Chapter 23: Snowball
Lily didn’t have much trouble finding him. He shone wherever he went. She followed him like a sunflower turning toward the sun.
The sophisticated man, always dressed in a suit that reached his neck, didn’t look ridiculous even if he were in medieval noble attire.
―“You have duties, and I have a goal. Go back. To your homeland.”
―“If you return what you took from me, I will go back to Hagen as you wish.”
―“H-how can you ask me to return it when I never accepted your feelings?”
Watching the scene was harder than Lily had expected: the young lady playing the pitiful actress could barely get her lines out, while the male actor delivered his with rich voice and perfect enunciation.
Lily covered her mouth as she watched the unfortunate heroine trembling beside the man reciting lines effortlessly.
Between the man’s graceful performance and the stiff, rigid female lead, it was impossible to tell who was worse.
Timothy whispered into her ear as he watched her carefully recite lines in her mind.
If Lily were a proper lady, she might have raised a fan to hide the scene, but she had neither the energy nor the reason to do so. Because of that, the whispered exchanges between the two seemed glaringly obvious. One noblewoman frowned as she glanced between them.
“Lily, why are you so restless? If you fall out of your seat like that, tomorrow’s newspaper won’t report a charity performance for the orphanage—it’ll be you.”
Timothy watched her flushed face. Even in the darkness, her pallor was whiter than a dove, and her blush redder than a rose.
Since when had Lily taken theater so seriously?
He thought it an unexpected taste, and simply observed the stage.
The man was far too graceful. Tall like an actor, with a sharp jawline, yet the arrogance in his gaze belonged less to Asseled, the lover who had betrayed a sovereign, than to his powerful father.
―“My witch, I will go to hell with you.”
“My witch, I will go to hell with you. Wow! He didn’t mispronounce a line! Timothy, did you see that?”
“Why would you think a nobleman would mess up a line?”
Until now, Timothy had assumed Lily’s fascination with theater came from an innocent illusion—she’d never seen a real play. Tragic romance could enchant women, after all.
Yet Lily’s eyes were entirely fixed on the man drinking the poisoned cup.
“Then why did he always get it wrong during practice?”
When the Asseled on stage exited, Lily looked at Timothy with an excited face. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires in the darkness.
“Is that the man who practiced with you for the role of Asseled?”
Lily straightened with pride.
“The reason he delivers lines so well is because of me. He inspires a slight sense of awe.”
While Lily spoke, clutching her chest in excitement, Timothy’s mood sank further.
He recalled a man who had already vanished from the stage. He seemed familiar, yet Timothy couldn’t place him.
It wasn’t strange that Timothy didn’t know him. Christopher Archibald Belmore avoided appearing in public, especially in newspapers. He detested having his face associated with any articles, and Timothy was still a fledgling reporter.
―“Thank you all. I hope you had a wonderful time.”
During the final curtain call, the man smiled neatly, scanning the audience. Timothy had the fleeting impression that his gaze lingered on them.
“Lily, shall we head out?”
Timothy had pressing matters to attend to. He needed to contact one of the members of the House of Nobles.
“Why? Is it time to go already?”
The grand, antique clock above the stage now pointed to eight. Seeing Timothy’s awkward smile, Lily nodded.
“Probably won’t see the next performance. We’ll have to leave midway. If we skip dinner, the question of life or death won’t be Hamlet’s to ponder—it’ll be mine.”
“Sorry, Timothy. I didn’t realize it got this late.”
It was Christmas Eve. Timothy had family to return to, and Lily had accommodations to reach.
“Timothy, I didn’t know theater could be this fun.”
“Next time, I’ll show you a real play, Lily.”
“Call it a different play. This one feels fake.”
“It’s a charity performance for the orphanage. It’s just a social gathering for the nobility. Not professional actors.”
Timothy felt sorry for how much joy such a mediocre play brought Lily and scolded the performance unfairly.
“It was still fun. Helping those in need. So not all nobles are as cold-blooded as Lord Belmore.”
Timothy was about to respond but stopped. A gentleman on the other side nodded toward him.
“Wait here. Don’t wander. Just stay here.”
Timothy disappeared after giving instructions as if watching a child left alone by the water.
Through the beautiful stained-glass windows, white snow fell endlessly. A breathtaking scene.
Rufus sighed to himself as he arranged flower baskets outside Lord Belmore’s private lounge.
“Rufus Ollivander.”
Christopher’s deep voice called him. Startled, Rufus shielded the bouquet he had shoved in the trash. If faces weren’t visible, young ladies could get bold.
Priscilla, Laura, Jane… each bouquet, labeled with a sincere name, displayed lavish affection for Belmore.
“I won.”
Rufus stopped and looked at him. It was news of the Prime Minister’s re-election. Despite some opposition within the Galliard Party, Belmore’s lobbying had paid off—John Hobart won by a wide margin.
Luck always followed Belmore, and prosperity came easily to him.
Yet the cigar-smoking man showed no emotion.
“Congratulations, my lord. Now the world is yours. Miss Cecile is here too, so you can congratulate her immediately. Why not invite her to a box seat?”
“Too close for comfort. Many said Phil Gordon looked pitiful.”
His expression was calm, eyebrows raising and lowering slightly as though dealing with something unpleasant.
“You’ll attend the party, right? The Evans couple will want to speak with you at least for their daughter.”
Christopher shook his head. He had no interest in the empty, hypocritical conversations typical at such gatherings.
What did it matter how much money the orphanage raised this year? He had already sent the poor orphans to the countryside without a second thought.
“It will just be noisy. Gossip about when she’ll marry Cecil Hobart. I’m too tired to talk business today.”
Even for an arranged marriage, it was cold to say out loud.
Business.
Rufus was about to give advice, risking some impoliteness, when someone knocked briskly at the door.
Knock, knock.
“Lord Belmore, may I come in?”
It was Cecile.
Hearing her bright voice outside, Rufus was startled. He tensed, fearing she might have overheard previous conversations, but it seemed his master hadn’t.
“Tell her to come in.”
Rufus held the door handle and opened it politely. Cecile entered, wearing a yellow daffodil-embroidered dress as if spring had arrived early.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you. Will this year’s orphanage donation at least allow butter on the bread?”
“Thanks to your generous contribution, miss.”
After her small party plan had failed, Cecile had become obsessed with newspaper-worthy acts of charity.
“No one has donated such a large sum to the orphanage before.”
Christopher remained indifferent, and Cecile shook her head modestly.
“I must set an example. But I didn’t come to say such obvious things.”
She nodded and showed a small note. Though he already knew the outcome, Christopher remained composed.
“I came personally to deliver it.”
Cecile unfolded a telegram, hastily scrawled with the words: In the Queen’s name.
It confirmed the Prime Minister’s successful re-election.
“Congratulations, miss.”
“To all of us, really.”
Cecile corrected herself, glancing at the flowers filling the room. They were from young ladies whose names and families she recognized.
For an amateur actor, that’s a remarkable display of devotion.
Not from ruined nobility, but proper noble families. A man with business acumen, perfect looks, and impeccable lineage.
Even without Cecile, there would be many women lining up to marry him.
Cecile knew why he chose her over others like Priscilla, or the Evans family with their vast overseas mines: it was solely for his father.
But if he learns about me, eventually none of that will matter.
Cecile had worked tirelessly to become the perfect wife. She had done good deeds, purchased expensive horses, anything to attract his elusive attention.
Though her efforts had never borne fruit, it no longer mattered.
Her father’s re-election meant her marriage to Belmore was drawing closer.
