Episode 19
I had hoped to get along with the troupe members—at least as well as I had with my fellow tavern workers—but in reality, it wasn’t much different from my days as a maid in the lord’s manor.
When I stepped back into the theater, I could see members who had returned from a short vacation scattered throughout the building.
But because their first impression of me hadn’t been great, they weren’t particularly friendly toward me, the new member.
Strictly speaking, they still found me unfamiliar and unlikable, and so they had no intention of accepting me as one of their own.
Meanwhile, the story of me singing in front of Lady Delia spread throughout the troupe in just a day. Their reactions were divided.
“I was at the venue that day—you should’ve seen how shocked I was.”
Those on the production team—the ones who had heard me sing—were somewhat accepting.
“I heard Sir Gilbert brought her in himself. She must be skilled enough for him to take her without asking questions.”
“She *was* pretty good, wasn’t she?”
But they all worked behind the stage. They had no true sense of how exactly I sang or at what level.
They just compared me to the singers they overheard while working and said things like, “Isn’t that good enough?”
But the singers themselves thought differently.
“I’m a bit disappointed in Sir Gilbert this time. There’s an order to how things should be done, isn’t there?”
“I heard she went to the theater with him that day. My mother saw and heard it herself—he said she was a singer he sponsored.”
“Oh my, does that mean she got in through favoritism?”
“Well, who knows. But in the end, what matters is ability, right? What’s the point if she can’t land a role? She’ll walk out on her own eventually.”
“We’re just raising questions, that’s all. It *is* strange, isn’t it? But everyone’s acting like we said something we shouldn’t have…. I don’t like it. Did you see her eyes at the time?”
They were whispering when they saw me approaching from not far away and hurried to close their mouths.
Everyone turned away from me except Charlotte, who stared at me with a blank expression.
Whenever someone was bad-mouthing me, Charlotte was always there.
She must have been deeply humiliated by being scolded by Gilbert in front of everyone on the first day.
Ever since then, whenever we crossed paths, she would shoot me an icy glare. The lovely smile I saw when we first met never returned.
As public opinion began to lean in one direction, no one bothered to speak to me. Everyone simply watched me from several steps away.
I let their clearly audible gossip pass through one ear and out the other, gave a light nod, and walked past. Then I heard a louder voice behind me.
“Ignorance makes people bold. I don’t know how she won Sir Gilbert’s favor, but I doubt it’ll last long.”
“Shh, Miss Charlotte. She’ll hear you.”
“Oh, pardon me. But you know I’m right. This is also a matter of trust.”
“Well, that’s true, but…”
I slowed my steps. For a moment, I debated whether to turn around.
*Nothing’s changed.*
A sense of déjà vu washed over me. Their murmuring overlapped with the voices of the maids in the lord’s manor.
Back then, I found such whispering terribly unfair. So every time it happened, I shouted back at them:
*‘Is it my fault the young master likes me? Don’t you have anything better to do?’*
Then they would leave with annoyed, bewildered faces. For that moment, I felt like I had won. It felt refreshing.
But nothing improved. Offended by my yelling, they used it as yet another pretext to isolate me further and hated me with even more enthusiasm.
As time passed, no matter how loudly I yelled, I no longer felt triumphant. After catching my breath, what returned was a deep loneliness.
And then I had no choice but to return to Levistan’s arms.
I did not turn back and walked on.
*How did I win his favor? I don’t really know either.*
Sure, part of the reason I didn’t talk back to them was because they were nobles. But more fundamentally, I didn’t feel especially wronged.
Everything made sense. Even I didn’t know why Gilbert Klein was giving me so many opportunities.
I knew I was an exception in many ways.
He offered me a spot after the audition, showed me an opera though I knew nothing, introduced me to the busy Lady Delia.
If he had done all that out of personal interest, I would have been embarrassed.
But I knew better than anyone that he held no personal feelings toward me.
When our eyes met or when he looked me up and down, his gaze felt metallic.
He evaluated whether I was a usable product—measuring the depth of my talent’s well. He expected, tested, and observed.
Of course, he answered whenever I voiced doubts. Why he took me into the troupe, why he sponsored people.
According to his logic, I had considerable potential.
But even I knew I was incomplete. I always wondered how I looked through his eyes.
Still, that was a matter between him and me; to others, our relationship might have looked far simpler.
Because I understood that, I didn’t resent the troupe members the way I once resented the manor maids.
They had entered through the conservatory, after years of education, through formal auditions or based on their résumés.
And I—who received no real training and gained a series of opportunities simply because the theater owner liked me—was not someone they could easily accept.
I walked briskly. The faster I moved, the more their voices faded.
As the hallway fell quiet, Gilbert’s words resurfaced.
*“What makes you stand tall isn’t your status—it’s your skill.”*
What I needed to do wasn’t yell at Charlotte to insist on my innocence. That was inefficient.
There was another way to gain everyone’s recognition—and restore the trust Gilbert Klein had lost because of me.
I followed the path Nick told me about and headed to Rowen’s room.
*I need to land even a small supporting role.*
I had to prove my skill.
I wanted to be acknowledged by the troupe, to walk with my shoulders straight like everyone else. To greet people cheerfully in the morning.
And above all, I didn’t want to disappoint Gilbert Klein.
—
I hesitated in front of the door. I organized what I needed in my head. Just as I raised my hand to knock—
Before my fist reached the door, someone inside opened it.
“Oh.”
We both widened our eyes in surprise. It was Caroline Dees.
“Miss Dees.”
I stepped back and greeted her.
“Here to see Rowen?”
“Yes.”
I had never properly spoken with her since our first introduction.
Whenever we crossed paths, I greeted her first, and she would only give a small nod.
“He’s inside. Go ahead.”
She stepped past me.
Caroline Dees was a noblewoman with effortless grace. She used honorifics with me since we were troupe members, but she had never once called me by name. She seemed to have no interest in me.
Oddly, I felt a bit relieved by that. At least she didn’t seem hostile.
I watched her departing back for a moment before knocking on the half-open door.
“Come in.”
With permission granted, I stepped inside. The first thing I noticed was the clutter.
Every wall except the one with the window was packed with bookshelves, stuffed with books and papers.
That wasn’t enough—piles of books with nowhere to go filled the floor.
“We’re quite popular today. Welcome, Miss Ember.”
Rowen immediately stood when he saw me.
In the center was a large desk, and beside it a small piano.
Both desk and piano were covered in stacks of paper, and when he rose, a few sheets fell to the floor.
*Mia was nothing compared to this.*
It was a shock much like when I first visited Mia’s house. I bowed belatedly in response to his greeting.
“Sorry for coming without notice.”
“It’s fine. I’m the one who should apologize—I’m hardly in a state to receive guests.”
He smiled and adjusted his silver-rimmed glasses.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thank you.”
I followed his movements with my eyes as he headed to a small round table. The remnants of his previous guest were still there.
I sat in the chair by the table and glanced around again while he prepared the tea.
Unlike Mia’s home, his room, while full, was organized in its own way.
I was scanning the nearest shelf when he placed a teacup before me.
“If you want, you may borrow a few books.”
I realized I’d been staring too intently and quickly looked away.
“Oh—sorry.”
He only smiled again and sat across from me.
“Did you come because you need extra staff paper as well?”
At his gentle question, I answered carefully.
“Lady Delia suggested that I learn how to properly read sheet music.”
“That would certainly make singing easier.”
He said it even though he knew reading music was a basic skill. Thanks to that, I gained the courage to continue.
“I heard you have a lot of sheet music, so I wondered if I could ask for some help.”
“I see.”
He stroked his chin, deep in thought for a moment, then suddenly stood.
“Pardon me.”
With fluid movements, he navigated the cluttered room. I simply watched.
When he returned from circling the room, his arms were full of books and papers. He cleared a space beside the tea table and set them down.
“I thought I still had a basic textbook left, but there aren’t many.”
He opened each book and introduced them one by one.
“This is an introductory text. I used it back when I was at the conservatory—good thing I didn’t throw it away. This one is music history, and this is vocal science.”
His explanations came without warning, so I quickly moved my steaming cup aside and leaned in.
“Unfortunately, that’s all I have for foundational books. Try reading them, and tell me if they’re difficult. And this is the sheet music for the piece you sang yesterday.”
My eyes widened.
“The aria from *Lunia*?”
“Commonly called *Hymn of Return*. Since you watched the whole opera, you must know it.”
He handed me the sheet music for *Hymn of Return*, then showed me another behind it. At the top, it said *O Sea, Give Him Back to Me.*
In my mind, Lunia’s desperate, wailing aria resounded vividly. I slowly compared the melody to the notation.
If only I could instantly recognize the sounds from these written notes—if I could sing them without someone demonstrating first.
The reason I had neglected learning to read music was because I’d never needed it.
There had always been someone beside me to sing the melody beforehand. But now, I was alone. Until Lady Delia returned, I had to sing by myself.
As that thought settled in, I asked him timidly:
“Um… Mr. Rowen. If it’s not too much trouble, could I borrow a few more scores?”
“Of course.”
He agreed readily and smiled the way he had before.
His blue eyes lowered behind long lashes, softening at the edges.
Seeing that serene expression, I felt relief wash over me and thanked him again and again. The idea of politely refusing for form’s sake was long gone.
