Gentle Madness

Granted, she had only muttered it to herself—but she couldn't rule anything out. If it came to protecting her own interests, Kasika could turn away from him at any moment. Noah's judgment had been sound, and his actions, justified. Still, that didn't mean she had to sit and take it in blind ignorance, did it?

Even if she couldn't hold the reins in this situation, she refused to be dragged along by them. And so what did she need to know?

A clue, obviously.

And the clue was Cesare Elperts II.

But how on earth was she supposed to learn anything about Cesare Elperts II? They had exchanged a single letter in their lives—that was all.

Even so, Cesare was a noble who had lived in the capital for years. There would be people who knew him. She needed to seek them out first.

"People, then."

Which meant she would have to wedge herself into that gaping crack in high society. Perhaps that was why Noah had brought her here in the first place—to drag her into society.

"Which families were well-disposed toward Elperts again?"

No matter how she turned it over, nothing came to mind. Probably none, then.

Word came from Noah around dinnertime. He would draw up the contract at one o'clock the next afternoon, and she was to come to the orangery on the southwestern side of the Lambroise estate. Whoever Noah Lambroise took after, he was remarkably industrious. One in the afternoon—the very height of sleeping hours.

Unlike the countless nobles who languished sleepless deep into the night, Noah seemed to be up and active even in the early morning. Could he actually be doing real work? Surely the virtue of capital nobility hadn't changed to diligence of late? Whatever else she might take after, this much Kasika had inherited from her grandfather, Count Elperts: if one could play, one ought to play; if one could be idle, then by all means, be idle.

It was a bad habit born of deprivation, in truth. As a child, Kasika had been made to rise earlier and work harder than anyone. Perhaps that poverty had given her this second life of hers.

Lydia seemed troubled by the appointed hour. Declaring that a proper dress must be worn today, she laid out clothes in the bedchamber ahead of time, and when morning came she woke Kasika earlier than usual. With her eyes half-open—or in a state not unlike half-shut—Kasika lifted her arms as required, let herself be dressed, then collapsed back onto the bed, at which point Lydia seized her hand and pulled her upright. "Up you get, my lady, and eat your breakfast. If your stomach growls the moment you meet Viscount Lambroise, it would be mortifying!"

Yes, that would be mortifying.

And so Kasika opened her eyes.

The shadows under them were perhaps as dark as yesterday's. She'd spent the night full of worry, imagining every possible version of the situation ahead. It might simply have been her habit of sleeping late, but no matter—nothing to be done about it.

Perhaps everything had been prepared so she could eat at once, because the moment she stepped out of the bedchamber, the table was laden with food. Things closer to dessert than to a proper meal, at that. When Kasika looked at her, Lydia said, "You can't walk around smelling of food, my lady." Still, right upon waking, this wouldn't do at all. She wanted soup—something warm. That at least would carry no scent. But Lydia served her hot tea instead of soup.

Being a noble meant living a hard life, unable to do even the things one most wished to do. Living in the Lamplis marquisate all this while, she had forgotten that.

What could she do? It was duty, after all.

While Kasika ate fruit with her tea, Lydia readied things for the outing, and as Kasika stood quietly being dressed, Lydia sulked to herself, muttering, "I'm going to get back at them for what they said about your clothes last time." There was no need to ask what had happened—the maids of the capital were spiteful little creatures in their own right, and they apparently spent plenty of time whispering behind their hands about how Kasika dressed. Kasika herself paid it no mind, but it seemed to wound her maid's pride terribly.

"The capital's fashion is absurd in the first place. Doesn't it show far too much of the body? The shoulders, the arms—all of it."

"Well, there's a war on down south, isn't there? Fabric is in short supply, they say."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"So they make garments with the smallest possible amount of cloth and export the rest. And since it's a silhouette no one's seen before, it catches the eye that much more? Aristocrats love standing out."

Besides, they had always lived in decadence already—a little less fabric wasn't about to shame them. Lydia, however, was still deliberating over whether more ought to be covered. The pure white summer dress she had chosen wasn't bad. The sleeves weren't in the way, and it was nothing like those stiff garments that locked a body rigid.

With the decorations Lydia had picked out—the only things worth looking at in Lamplis—arrayed here and there about her person, Kasika stepped outside and looked at a servant who had apparently been waiting for some time. At her slight nod, the servant bowed and, wordless, seemed to guide her toward the appointed place.

The Lambroise estate kept its quarters strictly divided: where the family and their guests resided, where the knights and household staff lived, and the wing for servants and maids. The route the servant led her through belonged to the areas reserved for nobles and guests, and it remained as beautifully ornamented as ever.

A grand corridor a story and a half high, unchanged from when she had come here more than a decade ago save for the ornaments—and that ceiling she had once envied so. Not the poorly tended ceiling of Elperts, nor the dim, gloomy one of Lamplis, but a pristine white vault painted over with lovely figures.

It was still insufferable. It prodded at her deprivations, that was why.

The sun was not yet cruel. Though this capital flanked both a great river and the sea, it was strangely dry, and beyond its mild swing between day and night temperatures, it was warmer than the place Kasika had lived. Strange, that the north should be warmer than the south.

The moment she stepped into the orangery where the servant had led her, the humid air rising from all that green vegetation seemed to breathe vitality outward. Dew still pooled on the distinctly textured leaves—watered only recently, by the look of them.

She had visited this estate often, yet she had never imagined such a space existed here. She knew how extravagant it was to keep an entire room for the tending of plants. Neither Elperts nor Lamplis had ever dreamed of one. Caught off guard by her first sight of it, she found that despite having braced herself to be bored, she could not turn her eyes away.

The light pouring in through the curved panes of glass seemed to deepen into blue with every surface it passed through. Orange trees, pomegranate, fig. A single marble fountain in the classical style. And rattan couches, built for comfortable lounging.

This had to be the meeting place.

Having decided as much, Kasika settled onto one of the rattan couches. Unlike the ones in the Lamplis marquisate, the supple wicker and plush cushions weren't bad at all. She frowned slightly—not out of any particular thought. Her mind was empty, really, but sensing how the place differed from what she remembered left her mood faintly soured.

Even that passed quickly. Perhaps because she hadn't slept properly, her eyes began to drift shut of their own accord. A soft breeze stealing in through the open windows brushed gently across her skin, and it seemed she might drift off without a care in the world.

This was far more pleasant than expected.

And so, to Kasika sitting with her eyes closed, Noah drew near. He had wondered how she would wait for him—whether she would sit stiffly upright, or greet him when he arrived—and at the sight of Kasika asleep, he let out a quiet laugh. A climbing vine had made its way up the half-reclining rattan couch and swayed in the breeze, and upon it hung, precariously, several white blossoms so pale and delicate they looked ready to fall.

Noah stopped quietly before her and looked at her. Never in the past could he have imagined being permitted to gaze at her like this. He was still debating whether he ought to wake her—people would be arriving soon—when a couple of blossoms tumbled down onto the sleeping Kasika. One came to rest upon her cheek. The instant Noah reached out to pluck it away, her eyes opened.

Their gazes crossed, and for a moment silence welled up between them.

It was Noah who moved first. He set the flower in his hand down on the table, and Kasika's eyes followed it. Noah pointed a finger at her upper body. A few white blossoms sat atop her dress.

"You've had some pollen fall on you."

Golden dust shaken loose from the flowers' protruding stamens had stained the white cloth.

When the white dress was dirtied, it struck her as something like shards of sunlight. Then, immediately, she thought of the Lydia who would grieve over it. But that was her problem. The gold specks across the white fabric felt like cloth shot through with gold thread. Kasika's face said it wasn't bad at all—rather, it looked like an ornament placed there on purpose.

"A shame to wipe it away, isn't it?"

Noah seemed to think likewise, for his gaze drifted toward Kasika—but it settled nearer her face than her dress, and she wondered whether pollen had landed there too, raising a hand to brush it clean.

"Forgive me if I startled you."

Kasika shook her head as if to say it was nothing. She had assumed the lawyer or whoever it was Noah had summoned would be coming, but there was no one else in the orangery at all.

"You came alone?"

"I did. But someone will be along shortly."

With that answer, Noah sat down in the rattan chair across from her, and at the same time laid the contract on the table. Unlike the long couch Kasika occupied, the single-seat chair proved lower than Noah's frame required, his legs and knees stretching long out in front of him. Kasika's eyes traced his legs, then climbed slowly upward—and found Noah, smiling as he watched her.

"White flowers suit you beautifully. I shall take it as deliberate decoration."

"It is summer, after all. The flowers are lovely, aren't they."