“It is already a settled matter, Baroness Tanesia. His Majesty the Emperor will be attending my wedding.”
“Good heavens! So the rumors were true?”
Isabel’s complexion turned pale in an instant.
Yellodia was saying that the Emperor himself was presiding over the wedding. It was not something a mere baroness could interfere in, nor should she.
“Just what is lacking in you that you must suffer such humiliation? Did I not cherish you since childhood like a bead that would shatter if dropped, frail as you were?”
Isabel pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her tears, looking utterly grief-stricken. Though she might have been inwardly rejoicing.
The countess’s figure, burying her face in her handkerchief, appeared very noble and forlorn.
Yellodia counted to five inwardly before she opened her mouth.
“I am fine, so please do not worry.”
“How can you say you are fine! I heard that man once had a fiancée. How wretched a man must be for his fiancée to be unable to bear him and break off the engagement!”
Yellodia’s eyes widened into circles, but she soon nodded inwardly in agreement.
Though it was a fact she had completely forgotten, she vaguely recalled hearing such a story from Kias.
‘A broken engagement. Could there have been a problem with his fiancée?’
Recalling the man’s consistently calm and composed demeanor, Yellodia blinked.
A faint, stinging sensation rose in her chest, but it soon disappeared as if it had never been there from the start.
“This won’t do. I shall go to Brother even now and—”
“Father has already left the mansion.”
“Already?”
“His Majesty the Emperor summoned him. I believe he will not return until late evening.”
“Oh dear... Brother truly knows nothing but His Majesty the Emperor.”
In a flash, longing and jealousy flickered across Isabel’s eyes.
Though she was a distant relative, to her, a mere baroness, Count Savier was a core figure of the empire’s nobility whom she dared not oppose.
And Yellodia, Count Savier’s sole daughter, was a figure who monopolized the affection and attention of the Emperor, not to mention high society.
To hear that such a Yellodia was marrying a soldier who had received a barony must have been immensely gratifying, as if her heart would burst. One could tell by how she had rushed over first thing in the morning.
“To think you must marry such an uncouth, boorish man. You would have been better off accepting Theodore’s proposal.”
Clara, who had maintained an aloof silence until now, spoke.
Theodore Kessley was Isabel’s biological nephew.
Recalling Theodore, who was as greedy and ambitious as Isabel, Yellodia felt a sudden surge of anger.
“Jeppelin.”
“You called for me.”
At Yellodia’s call, the butler approached as if he had been waiting and bowed his head.
Yellodia opened her mouth in a cool voice.
“My head aches somewhat. I must go rest in my bedroom. Will you see Baroness Tanesia and the baron’s young lady out in my stead?”
“Yes, my lady. I shall see them out myself.”
The butler answered politely but firmly.
Jeppelin disliked Isabel’s behavior—using her status as a distant relative of Count Savier to meddle in every matter of the masterless mansion—as much as Yellodia did.
“I apologize for not being able to see you out myself.”
At Yellodia’s words, little different from an order to leave, Isabel’s face flushed red with embarrassment.
“Yellodia, what ails you?”
“Perhaps because I have had much on my mind, I have been feeling symptoms of a cold for several days now. I was worried I might pass it to the two of you.”
At Yellodia’s reply, Isabel could no longer persist.
The Emperor’s goddaughter and Count Savier’s esteemed daughter had been unusually frail since childhood, so much so that the Count’s worry was no small matter.
Should she fall ill with a fever after Isabel’s visit, she would clearly incur great displeasure from the Count’s household.
Isabel spoke with a deliberately worried air and rose from her seat.
“Hurry and rest. I have troubled one who is already undergoing much heartache.”
“Please take care on your way back. I wish you a pleasant day.”
“Then let us meet again.”
Isabel and Clara left the drawing room slowly, their faces dripping with regret.
The moment the mother and daughter disappeared from sight, Yellodia sprang up from her seat and headed in the opposite direction.
Not wanting to even recall the look of base satisfaction that would spread across Isabel’s face, Yellodia quickened her steps.
When she opened the terrace door, a refreshing breeze brushed her forehead, and the sight of a garden full of geraniums in full bloom came into view.
Yellodia drew a deep breath into her chest.
‘The Baron cannot even be compared to the likes of Theodore.’
She had nearly grabbed Clara and shouted exactly that.
For some reason, she found herself infinitely childish and immature.
At the same time, she felt the desire to see Edward’s calm smile.
“My lady, where would you like to have lunch?”
It was Martha. Yellodia answered without turning to look at her.
“I would like to eat on the second-floor terrace.”
“Yes, I shall prepare it.”
Yellodia glanced at Martha, who was turning away obediently, and asked.
“Wasn’t the tailor coming today?”
“Lady Sona? Hmm... She was to come at two in the afternoon.”
“Contact the atelier. Tell them I shall visit personally.”
“Yes. I shall do so.”
“And...”
Yellodia hesitated for a moment, then approached the shelf and picked up a card held in place by a blue glass paperweight.
Yellodia held it out to Martha and spoke.
“Would you deliver this card to Baron Adrian?”
“...Yes. I shall do so.”
Martha carefully accepted the card Yellodia handed her.
Instead of turning away immediately, Martha gazed at Yellodia with worry.
“Will you not be scolded by the Count?”
“As long as you are quiet, no one will know.”
“I shall handle it as quietly as possible.”
Martha answered promptly. Having cared for Yellodia since childhood, Martha saw through her young mistress’s innermost thoughts completely.
Soon, the two smiled as if sharing a secret.
* * *
Baihern, entering the office, held an old-fashioned card in his hand.
The white card, engraved with a pattern of tiny hawthorn blossoms, was sealed with red wax.
As if it emitted a fragrant scent, Baihern sniffed at the card several times, pressing his nose to it.
Edward could not help but point out his aide’s fussy behavior.
“What is that?”
“It is a card for the Vice Admiral, sir.”
Baihern politely held the card out to Edward.
“For me? From whom?”
“A messenger from Count Savier’s estate just came by.”
At Baihern’s reply, Edward hurriedly found a letter opener and opened the sealed card. A faint floral fragrance wafted from within the card.
Edward’s eyebrows rose at a slant as he slowly checked the card’s contents.
“...”
As Edward stared intently at the card as if reading it again, Baihern asked.
“Is it an urgent matter?”
“Ah... No.”
Edward made a troubled expression, then with a sigh, slipped the card between the pages of a thick tactical manual.
Baihern watched it with curious eyes, then asked with a subtle smile.
“Has a love letter arrived, by any chance?”
“Do not speak nonsense, Aide.”
“If it is not a love letter, why do you keep the card so preciously? Usually, you burn them immediately after reading or toss them into the trash bin.”
“Mind your own business and bring me a properly written report.”
Edward picked up his dress uniform jacket and rose from his seat.
At his superior’s somewhat flustered appearance, a sly smile tugged at Baihern’s lips.
“Shall I prepare some flowers?”
“Please! Watch your tongue. I shall step out for a moment, so if I have not returned by closing time, you may leave on your own.”
“I think you ought to fix your hair; I have a subordinate soldier who is quite skilled in that regard. Shall I bring him?”
“One day, you will suffer greatly because of that mouth of yours.”
Edward offered this advice as if making a prophecy, then flung the door open and disappeared.
Baihern rubbed the back of his head blankly, then smirked.
It was strange and even fascinating to see Edward—usually so calm and composed—so flustered.
The aide had served the stone-faced Edward for a full five years. During that long time, Edward had never so much as glanced at a woman, let alone slipped a fragrant card between the pages of a book.
‘A woman, of all things. And here I thought he was practically married to his tactical manuals.’
Baihern was endlessly proud to serve a superior who was calm beyond his years and lenient with his subordinates, yet there were moments when he felt regret.
Such moments mostly came when his superior acted like a man who knew nothing of life’s pleasures.
He was no saint, yet he was so rigid and suffocatingly dull that Baihern had often wanted to nag him to try courting like everyone else.
“My mistress has appeared.”
Baihern wanted to share this pleasant memory with his comrades as soon as possible, and he began to devote himself wholeheartedly to writing his report.