Gentle Madness

Bertram asked. Noah retorted, "And why not?"—then, as if deciding this was hardly the moment for such a question, added, "You're still going to work, aren't you? What about tomorrow evening, then?"

"That would be a breach of courtesy."

"Hold on—is no one hearing a word I'm saying?"

"If I'm the one paying for it, then it's no breach at all."

"Just how much money do you intend to spend—"

"No idea. I've never actually looked at the amount while spending it."

"Hello? Excuse me, over here?"

Nils waved both hands, but there was still no reaction.

"...So you've truly never once looked at the amount while spending it."

Bertram said. It was something that had genuinely never occurred to him. In truth, Bertram didn't care how much Noah spent on a woman. What worried him was only that this matter was unlikely to be resolved by the end of the day.

"Not working?"

Noah said. Nils bowed at the waist and rested his forehead against the desk.

"I told you, today's workload isn't the problem!"

"It'll work itself out somehow, so don't worry."

"And what, precisely, does 'somehow' mean in that situation?"

Nils shouted. Noah fell silent. Between the two of them, Bertram said, quite unperturbed, "An all-nighter, then."

The carriage jolted. The old quarter's streets were paved with uneven cobblestones laid to let rainwater drain easily, which made riding them anything but comfortable. Without the plush cushions, it would have been considerably worse. Another jolt, and for a moment her body lifted and then settled again.

Aside from that, it wasn't unpleasant.

The sun had drifted slightly off center in the sky. Thick clouds streamed overhead, and the strong wind drove them along so that sunlight flickered through, as though catching its breath, only to vanish and reappear again and again.

Whenever the sun struck through the gap in the carriage curtains, a white light rippled across the muslin lace like a wave. But soon the clouds would close over it, and the interior sank back into a silvery shade. Following the light as it pulsated and swayed at the window, the ruffles of Kasika's dress shifted between bright sunshine and gray shadow like a phantom changing color.

Kasika studied the woman across from her. She seemed fragile, as though she might crumble apart in the sunlight.

Kasika knew nothing of Elena Gamov, but the name Gamov itself she did know. To be precise, she knew it from reading. A provincial noblewoman with no friendships, no connections, no introductions, no parties, no rumors—nothing of the sort—could do little more than lie around with her nose in a book. Whether sprawled in an untended garden under the sun or sprawled in a dark, gloomy mansion that admitted no light at all, reading material had been her constant companion, and somewhere in between, the name Gamov existed as well.

"I know Armand Gamov, the author of The Age of Memory and Hatred."

Kasika said. Elena's face registered an unexpected sound. "You know Armand Gamov?" she asked. Kasika nodded.

"He's my uncle. Have you read it?"

"Yes, I have."

"He was always so despondent that his books didn't sell. He'll be delighted when I pass this along."

With that, Elena offered a soft smile.

Blonde hair, blue-gray eyes. Unlike her round pupils, her cool, large eyes and her healthy, rosy complexion reminded one of fluffy, perfectly baked meringue. The kind that would surely be sweet, loaded with sugar.

Once conversation had begun, Elena showed no discomfort with the situation and carried on easily.

"Still, I do think the summers here are nicer—so much cooler than Belipheera."

"So you were living there, then?"

"I did my studies there. I'd have preferred somewhere else, but my uncle was there."

"That uncle being Armand Gamov, I take it?"

"Yes."

"A man who writes dreadfully tedious things," Elena murmured under her breath. The Age of Memory and Hatred, which Kasika had read, was something Elena herself had never managed to finish. She simply could not make out what on earth the man was trying to say.

Elena understood perfectly well why her uncle's books didn't sell. One had to write what people could understand and feel; to write something only he knew and only he enjoyed, then expect it to be read—either he thought everyone else was on his level, or he had disappeared entirely into his own arrogance.

"But then."

Besides, she had no wish to keep talking about her uncle. Wasn't there something far more entertaining at hand?

"I did receive the story, but."

She leaned forward. The carriage was small, and the distance between them shrank all at once.

"Are you truly involved with Noah Lambroise?"

Kasika stared at Elena. She couldn't imagine what kind of story had been passed along to prompt such a question.

"What exactly does 'involved with' mean?"

"They say you've taken that Noah as your lover."

Not just Noah, but that Noah. What sort of reputation did Noah Lambroise hold here? At the very least, the prevailing sense was that he was not a man to be taken lightly.

"You even made him sign a contract, apparently."

They do say such contracts happen now and again, don't they?

"They say he came running, saying he adored you, and you ignored him anyway? Kay told me long ago that Noah is utterly hopeless around you. The way he praised you—my goodness."

Is that something worth praising?

"And then there's the story that you made him cry his eyes out, and—oh!"

The carriage lurched violently. On roads as neatly paved as this one, such a thing was nearly unheard of, and Elena, caught off guard, pitched forward. Kasika caught her, which effectively left Elena in her arms. The carriage had stopped abruptly. In this case, it was surely not a stone or rut in the road—someone had stepped out in front of it.

Just as she reached to open the window connected to the driver's box to ask what was the matter, the carriage door swung open.

Unlike the road outside, blazing hot to the mere eye, the air and breeze that poured in through the open door were surprisingly refreshing. And there stood Noah, wearing an apologetic expression—until he caught sight of Elena, still in Kasika's arms, and his face shifted into something unreadable.

He did it on purpose, Kasika thought. He had darted out and forced the carriage to a halt.

"Noah."

"Teacher. Elena."

Elena, looking embarrassed, touched her cheek with one hand and returned to her seat.

"What brings you here?"

"I happened to be passing by."

You stop a passing carriage just like that? What kind of absurd claim is that supposed to be? Kasika looked not at Noah but at Elena. She couldn't bring herself to believe the talk of a chance encounter on the road; far more likely, he had received word that the two of them would be traveling together.

Or else—perhaps he believed she was off to meet someone else entirely.

...Could Countess Lambroise be the same way? Is it simply consideration? Or did she deliberately assign Kay Lambroise's fiancée to me to confirm whether I was going to meet someone? She didn't know the situation well enough to judge rightly.

"Are you planning to stand there all day?"

Kasika asked, watching Noah standing motionless in the middle of the road with the carriage door still open. His attire did seem different from usual somehow—a good deal more demure.

"Might I join you?"

"Where are you headed?"

Elena asked. Noah gave the same smile he always wore. It looked faintly playful, yet somehow an awkwardness seemed to linger beneath it. It was as though he had no destination in mind at all.

"We'll drop you off on the way."

That was what she said, but the underlying message—get off—was plain in Elena's words, and Noah paused to consider what destination would be best to name. But then Kasika said, "Come along with us," and both of them turned to look at her.

"Since you're already here, traveling together doesn't seem like a bad arrangement."

If he was going to watch her regardless, it was better that he did it openly. That way, she could take his measure as well. Whether or not Kasika's suggestion sat well with him, Noah said, "Then I won't refuse," and climbed into the carriage.

The moment he entered, sunlight poured in strong, like golden dust. But it soon faded to a faint glow. Like the lingering trace of a perfume.

Noah, without hesitation, took the seat beside Elena. Elena's face plainly asked why he had come to this side and not the other. Not that Noah could have seated himself next to Kasika anyway.

"What were you talking about?"

"Nothing much."

Elena replied. She seemed unwilling to share the substance of their conversation. Silence, too, could be an answer at times, so Noah had no intention of pressing her—until Kasika spoke.

"I heard you cried."

At the sight of Kasika saying it so casually, both Noah and Elena were left at a loss for words.

"That I made Noah cry."

"...That was when I was a child. I haven't cried since."

"What's the great shame in crying, really?"

Easy for her to say—but boys, by and large, were raised being forced not to cry from the moment they were born. The children of noble houses worst of all. In a place where showing emotion was considered irrational, merely failing to hide one's expressions was enough to set tongues wagging this way and that; if word spread that a man had actually wept—even if only in childhood—it was not without its shame.

Noah glared at Elena. Elena, making no effort to hide her wounded look, gazed at Kasika. When her expression seemed to say why would you bring that up now, Kasika merely said, "Well, to be fair," and turned the conversation.

"It would hardly do to show anyone else—"

The corners of Kasika's mouth slowly curled upward.

"his crying face was far too adorable for that."

For an instant, Noah seemed to freeze outright. Beside him, caught off guard—apparently he hadn't anticipated hearing such a thing—Elena, too, wore a startled expression as she slowly raised her fan to cover her face. Her glittering eyes were brimming with interest.

Kasika's eyes, on the other hand, were beginning to lose theirs. Somehow it had all become tiresome. She had no intention of yielding easily to whatever he wanted, but her stamina for sustaining the game was not what it might have been.