Is My Word a Request?

“Mr. Remer?”

The Duke asked, addressing Leila as she bowed her head in greeting.

“Uncle stepped into town for a little while. Is there something you need, Your Grace?”

Leila only managed to answer after rubbing her lips clean several times.

Duke Herhardt gave a short nod and soon withdrew his gaze from her. When he looked back at Kyle, a rather sociable smile curved the corners of his mouth. Only then did Kyle’s instinctive wariness ease.

After conveying his thanks and regards to the doctor who so carefully tended the Dowager Duchess’s health, the Duke shifted his eyes once more to Leila.

“Fetching roses is something Miss Llewellyn could manage in his place, I should think.”

He spoke slowly, the earlier smile gone from his lips.

“Roses, Your Grace? The ones in the garden?”

“Cut a suitable number and bring them to the boathouse.”

With that and a tilt of his head, Duke Herhardt took his leave, without waiting for Leila’s reply.

Leila stared in despair at the biscuit crumbs thickly dusting her blouse and skirt and let out a sigh. She brushed them off in a frantic flurry, but the humiliation proved far harder to shake free.

“That’s enough. It’s not on you anymore.”

Kyle burst out laughing as he watched Leila keep rubbing at her mouth.

“Why did he have to show up at a time like this?”

“What does it matter? The Duke doesn’t even eat sweets, does he?”

“Still…”

Leila unconsciously wiped the corner of her mouth again.

“You open your mouth wide and eat just fine in front of me. Why get so self-conscious all of a sudden?”

“You’re my friend.”

“Duke Herhardt is a stranger. No reason to care more about him than a friend.”

“That’s true, but… I don’t know. It’s just so uncomfortable.”

A crease formed on the bridge of Leila’s nose.

“Why? Did something happen?”

“No. Nothing like that… It’s just too uncomfortable, stifling. Anyway, that’s how it is. So I don’t like it.”

“What about me? I’m comfortable and nice, right?”

Kyle asked with a hint of hopeful expectation. Leila laughed as if she could scarcely believe the absurd question and put on her hat.

“Of course, Mr. Etman.”

At the satisfying answer, Kyle’s smile brightened even more.

“I knew it. Ah, want me to help with the errand?”

“No need. It’s nothing much. You should head home now.”

“Then I’ll wait here.”

“I’m fine, really. If Mrs. Etman finds out you’ve been playing around here again, she’ll be furi—ous. Don’t get me scolded too—go study.”

At Leila’s pointed remark, Kyle’s brows twitched. He wanted to argue, but there was nothing he could say against it.

Kyle watched intently in the direction the Duke had disappeared.

Feeling this uneasy is probably just because I’ve been overly sensitive lately.

Not wanting to frighten Leila with baseless words, Kyle pressed his lips firmly shut. It was Duke Herhardt, after all—not just any man. A flawless, perfect noble on the verge of engagement.

“Leila!”

Even so, the anxiety he could not fully erase spilled out as her name. Leila, scissors and basket in hand, offered a smiling farewell.

“See you tomorrow, Kyle!”

Don’t go.

Swallowing the words he wanted to say, Kyle waved as he always did.

Right. Because it’s Duke Herhardt.

While he repeated the thought like a spell, Leila grew distant down the far end of the path.

“Again.”

Matthias’s voice reached Leila’s back just as she was about to turn away. Only after enough time had passed for her to blink several times did she realize the words were meant for her.

Leila turned, holding her breath. Matthias sat facing the butler at the table by the window. Just as before, he was reviewing the documents that covered the table.

“In a quieter color.”

His gaze remained fixed on the papers in his hand as he spoke slowly.

“Again.”

When Matthias finally looked at Leila, an incongruously gentle smile had settled on his face.

Leila clenched her fists tight to hold back the irritation that surged up. So the roses were the problem—the very ones he had told her to cut “suitably.”

While Leila glared at the roses, Matthias casually looked away again. Butler Hessen resumed his explanation, and Matthias, listening attentively, added a brief instruction. The presence of the unsatisfactory errand-runner seemed to have been completely erased.

For Uncle Bill.

Repeating that mantra, Leila quietly left the riverside boathouse and headed back to the garden. That the man who tormented people like this at two o’clock on a midsummer afternoon was supposedly a good person—she could not accept that reputation at all, and she stamped her dissatisfaction into every forceful step.

Even Leila, who paid little attention to the affairs of the estate, knew that the riverside boathouse was Duke Herhardt’s private domain. He rarely admitted guests, and only a limited number of servants came and went.

She wondered if the sudden desire for flowers there had something to do with Claudine. They were soon to be engaged, so Claudine would be coming and going from the boathouse. She had chosen vibrant colors to match Miss Brandt’s known preference for brilliant hues—and this was the result.

Emerging from the woods, she found the garden bare of any shade.

Leila walked forward with determined strides, as if steeling herself, and carefully cut roses once more. To meet the exacting Duke’s demand, she selected softer, subtler shades this time. Most of them were roses she herself liked.

Carrying the basket filled with flowers, Leila walked again through the stifling heat of the summer afternoon sun.

If that was the case, why didn’t you just say the color you wanted from the start?

Instead of the retort she could not voice, Leila kicked at pebbles on the ground.

I hate the Duke.

That, too, was a thing she could never say to him, so she poured it into a kick aimed at an innocent leaf.

By the time dizziness threatened, Leila arrived before the boathouse.

The beautiful building standing beside the landing was constructed so that half of it seemed to float upon the river. The first floor held a boat house and a small kitchen for preparing light refreshments; the second floor contained the Duke’s spaces—a drawing room, bedroom, and dining room.

Basket of roses in hand, Leila climbed the exterior stairs that led straight to the second floor. The butler and a middle-aged maidservant were just coming out of the boathouse.

After bowing to them, Leila hurried into the drawing room. Matthias was still there. His head was tipped back, eyes closed.

Should I wait?

While Leila hesitated, he fortunately opened his eyes. Softly tousled hair fell across his forehead.

“I’ve brought new roses, Your Grace.”

Leila lifted the flower-filled basket slightly to show him.

Matthias merely gazed at her without speaking. Having removed his riding jacket and undone a few buttons of his shirt, he looked far more unguarded and languid than before.

“Shall I… go again?”

Leila’s careful question came out trembling. If she had to return to the garden once more, she felt she might just beat the Duke with the roses.

“If I told you to go, would you?”

He asked in a voice tinged with drowsiness.

“If I’ve made another mistake, then I must, but if that’s the case, please tell me the color of roses you want this time.”

The answer she had meant to give was surely a simple “Yes, Your Grace,” yet her lips blurted out something entirely different.

Matthias watched the frozen Leila for a moment, then straightened from where he had been leaning deep into the sofa back.

“Sit.”

Matthias indicated the seat across the table with his eyes.

“No, Your Grace. If you are satisfied, then I should—”

“If you’ve brought the flowers, arranging them in a vase is your task as well, isn’t it, Miss Llewellyn?”

“But Your Grace, I’m not skilled at flower arranging.”

“Then am I to do it?”

Matthias glanced slowly around before his gaze returned to Leila. She easily grasped the meaning of that brief gesture. Now only she and he remained in the boathouse. Even if the task was beyond her skill, she had no choice but to do it.

Leila moved with careful steps to Matthias’s side. The seat opposite felt too burdensome, so she cautiously sat on the wooden chair placed before the window overlooking the river.

As Leila began trimming the roses, Matthias turned his attention to the pile of documents scattered across the table. The snip of shears cutting fresh stems and the rustle of paper blended into the silence.

The moment he finished signing the last document under review, Matthias suddenly thought of the bird that lived in his bedroom. For a creature supposedly hard to tame, the canary followed him remarkably well. Now it would perch freely on his finger and sing.

He had watched for a long while, marveling that such an impossibly tiny bird could trill so beautifully. The bird that had fluttered up returned to his hand and chirped softly—almost as if chattering affectionate stories.

While he organized the papers, Leila quietly went to the bathroom and returned with a vase filled with water. She moved so lightly that her presence barely registered.

That Leila had not lied was soon proven. Her flower arranging amounted to little more than sticking the roses into the vase.

“Do you like it?”

Leila rose with the vase and asked hesitantly.

“It’s dreadful.”

Matthias’s tone was dry, free of any note of reproach. Leila’s cheeks flushed faintly as she blinked in flustered surprise.

“I’m sorry. I’ll fetch a skilled maidservant.”

“Sit.”

“Pardon?”

“Sit, Leila.”

As his voice lowered, the pressure it carried rose. His fingertip pointed precisely at the sofa opposite.

Leila set the poorly judged vase of roses on the console and sat stiffly where Matthias indicated.

“Eat.”

Where Matthias’s gaze directed her, a silver dome dish rested.

When Leila opened it with awkward movements, a silver tray appeared holding a single serving of sandwiches and lemonade.

Matthias watched the discomfited Leila steadily. If she liked something so simple, he intended to give her a tip suited to her station. The result was dreadful, but she had taken the trouble in place of the gardener, after all.

“Thank you, Your Grace, but I’m fine.”

Leila set the dome dish down with trembling hands. The face that had smiled like sunlight before the doctor’s son now looked only awkward and troubled.

“If there’s nothing further you need, I’ll take my leave—”

“Leila.”

Matthias’s voice had drawn close to a whisper.

While Leila blinked slowly, Matthias took a sip of the cold whiskey soda before him. Droplets that had beaded on the crystal glass traced slowly down his long fingers.

“Is my word a request?”

With lips grown redder where the moisture had touched them, Matthias smiled.