic view outside—
It was the kind of splendid chamber fit only for noble daughters.
“…Uncomfortable.”
She hadn’t chosen this herself, yet she was pushed into this position once more.
Still, if she ever broke off this engagement, marriage and men would vanish from her life forever.
Not that she had wanted such things anyway—even in this life. Now that she had been shoved into this, her only wish was to someday live alone, without regrets.
“I’ll get a fat severance payment. I’ll live the rest of my life in luxury, alone, surrounded by servants and guards.”
She resolved to squeeze as much material compensation as possible—there was no shame in that.
So she buried away her personal emotions, focusing only on practical conditions.
Just then—knock knock—someone tapped at her door late in the night.
Opening it slightly, Ann found Hannibal standing there.
“Ann Perot.”
“My lord? What brings you here?”
“Just for a moment. Excuse me.”
The tip of his boots stepped onto the floor. Ann, suppressing her unease, calmly guided him to the sofa.
“My father is suspicious. I’ll just sit here a while before leaving. If you’re tired, go ahead and sleep.”
But it was Hannibal himself who seemed exhausted—he closed his eyes immediately.
As Ann gazed down at him, a thought slipped out.
“…I never imagined the Count wouldn’t oppose this.”
She had assumed that even if he toyed with talk of a woman from the capital, he’d never allow his son to marry a commoner.
Especially with all the noble daughters he had brought for Hannibal—it made sense that he would have seen Ann as a thorn in his side. Yet he had congratulated their engagement with a calm face.
“He allowed it because he knew. Hoping to see me fail.”
The lord who engaged himself to a maid—just that would’ve made Count Arthur feel victorious, like he had crushed his own son.
Hannibal could see through his father’s intentions clearly, yet chose to step into the trap willingly.
