“—In summer, even gentlemen prefer lighter colors, don’t they? The weather rather demands it.”

So she was right.

Sitting on a bench in Ridden Park, Maude frowned as she watched men stroll past in pale suits of every shade. Brisa’s comment replayed in her mind. Twirling her lace parasol absentmindedly, she sank into thought.

‘Let’s see. When we first met, he was in uniform. At the hotel, it was black. On the tree-lined street, he wore navy blue. And at Lemming, it was navy again.’

It was all either uniforms or shades of black—there was no doubt about it. A sense of discomfort settled on her face.

‘It’s like he’s in mourning all the time.’

It wasn’t as if worrying about appearances mattered—no one was going to notice his clothes anyway with that face. Tilting her head, Maude gave the passing crowd another sharp look. The breeze tugged at the lace hem of her dress. She adjusted her skirt, patted her pinned-up hair, and took out a familiar object—Kyle’s handkerchief.

At least this one isn’t black.

A small laugh escaped her. Plain, with only his golden initials embroidered in one corner—so perfectly like him.

‘Maybe I should’ve stitched a peach blossom on it.’

The thought conjured the memory of two days ago in Lemming. Honestly. Maude’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. She’d be seeing that infuriating man again in three days, at the Rosehill Festival—a grand social event that would gather nearly every gentleman and lady in the capital. The perfect stage for someone with flair.

‘I wonder if he’ll wear black again.’

That resigned thought lingered as Maude simply let the summer wind brush against her face.

“Pardon me. Would you happen to be Lady Maude Hablein?”

A crisp voice cut through the quiet, and a bright shadow fell before her.

“Huh?”

She blinked up at a familiar face.

“Do you recognize me?”

Tilting his head with a gentle smile, Azel Drevan stood. Dressed in casual training clothes, his golden hair shimmered in the sunlight.

“Of course, Sir Azel. It’s been a while.”

Her warm tone brought a wide grin to his lips. He placed a hand dramatically over his heart.

“The honor is mine, my lady.”

The exaggerated gesture was so theatrical that Maude couldn’t help laughing. Azel had always been full of energy—tall, broad-shouldered, handsome to the point one wondered if the navy truly needed another pretty face. Platinum hair, blue eyes—he was the definition of a textbook handsome man. Beads of sweat glistened on his skin beneath the golden sun.

“Off duty today?” she asked lightly.

He nodded, sighing as if half-complaining. 

“Yes, for the first time in ages. My superior’s been… quite busy lately.”

That gentle grumble said enough.

“I can imagine,” Maude murmured. That man’s days were surely as relentless as ever.

“Have mercy,” Azel groaned dramatically, clasping his hands together in mock prayer. She laughed softly—there was nothing she could do to save him, after all.

Azel’s shoulders were broad, his build trim yet powerful, and when he swept his hair back, Maude couldn’t help noticing the fine muscle along his forearm. Flustered by her own wandering gaze, she quickly looked away, shaking her head.

He really was the kind of man who kept the dull social season entertaining, whether he knew it or not.

Recalling the bashful faces of women who’d been charmed by him, Maude smiled.

“Are you here alone?” Azel asked, glancing around. Only then did Maude notice that nearly every other bench was occupied by couples.

“Yes—but that’s not so unusual for me,” she replied with a cheerful shrug. “Today just happens to be one of those rare solitary days.”

“Ah, I see.”

Satisfied, Azel smiled faintly. Maude returned it in kind—until his eyes drifted down to the handkerchief in her hand.

So plain, so simple—and yet the golden initials K.R. stood out clearly—Kyle.

‘So he noticed that.’

A wry smile flickered on Azel’s lips. The sunlight gleamed, birds sang, and the warm air wrapped around them like honey. Yes, he thought. 

‘This must be love. It can’t be anything else.’

His cheeks flushed faintly pink.

While Azel was lost in daydreams of romance, Maude’s eyes had already turned elsewhere—toward a man lurking nearby with far too much interest. A journalist, by the look of him. He’d been loitering around for a while, and now he’d even seated himself nearby, pretending to be a gentleman reading the paper.

‘Unbelievable.’

Maude’s brow furrowed. No doubt tomorrow’s gossip column would be a disaster—“The Many Men of Lady Maude Hablein”, or some equally ridiculous headline. Hardly surprising.

Her gaze flicked back to Azel. His bright smile still caught the wind, shining in the dappled sunlight—but then, behind him, Maude caught sight of something that made her eyes narrow.

A woman was waving her hands awkwardly—her reddish hair glinting through the leaves.

‘Brisa?’

As Maude tilted her head, the breeze stilled, and sure enough, the pale face framed by auburn curls was Brisa. From her uneasy expression, it was clear she hadn’t planned for any of this. Maude’s gaze dropped to the man beside her—dressed head to toe in dark brown.

‘Of course.’

“Sir Azel,” Maude said sweetly, “are you meeting someone today?”

The question startled him. He hesitated, then quickly shook his head. 

“No! Not at all.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Maude replied, her tone bright as she snapped her parasol shut with a sharp click. “Because I could use your help.”

Before he could ask how, she winked playfully and called out, loud and clear—

“Brisa!”

At the unfamiliar name, Azel turned instinctively. Under the shade of the green trees stood a young woman in a pale blue dress, her skirt rippling like water in the summer breeze.

“My lady!”

Her voice carried softly through the sunlight filtering through the leaves, and her copper hair shimmered like waves. For a moment, Azel simply stared—entranced by the scene.

“Out for a walk?” Maude asked.

“Yes, the weather’s so nice today,” Brisa replied warmly. The easy familiarity in her voice made it obvious the two women were close.

Maude started toward her, and Azel followed, still unsure what kind of “help” he’d just agreed to. But when they reached the man standing beside Brisa, understanding dawned.

‘Milled Peyton.’

The second son of Baron Peyton. Azel exhaled softly.

So this was what it was about.

Maude’s smile was polite—too polite. Her lips curved, but her eyes didn’t. They exchanged a brief look, one that said everything they couldn’t voice aloud.

‘So that’s where you’ve been hiding.’

Milled had been unusually quiet lately—hadn’t shown up at the club in weeks. Azel had assumed he was just chasing skirts somewhere else. Apparently, he’d chosen the wrong woman this time.

Azel’s gaze flicked between Maude and Brisa.

“Who’s that?” Maude asked lightly, pointing toward Milled as if she didn’t know him at all.

Brisa hesitated, glancing between the two. 

“Ah—this is Sir Milled Peyton, the second son of Baron Peyton,” she said carefully. But her voice lacked its usual brightness.

Maude looked at Milled’s pale face, and her smile grew ever so slightly.