Chapter 6

The warmth pressed against Rosalie’s back fell away.

Kenneth gently pushed Rosalie toward the corner of the balcony and stepped into the room where people were gathered.

The nobles who had been conversing briefly bowed their heads when they saw the Duke of Vinzetten emerging from the balcony.

“We didn’t realize there was a guest here, Duke Vinzetten.”

“I was supposed to meet someone here.”

“Since you arrived first, of course we should step aside.”

The nobles left with a slight commotion, just as when they had entered.

In the now quiet room, the voice of a man she bitterly despised echoed.

“If you don’t want to be torn apart by people, you’d better not walk around without a chaperone.”

With that, Kenneth exited the room.

The name that had flowed from his lips continued to whirl chaotically in Rosalie’s mind.

It was understandable that he didn’t recognize her face after so many years.

But even after she clearly mentioned the name “Cailon,” Kenneth had responded as if it were just one of countless surnames in the world.

As if he had no relation to the Cailons at all.

There was only one possible conclusion to draw from this situation.

Since the truth of that day would never come to light, he was simply pretending not to know.

That was the only explanation.

As Rosalie struggled to leave the lounge, Baroness Whitman appeared before her. It seemed she had come looking out of concern.

Seeing Rosalie’s deeply shadowed expression, Baroness Whitman assumed it was due to the nerves of her first ball.

Most young ladies trembled under the pressure and fainted—Rosalie, by comparison, was holding up quite well.

“I’ll have the carriage prepared. Let me know right away if it becomes too much.”

Rosalie nodded and shifted her gaze to the center of the hall.

The glittering dresses and dazzling jewels under the chandelier stabbed at her eyes, but Rosalie didn’t blink.

She simply stared blankly straight ahead.

Rosalie recalled that day when it had rained heavily, the day she was left alone in the world.

Platinum hair that shone like the sun. Blue eyes looking down at her.

The boy from that day had now become the master of House Vinzetten, a man respected by the nobles of the Empire.

A man who took a life without reason—respected.

The master of a ducal house leading the Empire.

Rosalie simply couldn’t accept Kenneth Vinzetten’s reputation.

Seeing Kenneth living in luxury without a trace of guilt made Rosalie want to broadcast his atrocities far and wide—so no one could remain ignorant of just how vicious he truly was and what he had done to her family.

Even now, she longed to walk over and rake her nails across his face, to scratch him as fiercely as the pain she had endured.

Yet Rosalie knew all too well that no one would believe her.

A renowned Duke of Vinzetten pitted against a mere daughter of a minor viscount who had only recently debuted in society—the outcome was obvious.

The realization of their vastly different stations left Rosalie steeped in helplessness. However, getting angry accomplished nothing.

“Lady Cailon, may I have this dance?”

A gentleman—his name already fading from Rosalie’s mind—approached and offered his hand.

She turned toward the voice, meeting a wide smile that drew almost to his cheekbones. Beyond his shoulder, Rosalie spotted Duke Vinzetten surrounded by young ladies. Unlike their flushed cheeks and eager chatter, the Duke’s expression remained dry and bored.

“…Lady Cailon?”

When Rosalie showed no reaction, the gentleman called her name again. Just then her gaze collided with the Duke’s; she quickly pivoted away. The outstretched hand, left hanging, was withdrawn with an awkward cough as the man retreated. Tears threatened as Rosalie walked—nearly ran—toward Baroness Whitman.

“I’d like to go home now,” she whispered, eyes red from holding back anger.

Baroness Whitman excused herself from the nobles she’d been speaking with and saw to their immediate departure.

A heavy stare lingered on Rosalie’s back as she left the manor for the carriage, then vanished.

***

One week passed after her debut, during which three more balls were held. Rosalie attended each but returned home early every time.

From the open front doors came the sound of a weary sigh: Baroness Whitman, just returning from the ball.

“Rena,” called Countess Kinson—once Rena Kinson, now Rena Whitman—addressing her daughter just as the baroness was about to step into the carriage.

“Mother. You’re still awake.”

“It’s not that late, is it? Maybe it’s my age—I don’t sleep much these days.”

Baroness Whitman immediately sensed her mother was troubled. Ever since long ago, the Countess had always had sleepless nights whenever she was burdened with worry.

“Would you come in for a moment and talk?”

Already having a fair idea of what was weighing on her mother, Baroness Whitman stepped inside without hesitation. She had been meaning to discuss it herself.

“Rena, how do you think Rosalie’s doing lately?”

As soon as they sat across from each other in the drawing room, Countess Kinson got straight to the point. As expected, the topic was Rosalie.

“To be blunt, I’d say she’s having trouble adjusting.”

“……”

“You know it too, don’t you? She comes home just an hour after leaving for the ball. Not attending at all would be rude, but simply showing up and leaving after a few greetings doesn’t look good either.”

Hearing the confirmation of what she had feared, Countess Kinson pressed her forehead, a headache setting in.

“Perhaps I’ve pushed her too hard, even though she didn’t want to join society. I didn’t think it would be this difficult for her…”

“When it comes to the future, you’re absolutely right to insist. Don’t worry too much.”

Baroness Whitman clasped her mother’s wrinkled hand as she spoke. What could a noble-born girl do if not marry? Better to find her a husband now while she’s still with the Kinson family, than risk ruining her life by sending her back to the viscount’s household.

“Many young ladies get terribly anxious during their debut season. For now, I’m letting Rosalie do as she pleases… but if this continues, we may need to take action.”

“You have something in mind?”

“We need to get her to enjoy the balls.”

A man’s face flashed through Baroness Whitman’s mind. The best way to spark interest in a ball was to pique interest in the opposite s*x. And the only man who had made Rosalie’s cheeks flush at her first ball was Jaden Segrington. If it were him, perhaps he could stir Rosalie’s curiosity.

“I’ll look into that part myself. But I’ll need your help with something else.”

“Something else?”

“If things don’t go well despite my efforts, there will be only one option left.”

Countess Kinson’s fingers curled into a firm fist. Whatever her daughter was about to suggest, she was ready to support it completely.

***

“A match between families.”

“…”

“That might be the best option for her.”

The brief light that had returned to Countess Kinson’s face was once again shadowed. Baroness Whitman soothed her disheartened mother with an even gentler tone.

“Of course, you want Rosalie to marry someone she loves. But you know very well that noble marriages can’t always be about love.”

“But still…”

“I’m just saying it’s a possibility. I’ll do my best. But just in case, please look into a suitable match for her.

If it’s someone you choose, I’m sure Rosalie can still have a happy marriage.”

The mother and daughter held hands and nodded. This year’s social season was bound to be a busy one.