A Stranger in Tailcoat and Tie
Carlyle de Rocheret, dressed in a perfectly tailored tailcoat and crisp white tie, looked every bit the impeccable aristocrat as he always did. From the crown of his head to the tips of his shoes, a flawless nobility radiated from him.
Without warning, Mabel Darlington felt an eerie wave of unease sweep over her shoulders. It was as if she had come face to face with a pirate flag rising beyond the horizon, an instinctive warning to flee.
She clenched her slender fingers tightly, suppressing the rising panic.
It was far too late to turn back now. As Louise had said, if they were going to do this, they had to do it properly.
“Good evening,” Mabel said in a calm, steady voice.
“Uncle, Aunt, and… Lord de Rocheret. I apologize for being late.”
Instead of the old-fashioned curtsy, she offered only the slightest bow of her head toward them.
The clattering piano music suddenly fell silent, and Mildred’s strangled scream filled the void. Her face drained of all color; she forgot there were guests and thrashed wildly.
“Oh, merciful God, Cornelia Mabel Darlington! That dress of yours—your hair—? Hiiiik!”
A wheezy gasp slipped from between her bloodless lips.
“How dare you show yourself like this… Hiiiik, tarnishing the Darlington name… Hiiiik!”
Mildred’s eyes rolled back. She swayed twice, then toppled sideways, slamming her face against the piano keys. A cacophonous discord echoed through the salon.
Peering anxiously at Carlyle for guidance, Walter rose reluctantly. He clicked his tongue, sighed, and finally turned to Mabel.
“Mabel, call Helen and bring smelling salts—”
Before Walter could finish, his eyes widened in shock. The protruding globes bulged as if ready to pop from their sockets.
His face flushed deep red as he twitched his mustache and roared at the top of his lungs.
“Look at you! You’re out of your mind! Such vulgar, indecent… Agh!”
Seizing his neck, he stumbled, then collapsed heavily. At the same moment, he dropped the glass he had been holding.
The cherished crystal shattered into a thousand pieces. The rare, real McCoy Scotch whiskey—smuggled by the infamous Captain McCoy—splashed across the floor, sending icy shards skittering toward Mabel’s feet.
A strange silence descended upon the salon.
Mildred remained slumped over the piano, utterly still. This time, it was no act.
Red-faced, Walter gripped his neck and tilted his head back, exactly as he had done the day he heard the news of Arthur’s secret participation in the Great War.
Mabel stood frozen in place, her eyes darting between the two of them in terror.
She had assumed that, since Carlyle was only focused on convincing her to call off the engagement, Walter and Mildred would simply wait until he left before venting their anger and delivering their punishment.
“Good evening, Miss Darlington.”
Mabel startled at the sudden greeting and turned her head.
Carlyle rose with the same casual ease as if nothing had happened, offering her a perfectly polite bow. He then strolled to the fireplace and calmly pressed the bell for the servants.
“Ugh…”
At that moment, Mildred groaned and lifted her head groggily. The bridge of her nose was bright red and swollen. She swayed unsteadily, eyes fluttering shut and open.
Blood trickled from her nostrils, dripping onto the white keys with a soft plop. Seeing it, Mildred fainted again and dropped her head onto the piano.
Almost immediately, a knock sounded at the door.
“Come in,” Carlyle answered shortly.
Harold entered, took in the scene at once, and instantly instructed the other servants outside to summon help. Moments later, the chef and footmen arrived.
Carlyle gave the order to the servants.
“Take the master to his room and summon the doctor.”
The bewildered servants each grabbed one of Walter and Mildred by the arm and escorted them out of the salon.
While the commotion unfolded, Mabel stood frozen, eyes rolling in bewilderment. Then it struck her: she and Carlyle were alone in the salon, without the servants.
Her heart stopped, then raced as if it would burst. Whether the emotion was fear or excitement, it flooded her veins with scorching heat.
Carlyle turned his gaze to her. Their eyes met. Mabel froze in place like a startled deer.
With her gaze fixed on her, he approached slowly, the cautious footsteps of a hunter closing in on a deer just before the arrow is loosed.
He stopped a step away from her. A half-melted ice crystal crunched beneath his shoe with a sharp crack.
Mabel startled and lifted her eyes to meet his. She searched his gaze for a trace of contempt or disgust.
But in his usual indifferent stare, she could detect no emotion at all.
“Unfortunately, I’ll have to postpone dinner tonight, Miss Darlington.”
Carlyle spoke in a light tone, as if discussing the weather.
Postpone, not cancel? Does he really intend to propose to me after seeing me like this?
As though he had read her thoughts, his eyes traveled slowly from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
Where his gaze brushed her, her skin prickled as if pierced by tiny thorns. The fine hairs on her nape stood on end.
“A new look…,”
He raised his eyes and met hers again. A faint smile curved his lips.
She quickly lowered her gaze.
No matter what he says, I must not be hurt. I’m fine. I’m really fine…
Clenching her teeth against the insults, she held her breath.
“It suits you.”
Carlyle murmured slowly.
Mabel’s shoulders jerked visibly. Had she misheard?
“W-what did you say…?”
He paused, then tilted his head toward her.
Mabel swallowed her startled gasp. It was not even a waltz, yet Carlyle’s face was far too close.
His nose stopped just before touching her cheek. The heavy scent of leather, cigar, and vetiver clung to him, an adult man’s aroma that lingered in the air.
The thoughts swirling in her mind vanished in an instant, and her heart rose to her throat.
Carlyle inhaled sharply, like savoring the scent. The moment that felt eternal passed, and he slowly stepped back.
At that exact instant, the corner of his mouth curved into a graceful smile.
Mabel stared in a daze as the scene unfolded. A spark of laughter flickered in his cold eyes for the briefest second.
She suddenly found it hard to breathe. Realizing she had been holding her breath, she turned her head and exhaled.
“Ah… I see now.”
Carlyle swept his gaze over her once more, then asked with amusement.
“Did you think that appearing in this form would allow you to avoid the engagement?”
Mabel bit her lip. Heat flooded her face.
Carlyle watched her reaction and burst into laughter. The deep sound reverberated, making his ears tingle.
“I thought you were grown up, but you’re still far from it.”
He chuckled, muttering under his breath.
The remark was more than rude; it was outright insulting. A gentleman would have ignored a lady’s lies and deceptions.
Mabel wanted to protest, but her tongue felt numb. No words came out.
Carlyle stared fixedly at her face, then withdrew a white pocket handkerchief from his breast pocket. His gaze lingered absurdly on the red lips she had drawn with the handkerchief.
He suddenly reached out and lifted her chin.
Mabel’s eyes widened to their absolute limit.
No man had ever touched her face in such a manner. And he had done it without seeking her permission.
While Mabel was lost in confusion, Carlyle pressed the handkerchief to her lips.
“Miss Darlington, it seems you still underestimate yourself.”
Her startled lips parted of their own accord.
He paused, then removed his eyes from the open mouth.
Their gazes met once more.
The strong fingers wrapped in cold silk brushed her lower lip with exquisite gentleness. The sensation sent a shiver through her fingertips.
While Carlyle wiped away the lipstick, Mabel stood transfixed, unable to utter even a sound.
At last, his fingers withdrew from her lips. She closed her mouth and swallowed the dryness in her throat.
What was this strange act?
It was like an adult gently wiping the corner of a child’s mouth. Yet she was twenty years old—she was no longer a child.
Carlyle, having returned the now-red, stained handkerchief to his breast pocket, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out something.
In his hand gleamed a brilliantly sparkling ring.
“Forgive me.”
In a manner that held no romance whatsoever, he raised her left hand.
Mabel cried out in shock.
“J-just a moment—!”
Carlyle forced the ring onto her finger without hesitation.