chapter 43
“No, I’m telling you, this is about engagement. Engagement. How to dismiss the possibility, the doubt, Filena.”
“…I see.”
“Whistler might contact you. When that happens, don’t say it the way you just did—”
Herace narrowed his eyes and shook his head. His gaze drifted off into the distance before landing on me.
“No. It doesn’t matter anymore. If you want, you can speak honestly.”
Herace smoothed my hair that the wind had tousled. He gave a faint smile, reluctant to leave, and gestured with his chin toward the bushes surrounding the pond.
“Clara wants you to come out.”
As Herace said, Clara bounced in place behind the tall bushes. Her desperate gestures suggested something was wrong.
“Duke! Excuse me, I’m sorry, but this way!”
“I’ll be going now.”
Herace pressed the hat he was holding firmly onto his head. Then, in an instant, he disappeared in the direction Clara had indicated.
Clara, who came running in a hurry, skipped formal greetings and began frantically clearing the table. She threw one of the two teacups and quickly tucked the utensils into the folds of her skirt.
“Cla—”
“Milady!”
“You can see me already; there’s no need to raise your voice.”
“You can’t just stand there! Right now, the Gas family, that is, the procession of the Honored One and the Saint, is arriving!”
“The procession of the Honored One and the Saint isn’t important to me.”
What mattered was analyzing every single word Herace had just said. I needed to win the next debate and persuade him.
Yes.
I, Filena, was not intimidated at all. I had no intention of giving up on marrying Herace.
Debates required thorough preparation, but I had inadvertently skipped that step. Since the outcome was predictable, I believed I could turn this mistake into a learning opportunity and succeed.
“Milady! Isn’t it important? The family of the Honored One and the Saint’s procession is coming to our estate right now!”
“…Huh?”
I blinked in awkward surprise, frowning as I tried to comprehend the situation.
The procession of the family that guards the Saint—the “Honored One.” A ceremony performed after the Day of Prophecy, sometimes called the Walk of Blessings.
‘Why are they coming here?’
The Saint was an almost unreachable, exalted being. The people she blessed were politically selective.
Normally, Mille would have to visit the noble patrons who continuously supported the temple. Saying a line of blessing in front of their mansion was a way of showing gratitude.
Of course, someone like me, who wasn’t high on the patron list, would be thoroughly excluded.
“Milady! Since esteemed guests are coming, perhaps you should tidy your hair and dress a little—”
Clara’s hands quickly adjusted my hair. My fingers, hovering awkwardly in midair, pointed directly at her.
My thoughts were falling into order.
“Clara, it seems like the one who needs to be dressed up right now isn’t me, but you.”
“Huh? Oh, milady, really… I’m just a simple maid. The one meeting them is you—not me!”
Clara’s face went pale, and she suddenly raised her voice. Her tone cracked, shifting into something like Munch’s scream. I nodded in understanding.
At that moment, the most suspicious person was neither me nor the table, but Clara in disguise.
As Clara tried to flee, we locked eyes with the butler and Whistler who were guiding the way inside.
“Milady, you were in the garden with Clara—”
The butler froze like he had seen a ghost. Clara quickly bowed her head, but it was already too late; everything had been seen.
Whistler stepped forward and let out a deep, low cough.
“Lady Light, how did Clara end up like this? I am quite concerned.”
“Ah, well, you see…”
I curled my stiff fingers inward and swallowed my quickening breath, speaking calmly.
“She was playing in the mud.”
“Did you say Clara was playing in the mud?”
“Yes. She’s a child with strong curiosity and creativity. She was playing to understand the world of childhood.”
Ah. Usually, playing pretend was done with multiple children, but my clothes were still clean, unlike Clara’s. To avoid suspicion, I firmly added:
“Alone, without me. Clara was in charge of nature, by the way.”
“I see. Alone, without you. She expressed nature herself, then.”
An awkward silence fell. But no one asked any further questions. Mille simply turned her face away.
I must have handled it perfectly.
A sudden downpour forced the butler to apologize and guide us inside. Clara quickly disappeared, trying not to draw attention.
Mille, Whistler, and I arrived in the sitting room. Mille tried to protest, but the butler excused himself, saying he needed to prepare refreshments.
Mille sat on the opposite sofa, Whistler naturally standing behind her. Even as she fumbled awkwardly, he maintained a warm smile and spoke:
“Saint, in public, the Honored One should accompany you but should not be placed on the same level. You’ll need to get used to this so that not just I, but other nobles, can be comfortable.”
“Of course. But, I’m not used to it… my apologies.”
Whistler comforted Mille like a child, and she seemed to follow his advice completely. Glancing at me, he bent slightly and whispered kindly to Mille:
“Apologies? That’s unnecessary. Mistakes are expected in a position you are new to. You don’t need to worry; I’m here.”
Mille tilted her head at Whistler, and he returned her gaze with no discomfort between them.
There was no discomfort, but there was a sense of incongruity. And there was unease.
I didn’t want to leave them together for too long. Or maybe I didn’t want to acknowledge their relationship at all.
‘It’ll be different if Herace and I get married.’
If we married and even had a child, not even Mille and Whistler could overcome the influence and solidity of our love story.
“The lemon tea is ready. You were caught in the rain earlier; are you alright? If needed, I can bring a blanket.”
The butler entered, apologizing while setting the table. Whistler’s gaze slowly met mine.
Since he was here as Mille’s Honored One, his glance didn’t linger. Still, he clearly looked at me, fidgeting his fingers in an unusual way.
Pointing at himself with his oddly-shaped fingers, Whistler smirked. That slightly diminished the remaining visual pleasure.
‘Is he trying to annoy me on purpose?’
I sipped the lemon tea and scanned Mille. To forgive the previous rudeness and show kindness, I decided to speak broadly.
“It seems the Marquess of Gas is experiencing a hand cramp. Bananas help with muscle cramps, so you might find it useful.”
“Wha—C-cramp?”
Mille was startled, looking at Whistler. His lips slowly parted, stretching out lazily.
“No, it seems you misunderstood; he was stretching his hand because it was stiff. There’s no need to worry, Saint.”
“Really? Truly?”
“Yes. And, Saint,”
Whistler leaned toward Mille and tapped his lips. Mille’s eyes widened as if it was some signal.
She moved her closed lips and turned her body toward me. Her awkwardly lowered voice carried across the room.
“I am the 35th Saint, Mille Shining. It is an honor to meet Lady Light.”
