Part 2. I'll Call Your Name (5/7)
Mirva held the invitation Diana had handed her, her mouth hanging open. At present, in Diana's absence, she reigned over the household as its queen, just as she always did.
And yet, staring down at what Diana had offered, she could not keep her hands from trembling. The Countess of Senne was hosting a tea party, and Diana had been invited. The Countess of Senne — famed, was she not, as one of the Queen's closest confidantes?
"Why give me this?"
"They said I could invite you too, Mirva. They said it would be quite all right."
"What?!" The words burst out of her. Diana only smiled.
"I need your help, Mirva."
...
"It's a gathering of noble ladies whom Her Majesty the Queen holds dear. How am I to walk into a place like that alone?"
...
"If a lady-in-waiting accompanies me, they'll understand. You know how it is — I'm still far too young. I haven't even made my debut yet, and the palace is no different from high society in that regard. Someone who has already debuted ought to help me. Someone like you."
High society.
At those words, Mirva's eyes lit up. Once before, a chance to enter the royal palace had come her way, and she had lost it. She had scraped into a debut as a girl, but social life had never once opened its doors to her. No one invited the daughter of a fallen house.
It was no different now. Fallen as she was, who would dream of inviting the Duke's mistress, fit for nothing better than managing his estate?
An invitation. A tea party — an invitation. Mirva's heart began to race. What if the tea party went well? What if she grew close to the noble ladies?
Diana smiled, guileless as ever. Mirva felt she could have kissed the girl — she almost regretted, now, having starved her for days in a fit of anger.
"You'll... help me?"
When Diana asked, Mirva — who had very nearly nodded on the spot — forced herself to feign deliberation before answering.
"Of course, my lady. I shall gladly help with that much."
Oh — what on earth was she to wear?! Mirva's heart was already fluttering. She briefly considered reporting the matter to the Duke, then decided against it.
The Duke was skeptical of her social ambitions. What if he forbade her to go?
To her, a noblewoman of the lowliest rank, the tea party was a stepping-stone into high society. A fallen aristocrat, all but a commoner — how she had yearned for the world of the high nobility.
And so, clutching her trembling heart, she threw herself into preparing for the tea party from that very day. Heaven only knew how many gowns she bought!
Stepping down from the carriage, Mirva walked with all the dignity of a woman who truly believed herself a duchess. To Diana, she looked rather like a creaking doll, but Diana paid it no mind.
Mirva had steeled herself for the worst. They might humiliate her as a group. A noble's mistress presuming to show her face at such a gathering — surely someone would give her the cut. That was simply how high society worked.
And then Diana took her hand. Vexingly, Diana did not look nervous even once. Still — that she reached for her hand anyway, Mirva found herself, a little, grateful for.
The moment Mirva stepped into the tearoom, every gaze fixed upon her. Just as her nerves crested, the ladies broke into wide smiles.
"Welcome, Lady Diana! Welcome, Lady Linus."
For an instant, Mirva's throat tightened. Lady Linus. The name of her lost family, rising again here of all places. She forced down her tears and took her seat.
It seemed the covert warfare of high society simply did not exist in this room. Seated in that unfamiliar place, Mirva did her best to join the conversation. Most of the ladies addressed Diana, but now and again someone spoke to Mirva too.
She was not cast out; by the end she was familiar enough with several of them to have exchanged names.
"I do hope we meet again, Lady Linus."
The high society she had craved was as sweet as spun sugar and glittered as brilliantly as diamond.
She had been received into this world, not spurned. Strangely so. Mirva turned the miraculous party over in her mind, again and again.
Ah — I want to be one of them.
Her desire caught fire.
"Sis, why won't you play with me anymore?"
At Alexa's words, Diana turned. Alexa was scowling, plainly furious. Diana had been careful, in her own way, to make sure Mirva never slighted her.
Alexa was in good health now — and left alone in the mansion.
"Alexa."
"Emil is busy every single day, and you go off to the palace to tend to the Princess. I'm so bored."
...
"Do you hate me? Am I not as good as Her Highness the Princess?"
At that, Diana's face crumpled. In her past life, it had been Diana who cared for Alexa. Looking at the girl who had come back from death, she had tried to count even this as good fortune.
Breathing. Being alive. She had thought it a miracle. And yet she felt wretchedly guilty for treating Alexa as an obstacle.
"Of course not. You're precious to me."
"Then don't go to the palace. I'm lonely. Let's play together. Okay?"
Alexa seized Diana's collar. Diana knew exactly what feeling drove that grip, and so she could not bring herself to shake her off.
"If you love me, why won't you stay with me? Liar."
"Alexa."
"Don't go. I said don't go."
When Alexa threw a tantrum, there was no stopping halfway. She wailed at the top of her voice.
"Alexa, I'm sorry."
Diana reached out to soothe her, and Alexa shoved her away.
"I don't need a sister like you!"
...
"I hate you all — I hate you!"
As Alexa raged, Diana sighed. Just then, footsteps sounded in the hall.
"My lady."
Diana turned toward the voice and found Giscard standing there, watching the weeping Alexa. It struck her that it had been quite some time since she had last seen him.
So even the grudges and nightmares of a past life are useless before the present. Embarrassed at having laid her sorry reality so bare, Diana turned her head away.
"I hate you too!"
Alexa snatched up the vase by the wall and hurled it at Giscard. Before she knew what she was doing, Diana flung herself into its path.
Thankfully, the vase struck her body and did not shatter. The trouble was the water inside it, which soaked Diana through.
"Oh, wonderful."
Diana squeezed her eyes shut. She had stepped in on pure instinct to shield Giscard, and in the tangle of it the vase had caught her instead. Alexa's strength was nothing like a grown man's, but she had thrown with everything she had; the vase rebounded off Diana's body and cracked against her head, and it ached more than a little.
"S-Sis..."
Diana knew exactly what she looked like: a drowned rat. A wave of scalding shame broke over her. It was not because Giscard was a slave. It was simply that he — that man — had seen her reduced to this, and she could not bear it.
Diana wrestled down the emotions threatening to spill over and clenched her teeth.
"You grow more ill-mannered by the day. Where did you learn to take your anger out on other people whenever things don't go your way? I have always told you never to do that."
...
"Mother never taught you such a thing. Neither did I."
"Sis... I..."
Tears welled in Alexa's eyes. But Diana only looked back at her, her face frozen cold — and at that unyielding expression, defiance crept slowly up Alexa's own.
"You hit Mirva too, didn't you!"
Diana's eyes flew wide. Right — to Alexa, it would all look the same. And Diana did not think she had handled that well, either.
"That's fair. I have nothing to say in my own defense on that point."
...
"I thought you were a child who knew how to apologize. I'm disappointed."
"But..."
Diana turned and went into her room. Inside, she took stock of herself. Everything she wore would have to be changed, and her hair redone besides. She forced herself to breathe.
Then, from behind her, someone held out a towel. Diana startled and looked back — Giscard was standing there.
"Dry yourself."
...
Diana lowered her head. Mortifying. Humiliating. She could not lift her face. She hated that he had seen her looking so abject.
"Thank you."
She dried her dripping hair with it, Giscard watching in silence.
"You took a blow to the head."
"It's all right. Nothing but a bump."
Diana reached up and touched her forehead. Sure enough, a lump had risen there.
"Might I ask you one thing, my lady?"
...
"Why did you throw yourself in front of me?"
Because I could not bear for Alexa to wrong you. She holds no true grievance against you, and I refuse to die this life with a fresh sin on my hands. Because I meant to protect Alexa.
Those were the words Diana wanted to say.
Giscard had done nothing wrong, and yet, inexplicably, she wanted to rage at him. If she vented her temper here, it would be nothing but venting — no different from what Alexa had tried to do. Choking down feelings she could not name, Diana said in a hollow voice:
"If you feel grateful to me — or sorry — then look after Alexa for me."
...
"I can't watch over her right now."
She felt her mind being pressed in from every side. An adult, indisputably — and yet she was on the verge of turning back into a child. Part of her wanted to lean on someone and weep until there was nothing left. But not here. Not in front of Giscard.
The two of them were bound by an ill fate; they could never be comrades. They would not remain husband and wife. They would not remain lovers. Master and slave, least of all.
Do not bare too much of your heart to Giscard. Diana slid the bolt shut on her feelings.
Giscard's gaze came to rest on Diana — and then fell away.
When Diana arrived at the palace, she was told that Ionia had gone out with Ferdinand. Never meeting Ferdinand was the condition of her serving as lady-in-waiting, so Diana had to leave at once.
She had missed the messenger entirely. She should simply have stayed home and kept playing with Alexa — so this was how things went when nothing would go her way. She sighed.
And yet she did not want to go home. For some reason, the house filled her with dread. Left with no alternative, Diana wandered the palace without destination.
What would her father say, she wondered, if he saw her like this on one of his own visits to court? Diana thought of him. There had been a time when seeing him again had brought her happiness — but he was not that man now. He was not a shoulder to pour her troubles onto.
"What are you doing?"
Diana flinched at the voice that came out of nowhere. It was Philip. Dazzling golden hair caught her eye, and as she went blank at his sudden appearance, Philip smiled with artless innocence.
"I greet Your Highness the Prince."
...
"What brings you here?"
"I practically live here, you know."
Studying her face, Philip asked, carefully:
"Is something the matter?"
...
"You don't look well."
She was not a child who would spill everything at such a prompt. Diana gave a faint smile.
"It's nothing."
"Aw, come now. Your face looked ready to burst into tears if anyone so much as poked it?"
...
"Why else do you think I came all this way?"
And as he looked at her, there was nothing of irksome curiosity in his gaze — only a small, quiet worry. A strange one, this boy. Philip had always had something odd about him.
"It's just... my little sister was angry with me."
Silence would have been too stiff. At her words, Philip nodded as though it all made perfect sense.
"You've been looking after your little sister, so the youngest princess grew jealous, I expect."
"How could you possibly know that?"
"One look, and you know. Besides, you have a bump on your forehead."
"Ah..."
Just perfect. Diana raised a hand to the lump. The dull throb stirred a flicker of irritation — and then Philip reached out and gently stroked it.
"You must have such a hard time of it."
...
"Everyone knows His Grace the Duke is a busy man, and his heir will be run off his feet right along with him."
...
"You had to grow up fast, too. That's simply how it was, no?"
"Well, that's—"
"Standing alone, after losing the one guardian who loved you most. It's harder than people think. Right?"
Prince Philip smiled at her, and in the bitter afterglow of that smile Diana glimpsed his loneliness.
He, too, had lost his mother. She had died of illness when he was still a child, and he had been left all alone. Seeing her expression, Philip smiled awkwardly.
"What's that look for? None of that — don't you pity me. Unlike you, the only thing I have to answer for is my own life."
...
"You, though — you seem to have a great deal to answer for. A young lady your age ought to be carrying on like Ionia, all scatterbrained silliness. The fact that you aren't even crying now is proof enough of that."
Philip hesitated, wondering what to do, then rummaged in his pocket and pressed something into her hand.
"Here. Candy."
Looking down at the round sweet in its glittering wrapper, Diana gave a hollow little laugh.
...
"Do I look like a child to you?"
"By age, you are one."
...
"Then be a child properly — eat something sweet and cheer up."
As if he weren't every bit the child himself. And yet his thoughtfulness touched her. Two precarious children, alike robbed of the absolute shelter of parents.
Perhaps that was why Philip, here and now, seemed more grown-up than Ferdinand, who had never matured no matter how the years passed. They were the same age, and Philip was far better company. And Philip was a year older than Emil, wasn't he?
Watching him seem more the elder brother than her own elder brother, a warm smile slipped from Diana.
The gleaming candy looked for all the world like a jewel.
It was strange — she, a woman well past twenty, being comforted by this boy. She had thought this day an unlucky one. But if a single candy could put a smile on her face, then perhaps her black mood had been a frail thing after all.
"Thank you."
...
"Lately I hear from my father that the times are troubled. If you can add to your escort of knights, Your Highness, you should."
Philip tilted his head at that. It was the only thing she had to offer him.
Mirva went on changing gowns. The Countess of Chante had promised to introduce her to the Duchess of Poliana. A duchess! The very seat she had coveted above all else. What manner of woman would occupy such a place?
Once admitted into society, Mirva had fawned over the noble ladies without pause. Even so, the harvest was poor. Of every ten letters she sent, she was lucky if one earned her a meeting. A few ladies would receive her — but only because she plied them with bribes.
It did not matter. What mattered was steady commerce with the noblewomen. Connections that were hers alone — borrowed from neither Diana nor the Duke!
"Um... my lady."
"What is it?"
Mirva's trusted servant drew near.
"The Esillac Trading Company is pressing for repayment of the balance."
"What?"
Serving in the Duke's house did not mean her wages stretched to buying dresses without restraint. And with all the gifts she had purchased for the noble ladies, her purse had been emptied to the last coin.
She had burned through a full year's wages, and through the household budget besides — and apparently even that had not been enough.
She bit her lip in mounting panic. Then her eyes flew wide open.
"Ah!"
Her face brightened.
"There's our young lady's jewel box, isn't there!"
The jewel box the late Duchess had left to Diana! Any single piece inside it would settle the debt with plenty to spare. Mirva beamed.
Diana gazed quietly at the candy. It glittered atop a pretty little dish, throwing off light. She did not eat it; she set it gently on the side table instead. Merely looking at it was somehow a comfort.
Her heart warmed at the small kindnesses she had received in this place.
A soft rustle.
Startled by the sound of someone near, Diana spun around — Giscard stood there. He had apparently been in the room since before her. He was staring at her, unblinking, his face rigid. Strangely, he seemed almost shaken.
"What is it?"
To her question, Giscard made no reply, only going on staring at her face. An awkward silence stretched between them — a silence Diana could not begin to fathom. Just as she opened her mouth, he spoke.
"I came to speak with you about Lady Alexa."
...
"You owe me nothing now, my lady. You even apologized to me."
...
"As you commanded, I did look after Lady Alexa — though I fear it went poorly. I am sorry."
When Diana nodded, he added:
"I simply wished to tell you that."
Was it comfort? Or proof that he was a loyal slave? Diana could not tell.
"Thank you. You worked hard to follow my orders."
...
"Thanks to you, I can go to the palace with an easy mind."
As she smiled, Giscard's rigid face relaxed, if only for an instant. Why is that? She was still wondering when he spoke.
"My lady — how, then, do you mean to drive that woman out? Will you ask Her Highness the Princess to cast her out for you?"
At that, Diana's eyes went round — and then she laughed.
"Goodness, no. How could the one entrusted as mother of this nation meddle in the affairs of a minor house? However exalted the blood, even royalty may not intrude upon a family's private matters."
"Then why are you being so—"
"Giscard. I can't tell you everything."
In her past life, she and Giscard had never been close enough for such words. A relationship of one-sided grace. A relationship of one-sided loathing.
And yet now, somehow, it felt different. She answered with disarming candor.
"Just watch, and you'll see."
"...So there is nothing for me to do?"
"For now, probably nothing."
Giscard nodded. Somehow, Diana thought he looked rather sulky about it.
"Giscard. Mirva will set down the power she has gathered all on her own."
That was why Diana added those words. The quiet groundwork of binding the head maid and her underlings to her side was nearly finished. Every seed had been sown; all that remained was to wait in calm patience for the fruit to ripen.