A Party at Some Mansion

A man who had been an orphan from birth. After drifting through the streets, he was adopted by a civil engineer and given a second life.

Revered as a living example of success earned through the adversity of a wretched existence, that architect's name was Guesto Vincent.

Traces of Guesto could be found in Lange as well.

The Azaria estate on the outskirts of Lange was one such trace. Azaria was a two-story building Guesto had designed before he rose to fame, named after a friend of his.

True to Guesto's signature style, distinctive half-circles and curves dominated its form. If the Gœstlik Mansion—his masterpiece—was the pinnacle created at his peak, then this Azaria was the beginning, built with empty hands.

The villa's current owner belonged to the Thomas family.

Azaria was lit up as bright as day, and the party atmosphere was thick from the garden onward.

On the open-air terrace outside, a harpsichordist and a small string ensemble laid down a quiet, elegant backdrop of galant-style music.

The scents of liquor and savory meat mingled naturally. Young men seated around the outdoor tables played cards with cigars clenched between their teeth, or spoke with passionate eyes about artistic theory or the politics of the day.

Most of them were children of Lange's local elite, scions of wealthy families, or people possessed of some singular talent that drew everyone's admiration.

"...Dolores Artois?"

"What brings Artois here?"

"Xavier Bransen! Our gentleman has returned!"

"When did you get back? Why did you two arrive together? Claudia, even without that, I'd been hearing about you..."

Dolores traded greetings one by one with old acquaintances who came forward to embrace her. Countless voices tangled together like the off-key squawk of an oboe straining against a chord it couldn't reach.

"How have you been?"

"Same as ever, I suppose."

On the whole, they welcomed Dolores warmly, out of a genuine, undiluted curiosity about someone they hadn't seen in so long.

A few did stare openly at the leg she leaned on with her cane—rare, but it happened.

"That ivory detail is stunning. Is it meant to herald the fashion of the year?"

"Better than falling behind the times."

Dolores dredged up a familiar memory and fired back with practiced ease.

The moment the front doors opened, a corridor crammed with young people came into view. Most were drunk or laughing, but two people standing at the foot of the stairs were arguing in raised voices.

Dorian, who had been moving through the crowd with them, spotted his drunken escort and begged their leave.

"I should go."

Dorian's escort was a woman clutching the banister for support, swaying on her feet, her brown hair in disarray.

It was hardly a pretty sight. It seemed to have happened while Dorian was briefly away asking to borrow a carriage, and Dolores knew her.

It was the haughty Jeanne-Marie—the woman who had turned Dorian down time and time again. Dolores hid her surprise behind a fresh expression and spoke.

"Jeanne-Marie is your escort?"

"That's how it worked out."

Claudia pushed Dorian along with a teasing laugh, as if mocking Dolores for being so far behind on the latest news.

"Tonight might as well be your stage, so go enjoy yourself with your date."

At Claudia's exaggerated encouragement, Dorian chuckled and kissed their cheeks in farewell.

"Good to see you again after so long, Dolores."

"Have a good night."

"See you around."

Then he clapped hands lightly with Xavier by way of greeting and hurried off after Jeanne-Marie. Dolores, watching him go, asked:

"I gather Jeanne-Marie finally caved, but why is it Dorian's stage we're talking about?"

"Ah, you don't read L'Esquisse anymore, do you? Dorian landed a real break this time. Word is he got the role of the prince in Golden Overture. Second lead, but apparently it's a substantial part—a great role."

Golden Overture—Dolores remembered seeing it in the papers some months back.

It had been heavily promoted, but the playwright's name was one she'd never heard of, which was why she remembered it at all. Something about it being already quite popular as a play in Brams and Triabeul—had that been what it said?

Dorian had apparently moved from the countryside and scraped by snatching up whatever roles he could, and now he was doing quite well for himself. Half of her felt glad for him; half felt a strange, wistful unease.

"So he made it after all."

"The awkward kid can actually carry an aria now. I'm leaving next week, so I won't catch the performance, but I'm sure he'll be great. Dolores, you should go see it."

"Where's it showing?"

"Saint-Germain."

Xavier cut in from two steps ahead. When Dolores, caught off guard, looked up at him, a thin smile spread across his lips. It felt like a probe.

"I'll think about it."

Claudia was not the sort to miss the sudden chill in Dolores's manner.

Watching Dolores stride ahead of them, Claudia shook her head.

The deeper they went inside, the louder the music grew. The genre had changed too. The parlor, which its décor suggested had once been quite refined, was already in ruins.

Xavier asked, as if it were nothing at all.

"So. Still bitter about it?"

Dolores, reaching for a drink laid out on the long table, cut him a withering glance mid-motion. Claudia burst out laughing, tickled.

"Dolores, I'd love to take your side, but I'm staying out of this one. You came out because of it, after all."

"So you permit any means to get what you need, and when the truth runs short, you lean on sentiment instead. How very flexible of you both."

"I am more flexible than you. Always have been."

"That's not something you get to wave off with wordplay. Education is—"

"There it is—that insufferable nobility cadence again. You think two years of study abroad turned Xavier Bransen into a different person?"

Just for this moment, Dolores found even Claudia insufferable. But it wasn't Claudia's place to be—because the culprit was Xavier, who showed not the slightest trace of guilt.

The reason Dolores had dared to sneak out tonight without her father knowing was, in the end, Claudia's fault. There was no way she could pretend not to have heard what Xavier said about Claudia leaving tomorrow morning.

'I'm leaving tomorrow morning?' Says who?

She'd been fooled again. She knew exactly how easily Xavier led people into misunderstandings. No—this time it had been an outright lie.

'I assumed it was true. Wasn't it?'

Xavier, who had been standing at an angle with his back half-turned, slid in with a sly grin.

"I can hear you, Clodie."

"You're meant to. You're already hard enough to look at these days—did you really have to lie on top of it?"

"It was an improvised ad-lib."

"...An ordinary apology won't cut it with you. This is why Dolores can't stand you."

Her leg throbbed. She was trying to keep quiet, so why did everyone around her insist on provoking her?

"While you were away studying, whenever your name came up, she would—"

"Claudia, enough. You're no better."

When Dolores cut the conversation clean off, even Claudia visibly startled this time. Xavier studied Dolores for a few seconds, then answered lightly.

"It's all love and affection, isn't it?"

Dolores hated that kind of flippancy.

Claudia, sensing that Dolores was genuinely fed up, changed the subject of her own accord. She was never one to drag a heavy matter out.

"Xavier, go make yourself scarce for a bit. Dolores, everyone here is thrilled to see you anyway, aren't they? Isn't that enough?"

Xavier laughed under his breath and walked off toward other friends who were calling out to him. Only after he had gone did Dolores let her expression soften naturally.

They made their rounds greeting friends gathered here and there. Unlike Dolores, who had grown distant from most of them over the years, Claudia remained as popular as ever.

That fact worked in Dolores's favor—and at the same time, it meant she couldn't have Claudia all to herself.

"Claudia, over here! I heard you're getting married soon."

"Elodie!"

"A middling lawyer, of all things? How on earth do you pick your men?"

"It's all love, my dear."

"Spare me. Come over here, I have someone to introduce you to."

"Right now?"

"This instant. It'll only take a moment."

That was the trouble with being popular. When Claudia declined the glittering knot of women who wanted her to join them, she turned to Xavier with a regretful face.

She hadn't given up her guardian's posture—the refusal to ever leave Dolores alone.

"I'll just pop over there and be back. Xavier! Keep an eye on Dolores!"

By then, Xavier had been joking around with a mixed group of men and women a little ways off.

She'd scowled at him to make it clear he needn't bother, but it had no effect. Just as annoying was Xavier, who came anyway when called.

Having excused himself from the group, Xavier approached Dolores, cast a casual glance around them, then took her by the wrist and drew her away.

"Over here."

"That's enough. You're hardly my guardians—why all this fuss? The things you choose to get worked up over..."

"What would you like to drink? Wine? Brandy? Scotch?"

Dolores tried to shake free, but Xavier paid her no mind at all.

"I'm not drinking."

"Then something else, then."