Chapter 1

“Countess, your invitations really are the prettiest, after all.”

The Lady, with her hat pulled low, beamed brightly beneath the wide brim.

Then she buried her nose in the envelope and drew in a deep breath.

“Ha……. The scent of peonies and this pale pink stationery are such a beautiful combination. I’m glad I trusted your eye, Countess.”

“I’m relieved that it pleased you, Lady.”

“If I ever get married someday, you’ll handle those wedding invitations too, won’t you, Countess?”

“It would be my honor.”

Denise Lehinar lifted the hem of her skirt slightly and gave a small bow. The Lady, wearing an armful of rose-like smiles, soon paid the fee and clasped Denise’s hand tightly. Denise smiled and said, “Your tea party will be beautiful, Lady.”

Once the guest left, Denise stretched and began tidying the office. Scraps of paper strewn everywhere, pen nibs rolling around, even sealing wax fallen onto the desk. The office was an absolute mess.

A little apart from the city center, at the boundary between the market and the forest, a place so ramshackle it looked as if it might collapse from a single poke, yet still trodden by the footsteps of noble folk. This place, which every noble in the capital visited at least once, was Countess Lehinar’s ghostwriting office.

It would not be an exaggeration to say that every invitation to every party held in the Empire came from here, and reserving one of Countess Lehinar’s marriage proposals was like plucking a star from the sky.

And the owner of this place, Countess Lehinar,

“Ah, I seriously can’t do this anymore!”

shouted leisurely as she stretched. Ugh!!! She sat at a desk placed before a sun-drenched window and cried out.

A sparrow resting on the window frame fluttered off, stirring a small breeze. The flowers hanging upside down by the window swayed lightly. Whether that happened or not, this insensitive woman merely adjusted her precarious glasses with fingers stained in mottled colors.

She blew a puff of air over the desk crowded with vividly colored papers and flashy ink bottles. Even after diligent cleaning, piles of dust layered thickly were swept away in an instant by her breath.

With hands heavily smeared in ink, she roughly raked through her thick curling hair, then drew a brisk line through the schedule posted on the left wall.

– Countess Cassel Tea Party Invitation

– Countess Bon Refusal Reply

“I write the invitation, and I write the reply too.”

Madame Momo’s invitation, Young Lady Momo’s love letter, and so on. Faced with a densely packed list of commissions below that as well, Denise opened the drawer without a moment to rest.

She pulled out a bundle of mismatched scraps of paper and turned through them one by one with care. She even closed her eyes and slowly felt the paper, or held sheets up to the sunlight, before finally selecting one.

She measured and cut it with a ruler, chose the ink after some thought, and rolled up her sleeves once more. The hair she had pinned up haphazardly with a pin slipped loose, but she had neither the time nor the presence of mind to fix it. Her rough hands flowed gracefully as they wrote.

‘Dear Lady….’

***

“Denise, some new paper came in. Aren’t you going to look?”

“I don’t have any money! And I’m incredibly busy today.”

“If you, as a Countess, have no money, then what am I, a beggar?”

“I’m just self-employed, that’s all…….”

Denise Lehinar answered the shopkeeper of the general store halfheartedly, barely listening. Both of her arms were loaded full with paper, pen nibs, and the like.

She was a regular at the general store. To run a successful ghostwriting office, she needed an enormous amount of paper, so at least once every two days she would come out like this to buy stationery.

“So, what about it, delivery again today?”

“Oh, honestly……. I don’t have a single sheet of paper left at the office. I’ll just carry it back myself.”

“No, how are you planning to carry all that by yourself?”

“I’ll manage somehow. Mister, put the change in here.”

Denise pointed with her chin toward the small bag hanging from her wrist. The shopkeeper scolded her worriedly, saying she ought to take work in moderation, but Denise only replied that she couldn’t help it if she wanted to make a living, an answer steeped painfully in the feel of everyday life.

With both hands occupied by stationery, Denise awkwardly pushed the shop door open with her back and left.

The shopkeeper left behind muttered to himself. How had a noble Countess ended up like that……..

A noble in name only. It was a kind of story that did exist, but it usually applied to Viscounts who had bought their status with money. It was not a fitting phrase for this petite young lady who darted down shortcuts with both hands full of burdens and chatted easily with merchants.

Denise moved her feet busily and opened the door of the little cottage standing at the border of the forest and the market. The bundles of paper she had bought in abundance were shoved into a drawer without any sorting at all. Denise flicked her wrists as if her arms had gone numb, then headed for the desk.

The desk stood directly before a sunlit window. The worn wooden desktop, marked by much handling, was cluttered with ink bottles, fountain pens, drying flowers, and more, yet everything possessed its own order.

Denise threw off the gloves she wore only when going out and arranged the ink. Then she carefully set the seal of House Lehinar, which looked as though it might fall off the desk at any moment, beside it.

Countess Denise Lehinar.

This tiny house that was also her workshop was the residence of Countess Lehinar, and the woman flinging herself flat onto the bed was a Countess of the Empire.

There is a kind of splendor that comes to mind when one thinks of the daughter of a noble house. A dressing room like a rainbow made real. A lavish bath overflowing with fragrant oils. Maids who become one’s perfect hands and feet, invitations and marriage proposals pouring in…. A love story with a splendid noble, or forbidden love with a commoner knight…. Secret letters passing quietly back and forth, and love budding within them……

“……Yeah, right.”

None of that applied to the owner of this tiny Countess’s residence, so small there was not even a distinction between kitchen and bedroom. Countess Lehinar wore comfortable everyday clothes rather than heavy dresses. She wore gloves to hide the dark black stains of ink soaked into the edge of her right hand. She carried a small bag full of letters. Her gait was dignified rather than glamorous.

‘Things that are antique and elegant only suit nobles who are not hounded by the hardships of life.’

What mattered most to her was life. Living. To make it safely through today as well, and perhaps, on a good day, to have a sweet snack too. If someone heard it, they might say it was rather modest for a noble, but to Denise, it was the most important thing.

“I have to work. Work.”

Bearing the heavy sense of responsibility called sweet snacks, Denise flexed her hand loose. Then she carefully examined the flowers hanging from the window frame and spent a long while thinking over which flower she should use to seal the envelope.

What color stationery would suit this noble Madame’s image? And what ink would fit? What perfume should I spray to bring out the Madame herself?

Changing even the handwriting according to the character of the family. That delicacy was the secret to the success of the Lehinar ghostwriting office. Nobles obsessed with their own symbols were utterly captivated by Lehinar’s eye.

Denise had once ghostwritten letters only for one Duchess, but then another Madame requested the same, and by word of mouth the rumor spread until she established the ghostwriting office she had now.

Because of Denise’s monopoly, merchants produced imitations. But there was no helping the difference between them and Countess Lehinar, who had learned noble etiquette since childhood.

Speech, the subtle web of understanding and interests between ladies, the objects representing each family. Only Denise Lehinar could combine all of those appropriately and create the most luxurious letters.

Young Ladies wished to receive invitations touched by the hand of Countess Lehinar for their debutantes. Ladies of marriageable age made wagers over who had received the most marriage proposals from Countess Lehinar. Those who had newly gained power wanted to create the most extravagant invitations.

It was the sort of thing only nobles with money to waste could imagine doing. What kind of fuss was this over a single letter?

Denise could not understand it, but today as well she wrote a letter. A letter saying that she would not accept the invitation she had sent in a Lady’s hand that morning.

The Empire’s social world was vast, yet all of it unfolded entirely atop the small desk of the ghostwriting office.

When the sun went down and the shops in the market began to close one by one, the ghostwriting office too hung its closed sign on the front gate. Lehinar hung up the old sign and locked the door of the little Countess’s residence. When she wrote in the dark, wavering shadows made her handwriting uneven, so she did not work at night if she could help it.

She pushed the half-finished sheets of letter paper she had been writing on for some time to one side and arranged the ink bottles standing there without order. Counting the ink she lacked, she wrote down what to buy on the corner of a torn scrap of paper.

Surely, it was supposed to be a day ending as usual, just like any other.

When the top sheet of the stacked invitations fluttered, she thought it was only the wind, but when she checked again and found the window shut tight, only then did Denise notice that something was wrong.

Thud-thud-thud-thud, the dull sound of hoofbeats shaking the ground drew nearer. Denise hurriedly lowered the lamp.

No one crossed this forest at this hour. If there was anyone, then was it a thief, or an intruder with a purpose? In any case, nothing good could come from letting it be known that someone lived here. Denise bit her lip hard and clenched her fists so tightly that her nails left marks.

‘Please just pass by……. Please……’

At last, there came the sound of knocking at the door. Denise clamped a hand tightly over her mouth. Quietly, she strained to listen to the voice outside.