The Duke Turned Around

Kyle Etman standing before the main gate of Gillis Girls' School was as natural a fixture as the boundary wall and the streetlamp. There he was again. People only glanced at him with that mild level of interest and thought nothing more of it.

Kyle grinned as he peered past the school gate. Far in the distance, a girl was approaching, walking her bicycle along. Just from that walk—graceful yet spirited—Kyle could recognize her at once.

Well. It was hardly just the walk.

That expressive face, those soft gestures. Everything about her was Leila to him. There was no girl anywhere like Leila. It had been that way ever since the summer day he had approached the small child sitting in the shade of a willow and spoken to her.

"Leila!"

When he called her name with vigor, Leila stopped. She had been squinting; now she quickened her steps toward him. Kyle loved that moment—when Leila's walk sped up the instant she saw him. The way she came lightly closer and smiled that soft little smile.

"Why did you come all the way here? It would have been easier if you just came by the house later."

"What does it matter? I was heading back this way anyway."

Of course it was a lie. To walk home with Leila, Kyle had stood up the entire tennis club. But even the seniors waiting with rackets brandished like weapons held no fear for him now.

Tomorrow's troubles for tomorrow. Let things fall however they would.

The two of them walked side by side through the bustling streets. They bought ice cream as they passed the shopping district. They browsed a bookstore that smelled faintly of dust. Leila laughed often. Aside from Uncle Bill, Kyle Etman was probably the only person in the world who knew that Leila Lewellin laughed this freely. Kyle liked that fact as well.

Once they turned onto the road that led toward the Arvis estate, the wind grew cooler. When the conversation drifted toward exams, Leila's eyes turned serious. Talk of geometry brought a touch of despair with it. Kyle watched those small shifts of expression with careful attention.

Not yet.

Kyle forced down the words that had risen tickling all the way to his throat. He had no desire to confess rashly and make things awkward between them. He even wondered whether they needed to become lovers at all. They could simply marry and be done with it.

Leila Etman. Nice. Very nice.

"Why are you smiling?"

Leila asked with a frown. She had been railing against geometry, whose scores refused to improve no matter what she did, and yet Kyle was grinning for no apparent reason.

"Uh… well—ah! I heard Duke Herhardt is coming back?"

Kyle abruptly changed the subject.

"It's been ages. When is he arriving?"

"I don't know."

"Everyone's singing Duke Herhardt this and Duke Herhardt that, but you don't seem interested at all."

Leila's grip tightened on the bicycle handlebars.

There was little real connection between Leila and Duke Herhardt. Sometimes they crossed paths in the forest; sometimes she was summoned by Claudine during one of her frequent visits and ended up seeing his face. Even that was uncomfortable enough that Leila did her best to avoid the Duke whenever she could. When she had no choice but to face him, she bowed her head as deeply as possible.

She did not want to look at him.

Ever since that childhood evening when she had been running with a gold coin and Duke Herhardt had stepped on the coin she dropped when she fell—stopping it with his foot—it had always been that way.

It was Claudine who had arbitrarily summoned her, neglected her, and offered money as charity. Yet the person who made her heart feel infinitely small and wretched was the Duke. Perhaps it was because he was the one who made her keenly realize just how insignificant Leila Lewellin was in that unfamiliar, glittering world.

That incident had left a different kind of wound from the scorn and oppression she had endured until then. It was a memory she wanted to forget, yet facing Duke Herhardt always brought that day back unbidden. Leila disliked that Duke—the man who kept reminding her of that day, that memory, that wound.

While Leila was catching her breath, a black automobile passed them by. Since the Dowager Duchess never rode in cars, it was probably the young Duchess returning from some social gathering.

"With the Duke coming home, Arvis will be in an uproar for a while."

"Yeah."

"Hey, Leila—should I try becoming an officer too?"

Kyle turned and began walking backward so he could face her.

"Become an officer like Duke Herhardt and earn medals. Captain Etman, the sharpshooter who never misses—putting bullets straight through the enemy's heart."

He made a shooting gesture with his hands and laughed like a mischievous boy.

"Listen here, Mr. Etman. You can't even kill a single chicken."

Leila couldn't help bursting into laughter. His pride stung, but Kyle had no retort.

Was it around this time last year? Declaring he would work off the meals he freeloaded at the cabin and boasting that he would do anything they asked, he had been told by Uncle Bill to slaughter a chicken for dinner. Kyle had stepped up boldly—and failed to pluck even a single feather. That was the day he earned the humiliating nickname of the Etman family's freeloader.

"My kind friend Kyle Etman. That's why I like you."

Watching his frowning face, Leila spoke with a smile.

"I'd rather those hands be hands that save people. Not hands that fire guns."

"Uh… well, of course. I'm going to be a doctor."

Kyle felt somehow abashed and rubbed at his cheek.

"Then should I become a military doctor? But do military doctors get medals too?"

"If they save enough people, wouldn't they? It's a far better thing than killing a lot of them."

"You think so?"

While they traded silly jokes, the two of them reached the fork in the road. The Etman house lay at the end of the path to the left.

"Ah! I left the geometry notes I was going to lend you at home."

Suddenly remembering, Kyle frowned.

"Then come over around dinner time. Make sure you bring the notes."

"Hey. Are you waiting for me, or the notes?"

"The notes."

Leila answered shamelessly, and not long after she broke into a playful little laugh. Kyle smiled back and started running toward home in a hurry.

"You can come slowly! Dinner will take time anyway!"

Leila shouted after Kyle's retreating back.

"Don't mind me! It's my choice!"

Kyle's reply rang out even louder.

Shaking her head slightly as if he were hopeless, Leila mounted her bicycle and set off along the plane-tree avenue that led toward the Arvis mansion.

Matthias stopped the car at the point where the mansion's driveway began. The driver and the butler both looked flustered.

Duke Herhardt's return had been sudden. Arriving a full week earlier than planned, the servants of Arvis had been scrambling all day to prepare. Because of that, only the bare minimum reception party had come out. And now this further breach of custom. Butler Hessen swallowed dryly under the tension.

"Master, we haven't arrived yet—"

"I'll walk a little."

Matthias's tone, cutting the butler off, was calm. The driver, who had been hesitating and watching for cues, hurriedly got out and opened the rear door.

"No."

Toward Hessen, who was about to follow him out, Matthias gave a brief shake of his head.

"I'll see you at the mansion."

With a faint smile he turned and walked away. Hessen, caught in an awkward half-stance, climbed back into the car as ordered. The driver also hurried back to the driver's seat. Once they drove off, the road fell quiet again.

Holding his officer's cap loosely in one hand, Matthias began walking at a leisurely pace beneath the shade of the trees, as if taking a stroll. The sound of his boot heels and the rustle of leaves in the wind formed a curious harmony.

Matthias von Herhardt had been a perfect child, a perfect student, and now he had become a perfect officer. And now he would marry a perfect woman and become the perfect Duke of Herhardt, the perfect father. All of it was so natural that it was almost tedious.

Matthias's steps gradually slowed. Rays of light filtering through the gaps in the leaves made the reddish cast of his eyes stand out more sharply. That sunlight drifted slowly downward, catching on the badges that adorned his blue-gray dress uniform and the metal buckle of his belt.

This summer we should get engaged.

To his mother's words, Matthias had readily agreed. Marrying at the proper time and producing an heir was a natural duty.

I believe Claudine is the lady most suited to the position of the next Duchess.

He had accepted his grandmother's announcement just as amiably. Claudine von Brandt was a bride of excellent lineage and qualifications.

Matthias had never wanted anything.

Before he could want, everything had already been prepared. There was nothing left to add, so desire itself was a concept from some distant world. Marriage was no different.

Matthias wished for a perfect marriage.

A marriage that required no waste of unnecessary emotion—a stepping stone that would make his world even more solid. Claudine von Brandt was the most suitable partner for that purpose, and that was enough. He had never taken any particular interest in anything beyond that. He had never felt the need.

Matthias stopped for a moment in the middle of the road. When he lifted his head, the finely fragmented sunlight stabbed at his eyes. It was around then that he sensed an unexpected presence.

Turning his slightly narrowed eyes, he saw a woman approaching on a bicycle. As Matthias slowly clasped his hands behind his back, the woman brushed past him on his left. Her vivid golden hair fluttered like waves.

Leila Lewellin?

The moment Matthias recalled the name, the woman suddenly turned her head. Seeing him, her green eyes rounded wide.

While they gazed at each other, the bicycle lost its balance and toppled. Leila's scream followed as she tumbled with it.

Even after the fall, the bicycle's wheels continued to spin noisily from sheer inertia.

Matthias walked slowly toward the woman lying on the road. Under the shadow he cast, the woman who lifted her head was unmistakably Leila Lewellin.

That little girl crazy about birds.

"…I'm sorry, Your Grace."

Leila hurriedly apologized and bowed her head deeply. It seemed she was waiting for him simply to walk past and be gone.

Matthias changed his mind about leaving and looked down at Leila at his leisure. Her school uniform was a mess of dirt and dust. Her stockings were torn, and blood was running from her knee.

When the spinning bicycle wheel finally stopped, silence returned.

Leila lifted her slightly furrowed eyes and looked at Matthias again. Her expression was as bold as ever, yet it gave a strangely soft impression.

So that girl is growing up too.

The perfectly ordinary fact that time passed and a child grew somehow grated on his nerves.

To Matthias, Leila Lewellin had always been a little girl—a child whose desperate efforts to avoid him and flee from him were oddly irritating, but that was all. The Leila Lewellin standing before him now, however, simply would not overlay with that memory.

The lines of her body visible beneath the thin summer school uniform were no longer those of a skinny child. Her fresh cheeks and lips, the soft scent carried on the breeze—those, too, were different.

While he turned over the strange unpleasantness that fact stirred in him, Leila staggered to her feet. She stepped back one pace, adjusted her shoes, and brushed the dust from her uniform. Even grown into a woman, Leila Lewellin was so small she would not even reach his chin.

"Leila Lewellin."

When he called her name on impulse, Leila flinched and hunched her shoulders. She still kept her head deeply bowed.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace."

Repeating the same words, Leila crouched at his feet and began gathering her scattered belongings.

Bag. Books. Notebook.

Matthias's gaze, following those small hands stained with dust and blood, stopped on the pen her fingertips had just reached.

He slowly took a step and set his boot on the pen. Only then did Leila lift her head and look at him. Her eyes were full of sheer disbelief.

"Leila Lewellin."

He called the name once more.

"I'm calling you."

Like the motion of crushing the pen, Matthias's speech was slow.

"Yes, Your Grace."

Leila squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them and answered. She tried with all her strength to tug the pen free, but Matthias did not budge.

"Please speak. I'm listening."

Though she trembled, Leila continued with surprising boldness. Her eyes—eyes that resembled the summer forest—looked straight at him, sparkling with anger mixed with bewilderment. She recalled Duke Herhardt smiling as he stepped on the coin for all to see. That day, too, the Duke had looked down at Leila with this same expression, these same eyes.

Letting out a silent chuckle, Matthias calmly brushed past her. He lightly set the cap he had been holding onto his head and walked leisurely down the path as if nothing at all had happened.

Leila stared blankly after Duke Herhardt's retreating back.

If he wasn't going to say anything in the end, why do a thing like that?

Strength entered her hand of its own accord as she picked up the pen.

Would the people of Arvis ever believe that Duke Herhardt—praised as the perfect noble—had done something like this?

Leila felt she could wager every last coin she had carefully saved for a pair of glasses that they absolutely would not. Everyone would only find Leila strange for saying such a thing.

Pressing her lips firmly together, she hurriedly righted her bicycle. She wiped the trampled pen carefully and put it away in her bag.

Following behind the slowly walking Duke Herhardt, Leila walked as well, pulling her bicycle along. The scraped skin stung. Knowing he would not look back, she still maintained an upright posture as she walked. Even as her legs ached from the effort of not limping, she endured it.

If only he would put those long legs to good use and walk faster.

Just as a sigh of frustration was about to escape her, Duke Herhardt—who had been gradually slowing his pace—turned around. Soft wind stirred the leaves. The patterns of sunlight that had filtered between them flickered in a slow rhythm across the summer road.

Startled, Leila stood frozen, forgetting even to look away. Matthias's gaze moved slowly downward along her long, loosened hair—her chest rising and falling rapidly, the white hands gripping the bicycle handlebars, her remarkably slender ankles and small feet.

And then her eyes again.

Matthias quietly gazed for a long time at those clear green eyes.

Leila Lewellin was still nothing more than an orphan freeloading on his estate. Yet at least one fact seemed to have changed completely.

Time had passed, and the child had grown.

Once he accepted that fact, he finally saw her.

No longer a little girl—but that woman, Leila Lewellin.