Chapter 4
Creak.
Carlisle turned his head at the strange sound, pricking up his ears. Into his field of vision came a woman with red hair, covering her mouth with both hands.
He had met all the villa's servants during dinner that evening. Since he was staying the night without any payment, he had asked the butler to convey his gratitude to them. It had only been a few hours ago, so he remembered them vaguely. Yet among them, there had been no woman with red hair.
Of course, there was no guarantee that woman was a servant. Nor was she likely to be the owner of the villa. The butler had said while granting permission for the overnight stay that the owner was unwell and apologized for not being able to greet him personally. The red-haired woman showed no signs of illness. Her face wasn't pale; rather, her wide eyes and overall demeanor even seemed vibrant. Or perhaps she was simply surprised. Either way, he could be certain she was not the owner of this place.
The terrace door was wide open, and the moon was the largest and clearest it had been all year. Pure white light spilled into the terrace, illuminating the winter wind that scattered her red hair.
"Who are you?"
A low, deep voice blew toward Helen with the wind. Her dark green eyes trembled violently, and the voice she most longed to hear threw her heart into disarray.
She need only speak her name, yet she couldn't give that simple answer because to Carlisle, Helen—not Violet—was someone less than a passing acquaintance.
"I asked who you are."
Carlisle narrowed his brow when the woman failed to answer his question. He asked again, but the result was the same. He should have asked instead why she was covering her mouth with her hand.
Just as Carlisle resolved to approach her, Helen slowly removed her hand from her mouth and stepped forward.
Unlike during the day, the night when the blizzard had stopped presented a fantastical landscape thanks to the bright moon. Carlisle, with his back to that scenery, need hardly be mentioned.
Helen hoped that if everything before her eyes right now was a dream, she would rather wake quickly. The sooner she realized it was a dream, the sooner the futility would fade.
"I am Helen, the eldest daughter of Count Platini."
Helen smiled. Though she couldn't beam brightly, she did her best to appear amiable. Even if they were just passing ships in the night, perhaps someday he would remember her.
Carlisle, with his back to the golden-yellow moon, showed courtesy to the woman who had introduced herself as the owner of this place.
"Oh dear. I failed to recognize you and committed a discourtesy. Please forgive me."
He had never heard that Count Platini had a daughter with red hair. It seemed the Platini family had circumstances that could not be spoken of. Whatever their circumstances, it wasn't Carlisle's concern.
"Not at all. I knew Your Grace had arrived, yet failed to greet you first, so my discourtesy is greater."
She spoke and then realized her mistake. The butler had said during the day that the Platini lady staying at the villa was unwell. Yet here she was on the third floor in the dead of night, so Carlisle might doubt she was truly ill. Helen considered hacking out a cough and pretending to be in great pain. But her counterpart was Carlisle Everett. She was quite confident in the everyday acting she had learned from past experiences, yet she couldn't act at all in front of Carlisle. She only wanted to reveal her honest heart.
"I don't wish to disturb Your Grace's time, so I'll take my leave."
Even facing him for a brief moment was enough. Exchanging a word or two and hearing his voice was enough. But was it truly enough?
Helen gently lowered her head, shifting her gaze to the floor. There lay the shadow of the man she so painfully longed for.
Suddenly, a white veil seemed to cover her eyes and everything went dark. Why did it have to be today, the night of the full moon said to be the brightest of the month? Tears welled up rapidly and streamed down her cheeks, and Helen hastily covered her face with her red hair.
"Forgive... ah, no, I apologize... ha..."
Her breath hitched and she couldn't speak properly. This moment was establishing itself as the worst moment in Helen Platini's life. Since the tears wouldn't stop, she should rather keep her mouth shut. Because Carlisle might think a woman crying out of nowhere in the middle of the night was strange and flee. But contrary to her thoughts, Carlisle didn't run away and leave her crying with her face buried in red hair. Rather, he approached her and closed the distance.
"My Lady."
"..."
"Would you please lift your head for a moment?"
"..."
"Just a moment."
Unable to ignore the voice at her ear, Helen raised her head without moving the hair covering her face. Carlisle's figure was visible between her red locks.
Carlisle brushed Helen's red hair back over her shoulders with his hand. When he swept it aside, what he saw first were her reddened eyelids with tears pooled in them and the tear tracks left on her cheeks.
"May I ask why you were crying?"
"...Because it's beautiful."
I cried because your eyes were beautiful. Your eyes sparkling in the moonlight were so dazzlingly beautiful that I shed tears.
Then Carlisle chuckled and asked.
"Me?"
"...Of course not. I cried because the moon was beautiful."
Helen's eyes curved gently. At the same time, a tear fell with a soft plop. She thought she would surely be treated as a madwoman now, when suddenly a handkerchief entered her vision.
The black handkerchief, so much like this man, was all too familiar. Embroidered with white roses at each corner, it was something she—more precisely, when she was Violet—had given him for his birthday. As she had been gradually getting to know Carlisle, she had agonized over what to give him and eventually presented him with a handkerchief she had embroidered herself. She had worried the entire time she was stitching whether he would like it, and she had been so happy to hear it was his favorite among the birthday gifts.
Helen burst into tears again at the handkerchief Carlisle held out. To see it again, here and now.
"Stop crying and wipe your tears with this."
"But..."
Carlisle held a faint smile at his lips and personally pressed the handkerchief into Helen's hesitant hand.
"Someone once told me that if you cry at any time, you'll run out of tears for when you're truly happy or sad. Perhaps because of that, I rarely showed tears."
It was something said by someone who had disappeared in an instant.
"Stop crying now, and please return the handkerchief tomorrow. I received it from someone precious."
That person rarely cried and had a truly beautiful smile. Perhaps that was why. Why she hadn't shown tears until the very last moment.
Helen also recalled her memories from when she was Violet.
On a languid afternoon, she had been reading a book while waiting for Carlisle training in the drill hall. When bored, she would watch Carlisle swinging his sword. Once she started watching, she couldn't tear her eyes away. Even clothed, the movement of his muscles was clearly visible. Focused on that sight, she had cut her finger on the corner of the book. Red blood flowed a little from between the cut skin, and she let out a slight groan without realizing. Hearing it, Carlisle set down his sword and ran over in one bound.
"You cut your hand!"
"I'm fine. It's just a little cut."
"Honestly... Doesn't it hurt?"
"Hmm, enough to almost shed a tear?"
"You should have cried."
"I'll cry when it hurts more. If I cry now, I won't have tears left for then."
At those words, Carlisle ruffled Violet's hair with his large hand, as if he couldn't help it. That day had been one of the ordinary, happy days as Violet.
Helen wiped her tears with the familiar handkerchief and asked, pretending not to know.
"Is she doing well? I was wondering if she still doesn't cry easily."
"She went far away on a journey, so I don't know."
"She must like traveling."
"Well. I wonder if I should say she likes traveling... My Lady, do you not enjoy traveling?"
"I've never traveled once, so I don't know if I would like it."
One day, by the Count's order, she had been sent to a small territory at the northernmost edge of the empire. She had been seven years old then. She had lived trying not to displease her father, but for just one day, she had upset him. She had simply been a child who missed her mother. To a seven-year-old, the sound of the night wind that day felt exactly like a ghost approaching. Even hiding under a thick blanket, the ghost's footsteps still echoed, so she had wanted her father to stay by her side. But since her father had never stayed by her side, she had desperately sought her mother. That was all it was, yet the Count happened to hear the child's voice sobbing for her mother. The child who had been alone became even more thoroughly alone. In that terribly unhappy life, Carlisle had been a ray of hope and a brilliant light.
"If you ever come to the capital, please visit House Everett. I wish to repay you for sheltering me and my knights for the night."
"Yes. If a day ever comes when I visit the capital."
Such a day would never come. Because the Count would never seek out the daughter he had abandoned.
Helen gripped the handkerchief embroidered with white roses tightly. Her brief conversation with Carlisle ended there. The words she wanted to say would pop out without being squeezed, yet they were not words she could speak as Helen Platini. Unlike Carlisle, who left first, Helen remained on the third-floor terrace until the moon was hidden by approaching clouds.
The moon hidden by clouds revealed itself again while Helen returned to her bedroom, and the light it cast draped over the window. Perhaps because of that, sleep did not come easily even when she lay in bed. She tossed and turned, but rather than heavy, her eyelids were very light. What made her want to sleep so much was the scent of the handkerchief at the tip of her nose. Perhaps due to the warm air of the bedroom, the fresh, pure scent of the forest was distinctly felt. It was the scent she had always sensed by Carlisle's side, and her pounding heart reacted incessantly. Whether because lingering affection was embedded in the handkerchief, she didn't want to remove it from her nose.
"He told me to return it."
Though the traces of tears had vanished completely, it was right to return it clean. There was a little less than an hour left until sunrise, so she could wash it in clean water and dry it by the fireplace. She seemed likely to stay up all night like this, yet anticipation swelled at being able to see Carlisle again tomorrow. She had known for a while that this feeling stemmed from lingering attachment, but she deliberately pretended not to know.
The blizzard had subsided considerably during the night. The knights ate a simple meal early in the morning and prepared to depart. It was Carlisle's order to hurry before the blizzard struck again. Having endured the northern cold and its severity, everyone moved in perfect unison. The third-floor rooms where they had stayed the night emptied in an instant. After carefully checking that nothing was missing, they assembled in front of the villa entrance. Even after checking the headcount, Carlisle did not readily emerge. The knights were puzzled by Carlisle's lack of movement despite the order to hurry, but no one asked the reason.
Though milder than yesterday, the winter cold remained unchanged. Unable to wait any longer, one knight spoke.
"Your Grace. When do you plan to depart?"
"...I have left something behind, so wait here a moment."
Carlisle went inside through the open door. The villa door closed, and the knights' complaints followed.
"What's with His Grace? He's surely the first person anyone would name if asked for the most meticulous man in the empire."
"Whatever it is, it must be important. Important enough to leave us in this cold. At this rate, I'll freeze to death before we even meet a monster."
"If you ask me, a woman came into his life overnight."
"What are you saying? All the empire knows there is only the Imperial Princess for His Grace."
"I know what I'm saying. I saw it. Last night on the terrace, he was talking with a woman."
"Are you sure it was a woman? Did you hear what they talked about?"
"I'm sure! The moon was especially bright, you see. It was a woman with red hair down to her back. I couldn't hear what they were saying because I was hiding far away so I wouldn't be caught."
"Goodness... Your joke has gone too far. If His Grace hears you, your head will fly off before your shins even hit the ground."
A colleague with light brown hair patted the black-haired knight who claimed to have witnessed Carlisle's new lover at night, praying that said neck would remain unharmed.
"I definitely saw her. It was definitely a woman."
The black-haired knight scratched his head and expressed his frustration. Then his colleague handed him some water he had prepared and advised,
"I looked all around the villa today and didn't see any red hair at all. Get a hold of yourself before you say anything to His Grace."
"True. Another woman for His Grace, as you say? I'd sooner believe the empire is falling today."
Just then, Helen, who had come out through the back door to quietly return the handkerchief, stopped in her tracks upon hearing the conversation as she turned the corner.
"...!"