It's Only Been Two Days
“I'm sorry, what?”
“The ring, the ring. That ruby ring you always wore on your right hand. The one they call the Family Head's Ring, isn't that right?”
“Ah, I lost it a few days ago.”
“Good heavens, losing something so important. That simply won't do.”
Sylvia peered down at my hand with the most theatrical concern.
But for all her words, there wasn't a trace of worry on her face. If anything, she was flashing a meaningful little smile….
What was that about?
“Well then, we'll be off. Oh, and if you happen to change your mind, do let us know anytime.”
I somehow doubted that would happen.
In any case, overjoyed to finally be free of that brother-and-sister duo, I waved goodbye with a beaming smile.
The kind of smile that meant, get out of my house already.
* * *
“Unbelievable. She's sealed up tighter than a vault. You saw it too, didn't you, Jerold?”
Sylvia strode out of the parlor and demanded it with a face full of irritation, not caring in the least that a servant of the Marquisate nearby had bowed his head at her outburst.
“You're one to talk, you blockhead. What's so hard about courting one woman? You strut around boasting that a crook of your finger would have her falling at your feet. Turns out it was all hot air. Tsk tsk.”
“Why do you always take it out on me?! Sister, even reaching for the stars is easier than this. The woman never sets foot outside the Marquisate—what am I supposed to do about that?!”
Jerold shot back at her accusations, wounded.
And to be fair, when his sister had ordered him to seduce the Marchioness of Zacherete, he really had gone about it dutifully.
He'd drawn up plans, laid his groundwork on every front, and prepared everything flawlessly.
The problem was that the very object of his efforts refused, point blank, to leave her house.
“We should have just forced the issue back then.”
Jerold clicked his tongue and glared at the closed door.
“But are you certain that woman you ran into outside a few days ago really was the Marchioness? Strange. I've never once seen her out after dark.”
“It's true, I'm telling you. I even showed you proof. That's the whole reason we came here today, isn't it—to confirm it?”
“Shh!”
At the word proof, Sylvia clapped a hand over Jerold's mouth in a panic, her eyes darting around before narrowing sharply.
“Hmm. Now that I think about it, I suppose you're right.”
“See? I told you I'm never wrong about this sort of thing. Haa, no—this is exactly why we should have handled it by force back then. Made it a done deal before anyone could say otherwise. That wretch reads a situation disgustingly fast.”
As if her perceptiveness were all there was to envy.
The fist that had mangled his own face had been a rather bitter pill to swallow, too.
“Just marry her. I'll personally train that stubborn streak right out of her.”
“Right. Once you're married, she's yours to do with as you please, so just grit your teeth a little longer.”
Sylvia patted her younger brother's shoulder, soothing him like a child.
Her gaze drifted over the splendor of the Marquisate's corridor.
Once they were married, all of this might as well be in her hands already.
“Count,” my foot. The Valentines are one misstep from bankruptcy. Meanwhile she wears the Marquis title and commands this kind of wealth…? From what I hear, her businesses are thriving—but that's just inheritance from picking the right parents, isn't it?
The whole empire knew of the Marchioness Zacherete's business acumen.
Even Sylvia's own husband, Count Oscar, was falling over himself to forge connections with her.
“What's that? You were academy classmates? Even better. Couldn't you go and grease the wheels for me a little?”
“Grease the wheels? How, exactly?”
“How, he asks. Buy her a gift she'd like, stay close and flatter her—that sort of thing. Must I spell out everything for you? Can't you think for yourself for once?”
Her husband's words stung her pride.
Back at the academy, she had been unquestionably above Erna.
And yet there was Erna—unmarried—earning society's recognition, and it left a sour taste in her mouth.
Business. Honestly, what is that even worth? At the end of the day she's still that same hopelessly provincial Erna.
Sylvia took a moment to compose herself, recalling the sight of Erna returning from her outing just moments ago.
Right. So what if she had money? Money was only worth what you could do with it.
It's better that wealth go to someone who can use it, rather than sit idle in the hands of someone who can't—don't you agree?
And so she intended to claim the Marquisate's fortune in her own particular way.
First, though, she would have to do something about that Erna Zacherete.
“By the way, Sister. Are you really sure there's hope here? What if the Marchioness already has someone she likes—”
“What? Pfft. Erna Zacherete? Haha. Save your breath. A bookworm doesn't fall in love. I'd wager she's never so much as held a man's hand in her life.”
“Really? That's a relief, then. I'd hate for someone else's leavings.”
Says the man who flits shamelessly from one woman to the next…
But Sylvia held her tongue.
He was her own brother, granted, but as marriage material he was utterly hopeless.
Had she been the one marrying him, she'd have wanted to bolt before ever making it down the aisle.
But it was Erna Zacherete who would be marrying him.
Nothing to do with her, she decided.
It would serve her right to have that haughty nose of hers knocked down a peg, too, now that she fancied herself something special.
And picturing Erna Zacherete, crushed and broken by a miserable marriage, made Sylvia feel better than she had in ages.
“By the way, Sister. Why do you hate the Marchioness so much, anyway?”
“I don't know. She's just always rubbed me the wrong way. The way that little Marchioness heir subtly looks down on me grates on my nerves… urk!”
Thud.
Still mid-answer, Sylvia rounded a corner of the corridor and collided head-on with someone walking from the other direction.
Rubbing her forehead against the sudden sting, she whipped her head up with a snarl.
“What's the matter with you, walking around without watching where—”
“Ah, my apologies.”
The first thing that reached her was a rich, low voice.
A voice as pleasant as a melody struck her squarely in the ear.
Then came a wave of fresh floral fragrance.
Hm?
Her eyes, fixed on the enormous bouquet, traveled up to the face of the man holding it.
Sylvia's jaw dropped.
“Gah! G-Gr-Grand Duke Bernstein…!”
“Your Highness! There you are. The Marchioness has gone up to her office. Allow me to show you the way.”
“Please do.”
While Sylvia stood there stuttering like a fool, the man with the bouquet walked straight past her without so much as a glance.
He had merely brushed by her, and yet her heart was pounding like a drum.
Anyone watching would have thought she'd just shared a deep kiss—her breath came ragged, and heat flooded her body.
That was how overwhelming the man was.
A devil of a man—one look, and you could never untangle yourself again.
“S-Sister. Wasn't that man just now His Highness the Grand Duke?”
Jerold, no less stunned, shook his sister's shoulders again and again, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes.
Neither could Sylvia.
And at the same time, an inexplicable irritation began to boil up inside her.
Why is Grand Duke Bernstein at the Marquisate?
What on earth was the relationship between those two?!
Just then, a certain set of news articles clicked into place in her memory.
At once, Sylvia's face drained into open horror.
Gasp—no. It couldn't be!
* * *
Why is the Grand Duke here again?
Staring at the man in front of me, I closed my eyes and opened them again. Just in case it was a hallucination.
But Laura, standing beside him and gesturing at me with her eyes, ruled that possibility out.
Wow. He really did come. I'm losing my mind.
“We meet again, Marchioness.”
“So we do.”
Though I certainly hadn't expected to see him again in less than a week.
As if he knew exactly what I was thinking, the Grand Duke was beaming at me today, radiant as ever.
Come to think of it, he isn't wearing his white priest's robes today.
Was that why? He'd only draped a single layer of black cloth over a body that always wore white, and somehow it made everything feel strange.
As if a thick, dangerous fragrance had been layered over something pure and noble.
Dangerous. That man was simply, thoroughly dangerous.
“I believe I asked for time to think. Surely that time wasn't a mere two days?”
“Of course not.”
He smiled gently, as if to say he was hardly so petty a man.
With just that one smile, the maids who had brought the tea flushed scarlet and fluttered about, completely at sea.
Oh no. If this kept up, he'd have every one of them smitten before long.
I shooed them out with a wave of my hand, and Laura jolted, hurrying over to usher them all from the room.
The look in her eyes, glimpsed through the slowly narrowing gap of the closing door, was anything but ordinary—but I made myself ignore it.
That wasn't what mattered right now.
“So… what brings you here today?”
After a moment's hesitation, I asked carefully.
Regrettably, nothing had been resolved yet. I'd meant to buy myself some time by heading down to the estate.
Dealing with the fallout and hunting for the ring had swallowed all my attention. I should have left the capital the moment I could.
What if he demanded an answer on the spot, right here, right now? Anxiety prickled, and sweat pooled in my palms as I waited for him to speak.
And then he said:
“You weren't scheming to run far away, were you?”
My breath caught.