Chapter 1.9

Finally agreeing to keep a distance of about five steps from Lisael, Miguel muttered softly. At his quiet voice, Lisael’s faint sobbing, which had been like a weak moan, stopped immediately. Whether it was because she felt humiliated showing her weakest and most vulnerable side, Lisael’s bright eyes shone with an intense light towards Miguel, without even wiping her wet eyes.

“…I won’t let you meet these people again.”

By “these people,” Miguel referred to all those who had caused such sorrow to Lisael. It would probably be a similar reaction in other villages as well. Miguel, being quick-witted, had already roughly sorted out in his mind those who had turned their backs on her.

“It’s not their fault.”

Lisael, forcing out the words with a strained voice, dusted off her dirt-stained skirt and stood up. Driven by the sole determination not to show weakness to Miguel, she barely supported her still-weak legs and passed him to leave the garden.

‘I shouldn’t have come.’

How wonderful it would have been if Miguel had held her more firmly. Perhaps she could have lived on, blissfully ignorant like a fool. As she sighed with regret on the way back to the villa, Lisael blankly gazed at the scenery outside. Ruthlessly, outside, a fireworks festival was painting the sky with beautiful flowers, and the joyous cheers of people and the thrilling sounds of fireworks flowed unfiltered into the carriage.

As she continued to watch the round fireworks bloom and disappear, her vision blurred again. The once brilliant fireworks now looked like blurry snowflakes, and her eyes felt warm. The worst part was that Miguel was right in front of her. The reality of having to show him this unsightly appearance without hiding anything was unbearably miserable.

Lisael swallowed her sob-laden breaths and quietly wiped the moisture with her sleeve. Even as she sniffled and wiped, tears kept flowing. Nevertheless, Lisael continued to wipe them away until her eyes turned red.

“If you wipe with velvet, the sleeve will get dirty.”

‘Please, just pretend you didn’t see….’

Without the mood or energy to argue with Miguel, Lisael began wiping the flowing moisture with her hand. She turned her head, hoping the carriage would reach the villa even a second sooner, when she saw something being handed to her through her blurred vision and the square boundary.

Reluctantly, she slowly focused on the square boundary and saw the red handkerchief being offered to her by the frustratingly oblivious man. It was a color as unfamiliar and striking as its owner. Miguel seemed determined not to withdraw his hand until she accepted it, silently holding out the handkerchief for quite a while.

‘This is of no use at all.’

Without any sign of gratitude, Lisael reluctantly accepted the handkerchief. The tears, flowing like a burst spring, couldn’t be solved with just a handkerchief. She wanted to stick the handkerchief under her eyes but held back.

Only after seeing Lisael wipe her tears with the handkerchief he gave did Miguel cross his arms, lean back against the seat, and turn his gaze to the window. The fireworks he had checked the festival schedule for, intending to watch with Lisael after dinner, were being mercilessly scattered in the sky. His wish to watch them together was fulfilled, but it would likely be remembered as the worst fireworks display.

Despite not having coffee today, the bitterness lingered in his mouth, tormenting Miguel.

*   *   *

There is no stranger request than asking to prepare separate rooms for a couple facing their first night. If not for the deeply rooted prejudice in such a society, Miguel would have arranged the finest room for Lisael to grieve alone. But he, too, was inevitably a noble whose life depended on reputation, and being part of the Dante family, he had to consider the Earl, his father’s, watchful eye.

How should I spend this long night with her, soaked in melancholy? 

Miguel wondered as he circled the room like a restless puppy. Meanwhile, Lisael, wearing a robe, entered after bathing.

Having finished her bath, Lisael appeared more serene than the restless Miguel, at least outwardly.

“…The attendants?”

Caught up in his own world of worries, Miguel hadn’t even noticed Lisael had gone to bathe.

“Attendants? What attendants?”

“The bath attendant. Did you bathe alone…?”

Suddenly talking about attendants, what was he saying? 

When the term “bath attendants” came up, Lisael’s expression twisted harshly.

“Why would I need bath attendants? Can’t you bathe alone?”

Miguel almost answered “yes” but managed to swallow it just before it left his throat. Receiving bath attendants was such a natural part of his life that being questioned about it left him unsure where to start explaining. It seemed Lisael had bathed alone. But now, calling for attendants only for himself would create an awkward situation. No, actually, if he hadn’t heard that…

‘Can’t you bathe alone?’

‘Can’t you… bathe alone?’

‘Surely… can’t you… bathe alone?’

Lisael’s last words echoed distortedly in Miguel’s ears like a reverberating bell, strongly pinching his masculine pride. It stopped him from calling the villa’s abundant servants. By now, the maids would be waiting with neatly folded towels, robes, and fragrant bath additives!

For Miguel, who had lived his entire life receiving attendants for everything he could do alone, the marriage with his first love was like an unending tidal wave of challenges. 

Was this what it felt like to have one’s entire life denied?

Culture shock. Was there a more accurate term to define their relationship now? Miguel and Lisael, living in different worlds divided by a single wall, were both significantly shocked by something as simple as a bath.

‘Come to think of it, I think I heard there are servants dedicated to nobles’ baths in the lord’s castle….’

Reviving a faint memory with difficulty, Lisael first extended a somewhat awkward understanding and consideration.

“If you need it, you can call the servants. Should I… call them for you?”

Looking for servants to bathe him like a child seemed somewhat amusing to Lisael. Her suggestion, meant to consider Miguel, was nothing short of a relentless blow to his pride.

‘Should I… call them for you?’

‘Should I…?’

‘Should… I…?’

Lisael’s words echoed endlessly in Miguel’s ears like a hamster wheel again, strongly pinching his pride. Was there another high-ranking noble treated like a fool by his first love and wife?

Miguel felt his face flush with heat from humiliation. 

Lisael Cherlin, how far do you intend to drag me down? 

The fact that it wasn’t intentional made it all the more devastating.

It was unfair. She, now the Young Countess, should have gladly accepted the attendants, yet she was trying to practice non-possession with him instead.

“…Don’t meddle unnecessarily. Who gets attended to for something like a bath?”

He was precisely that “who.” Annoyed for no reason, Miguel roughly unbuttoned a few buttons of his shirt and went straight to the bathroom. Entering the bathroom where the steam had not yet cleared, there was a large round stone bathtub, as big as a small room, with a statue of a cherub pouring water from a jar.

“Hoo….”

Miguel, who unhesitatingly tossed his shirt onto the cherub’s face, let out a deep sigh from his diaphragm. His broad chest heaved with his inhalation. His shoulders, so wide that shirts had to be custom-made, writhed with liberation now that the cumbersome upper garment was gone.

Seeing his upper body fully reflected in the half-body mirror, Miguel forgot his earlier humiliation and became entranced with himself. The bathroom mirror was like a rite of passage he couldn’t ignore. How could one merely glance at this God-given perfect face and body? That would be a sin.

Was I really to admire this vibrant, colorful body alone again today?

‘Whoa, whoa, calm down.’

Am I finally finding a master to appreciate my body? 

Miguel suddenly found himself filled with anticipation, struggling to calm his thoroughly angry friend.

Calm down, friend. That’s not it….

“You beastly bastard….”

Feeling lust amidst what was practically a funeral for her, Miguel was disgusted with himself. Although there was no reason to look properly, the image of her in a robe, which he hadn’t managed to see clearly earlier, was running rampant in his mind.