Mrs. Bovary’s ghostwriting shop was not far from her home.

<We Write Your Letters For You>

A small sign with cute handwriting hung above the door.

The moment Ophelia stepped inside with Mrs. Bovary, a cheerful bell rang overhead.

At the same time, the faint scent of ink and dried roses drifted through the air.

“Mom! Why are you so late?!”

A woman who appeared to be Mrs. Bovary’s daughter came hurrying out.

The moment she noticed Ophelia standing beside her mother, her eyes widened in surprise.

“This person is…?”

“You remember me mentioning her before, don’t you? This is Miss Dauer. Miss, this is my daughter, Clarice.”

“Oh my goodness!”

Clarice’s eyes grew enormous as she stared at Ophelia with sparkling fascination, looking as though this was her first time ever seeing a noblewoman up close.

“I’ve heard so much about you, but you’re really, really beautiful, Miss!”

The sincere compliment made the tips of Ophelia’s ears turn faintly red.

“You can speak comfortably with me, Clarice.”

“Oh no, I could never! Please, come inside! I’ll show you around.”

Clarice seemed to have an extremely lively personality.

Unable to resist the energetic tug on her arm, Ophelia followed her deeper down the hallway.

Mrs. Bovary watched them fondly from behind.

The ghostwriting shop was small, but it had everything it needed.

The first thing visible upon entering through the charming front door was a large desk.

On top of it sat a small bell for calling employees, a reception counter, and several waiting chairs for customers.

Beyond that, farther down the hallway, was the main workspace for ghostwriting along with a small kitchen.

There were three desks in total.

One for Mrs. Bovary.

One for Clarice.

And one prepared for Ophelia.

As though they had been waiting for her arrival all along, her desk had already been neatly arranged with ink bottles, pen nibs, letter paper, and envelopes.

A dictionary and ledger rested neatly to one side.

She liked the vase of flowers placed carefully nearby.

More than anything, she loved the large window overlooking the back.

“Miss! Come have a snack first!”

Clarice called out to her after scampering into the kitchen.

Ophelia, who had been gently running her fingers across her desk, smiled brightly and walked over.

***

Ophelia’s first customer was a poorly dressed young man.

The youth entered wearing a newsboy cap pulled so low it nearly hid his face, looking as though he were being chased by something.

“Welcome.”

“U-Um… do you perhaps write love letters too?”

“Of course. Please, have a seat.”

Only then did he awkwardly sit down at the table and remove his hat.

Though his clothes were shabby, he was tall and surprisingly handsome.

But his expression was terribly nervous.

He looked almost frightened, to the point that Ophelia’s own tension about receiving her first customer began easing instead.

The young man let out a small sigh before speaking.

“There’s someone I like… b-but I don’t really know how to write pretty sentences, so I came here.”

“Then tell me what feelings you’d like to convey, and I’ll help refine them for you. How does that sound?”

“That sounds good. Th-Thank you.”

The young man squeezed his eyes shut tightly before suddenly pouring out his story as though reciting lines he had memorized beforehand.

He confessed that, despite his lowly status, he was currently seeing a ‘young lady of noble birth.’

But because he had only learned to write not long ago, he constantly made grammatical mistakes in his letters.

Still, the young lady loved receiving letters from him, and he wanted to write beautiful love letters worthy of someone so precious.

After listening to his simple story, Ophelia carefully considered the wording for him.

Soon, the only sounds filling the room were the soft scratching of her pen and the young man’s nervous breathing.

By the time warm sunlight spilling through the window gently wrapped around her shoulders, Ophelia finally set down her pen.

“…It’s finished. Would you like to hear it?”

“A-Already?”

Lifting the letter, Ophelia began reading it aloud slowly.

Her soft voice flowed through the room like a melody.

Clarice and Mrs. Bovary listened as well, smiling quietly at the sound of her voice.

“…Like autumn drawing steadily closer, I wish to linger by your side. From Esmond, who loves you.”

As soon as she finished reading, the young man listening so intently turned bright red.

“It’s a perfect letter. Thank you, Miss Summer.”

‘Summer’ was the new pen name Ophelia had come up with together with Mrs. Bovary and Clarice earlier that morning.

They had chosen it in case any nobles happened to recognize her.

The young man repeatedly thanked her before leaving the shop clutching the letter tightly in his hands.

‘Summer.’

She liked the sound of her new name.

Watching her first customer walk away, Ophelia felt an inexplicable sense of pride bloom in her chest.

And with it came a slightly arrogant thought.

Perhaps…

She might actually be good at this work.

***

The incident happened that very evening.

Mrs. Bovary, Ophelia, and Clarice were in the middle of discussing what to eat for dinner while preparing to close the shop for the day.

Just as they were about to turn off the lights, a sudden commotion erupted outside the small ghostwriting shop.

An extravagant four-wheeled carriage pulled by four white horses had arrived.

All three women immediately turned toward the window.

The moment Clarice recognized the crest engraved on the carriage, she practically shrieked and jumped in place.

“Oh my goodness! It’s the Winches ducal family!”

At her words, both Mrs. Bovary and Ophelia widened their eyes.

After all, the entirety of Edent belonged to the Winches duchy.

And the magnificent carriage before them was the sort of thing one only ever saw in newspapers or at official events.

“Why would someone like that come all the way to a tiny alley like this?”

Mrs. Bovary whispered in confusion.

None of the three women could even imagine that the owner of that carriage might have business with this little ghostwriting shop.

Soon, the carriage door opened and a man stepped out.

He wore a rigid formal uniform from head to toe.

Though the darkness outside obscured him somewhat, Ophelia’s first impression of him was simple.

He’s incredibly tall.

Even through the window, his presence alone felt overwhelming.

“He’s coming this way…?”

Mrs. Bovary murmured in disbelief.

The man who stepped out of the carriage gradually approached before opening the door to the shop.

Ding—

As the bell rang overhead and the indoor lights illuminated his face, all three women froze in shock.

Dark black hair like the color of night itself.

Eyes shining coldly, as though touched by frost.

A man infamous for his breathtaking beauty and for rarely ever showing himself to others.

The head of the Winches family.

Cedric von Eschbart Winches.

“Y-Your Grace…?”

Mrs. Bovary breathed out weakly.

The Duke of Winches was someone people only ever saw in newspapers.

More than that, he was certainly not someone who should appear in a shabby little ghostwriting shop hidden in an insignificant alley.

Countless descriptions from social columns flashed through Ophelia’s mind.

A creation perfectly sculpted by the heavens.

‘And…The Reclusive Duke.’

He was famous for sending representatives even to official functions instead of appearing personally.

Rumors claimed he lived an almost hermit-like existence, never attending banquets or social gatherings.

To the point that even the photographs printed in newspapers were supposedly hard-won “spoils” gathered by obsessive social reporters risking everything just to catch sight of him.

And now that very man had suddenly appeared here.

Most frightening of all—

His expression was terrifyingly cold.

The duke briefly surveyed the interior before finally speaking.

“Is there… an employee here named Summer?”

His icy voice swept across the three women one by one.

It was cold enough to chill the spine.

Something had clearly gone wrong.

Ophelia stepped forward carefully.

“That would be me.”

“You are Miss Summer?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

For a long moment, the duke stared directly into Ophelia’s eyes.

Though the lighting was dim, she could clearly see the cold ash-gray color of his gaze.