Even if the position of Sir Duston’s lover resembled a golden throne adorned with flowers and precious jewels. For Radilt, it couldn’t compare to the small wooden chair cushion of Mrs. Sentangs, which she had to thread and patch herself.

A brief, sharp silence flowed between them. Pendlore’s long fingers slowly brushed his lips.

“Perhaps I should pray for the dead to resurrect, Mrs. Brill.”

He tossed the words out like a casual joke. Even if Radilt’s heart desperately yearned to sprout leaves on a dried-out old tree, the dead would never return to life.

So Pendlore wore a faint smile, as if Radilt Brill’s futile dream wasn’t even worth sharp opposition. Her empty dream would never even bloom.

“Until then, I hope you properly recognize your position.”

Instead of answering, Radilt bit her lower lip. Despite the ripened spring afternoon, her shoulders felt painfully cold, making her body tremble slightly.

Like he intended to erase the messy past clinging to her body, Pendlore once again pushed Radilt toward Lady Fond. Radilt found herself dragged among bright women, buried among them.

No matter how many times she bowed her head, pretending to be the unremarkable perfumer’s wife in worn clothes, worn shoes, and disheveled hair without ornaments, he would transform her back into a noblewoman dressed in splendid gowns.

Pendlore possessed both the wealth and the right to do so.

Sitting alone in a separately prepared classical reception room, the man glared at his cooling tea.

‘Stubborn woman.’

Pendlore didn’t ask much of Radilt. She merely needed to accept and use what he gave her, quietly remain by his side, and leave at the appropriate time.

A rich and splendid but extremely brief play.

That simple role play, beneficial only to him, would last barely two months at most.

Yet the small, shabby woman, while pretending to be docile, would suddenly bare her teeth like a wild white fox. She crouched low, shrinking away as if refusing to be touched by the man’s hand.

Must he continue tolerating that unfunny appearance?

Pendlore coldly stared at the closed door. His blue-gray eyes darkened with his emotions.

If she proved this troublesome, wouldn’t it be better to find another more suitable woman? Though young widows weren’t as common as in the past during these peaceful times, they weren’t nonexistent.

A more obedient, manageable, convenient woman requiring no effort.

Tap, tap, tap.

His fingertips, bearing traces of long-held swords, rhythmically tapped the armrest. The longer he waited, the deeper Pendlore’s thoughts grew. The necessity of continuing this troublesome act for over a month, really.

Click.

Just then, the silver handle turned and the door opened. Beyond the wide-open door, the red dress hem swayed hazily like a freshly rising flame. Pendlore narrowed his eyes momentarily as that light seemed to overflow right before him.

The dress color gradually deepened toward the top, darkening to a blackish red at the slender waist. Contrasting with the brightly spread lower portion, it boasted an even more slender and elegant line, then reddened again as it climbed the body, wrapping around the well-shaped bosom like rose petals.

White, soft skin. A delicate neck flowing smoothly. Slightly pale cheeks emphasized with life-giving pink sparkling powder, and lightly closed lips red like ripe fruit.

A perfectly groomed noblewoman, painted to perfection. The most bewitching feature was none other than her clear, fresh green eyes.

Radilt’s eyes blinked slowly. The green that disappeared and reappeared again held moist freshness like newly sprouted buds, emitting a clear light.

Ha.

Pendlore made a sound that might have been either a sigh or a scoff. Surely young widows could be easily found. But not a woman like her.

“Mrs. Brill.”

The man rose from his seat and politely extended his hand. Radilt didn’t refuse and took it.

“Just stand quietly and elegantly like now.”

Without showing unnecessary stubbornness, matching the appearance suitable beside him. A shabby, pitiful widow. Simultaneously, a lovely beauty with jewel-like eyes. That contradictory appearance would make Count Duston stand out even more.

So he could tolerate it with a little more patience.

Pendlore escorted Radilt with a benevolent smile.

The capital past noon overflowed with the vigor of mid-afternoon. Late spring sunshine was neither too hot nor lukewarm, and children rolled on the grass alongside drowsy dogs and cats.

Cafés lined along the clear flowing river bustled with people seeking tea to refresh their mouths after lunch.

Tea time with exotic teas sprinkled with expensive white sugar and accompanied by dried fruit pastries. Coats and dress hems worthy of such luxury blended like spring flower bouquets in black and white porcelain.

Radilt also sat with Pendlore on a café balcony overlooking the sparkling waves after lunch. Wisteria flowers in full bloom on the wooden awning attracted butterflies.

Under that gently swaying shade sat the red noblewoman, quietly gazing at the river. She deliberately kept her gaze far away. As if wanting to forget, even momentarily, the man sitting before her and her own situation.

The low balcony had nothing to shield it except the hanging wisteria. The curious glances from passersby below felt nakedly apparent.

Count Pendlore Duston’s widow lover.

Several days had passed since the commotion at the Plumen Party, so rumors had spread thoroughly. Many wondered what kind of woman, not even a virgin but a widow, had seduced the great Count Duston.

A group of lovers looked this way, whispering something quietly. Some burst into clear laughter. They continued talking happily as they moved away along the road, as if having found an interesting topic.

‘……I want to hide.’

Under a wide-brimmed hat pulled down deep, in a shadowy corner. Behind closed doors, closed windows, and thick curtains drawn down, where not even small bird sounds could be heard.

But this too formed part of the contract with Pendlore.

Rumors must spread and words must come out. The fact that Count Duston had a beloved lover must be widely known. They must appear affectionate enough that it would seem natural if he couldn’t approach other women due to deep remaining wounds even after their breakup.

So Radilt gently pulled up the corners of her lips. She tried to wear a bright smile like spring sunshine.

Beautiful like a painting, and quiet. Though appearing plausible on the surface, not a single sweet word passed between them. Radilt smiled like a doll, while Pendlore drank his tea alone nobly, as if the woman before him were not a person but a decoration.

“I won’t have time to visit for the next two days, so wait quietly.”

Pendlore spoke as he set down his half-empty teacup. It was a one-sided notification, closer to an order given to a subordinate than a lover of equal standing.

“I won’t forbid you from going out, but I hope there won’t be any unfortunate incidents where people see you dressed as you were this morning.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Radilt answered politely. Her downcast gaze never once looked directly at Pendlore.

Two carriages waited in front of the café. A servant standing beside the carriage approached Pendlore and whispered something. Pendlore’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily.

“Mrs. Brill. Would you permit me to leave first?”

“Of course. I was hoping to see you off today anyway, Sir Duston.”

I can’t always be the one receiving. Saying this, Radilt stood beside the carriage Pendlore entered. With her hands neatly folded and wearing a faint smile, she affectionately watched the departing carriage.

All those actions proved surprisingly easy. Though her heart rocked violently like storm-tossed waves, the mask once put on didn’t easily come off.

Radilt turned and headed toward the carriage provided for her. Just as the servant opened the door.

‘Ah……’

A thick flower fragrance overflowed. Spring flowers in full bloom filled one side of the carriage seat.

That promise to fill Radilt’s hands with flowers at every meeting. The man’s voice suddenly rose in her mind.

‘……He didn’t forget.’

Radilt sat in the carriage and gently stroked the bright yellow petals with her fingertips. They felt soft and moist, as if they had just been moved after receiving plenty of water.

Eyes the same color as the leaves accompanying the bouquet contorted slightly. Complex emotions cast deep shadows across her eyes.

Clatter, the carriage started with a sound. The flowing river reflected through the small window. Radilt’s hand suddenly clutched the bouquet tightly.

If she threw it into that river right now….

The briefly rising impulse quickly subsided coldly. Radilt put down the bouquet and curled her body slightly.

‘……I’m fine.’

Radilt Brill could endure being trampled. Shabby clothes, roughened fingertips, a poor widow who had to go out daily to survive while carrying the weight of dismissive in-laws on both shoulders.

Naturally, she would seem trivial in the eyes of a noble lord. She couldn’t shake the thought that she truly lived foolishly.

But Radilt Sentangs, Mrs. Sentangs, was not like that.

Back then, she shone with hope. She didn’t envy noble ladies adorned with jewels, commanding over a hundred servants, multiple carriages, and vast mansions.

Those days of happily walking toward a bright, vivid future while holding her affectionate lover’s hand. Every morning when she opened the small shop’s door and pulled back the curtains from the windows, Radilt’s heart swelled with pride.

Each customer felt welcome and lovely, and whenever their carefully crafted fragrances received praise, she felt joyful and proud as if possessing the whole world.

Those warm spring days. Radilt’s most precious and brilliant time.

Pendlore Duston coldly trampled it down, treating it as worthless.

“……”

Radilt forcibly swallowed the surging emotions. The expensive imported red fabric crumpled in her grip.

Still she endured. Because he was simply a rude man. Because it was merely a contractual relationship. She thought everything would seem trivial to that arrogant gaze, and so she endured.

But those flowers.

Those vividly beautiful promise flowers.

“……Ugh.”

The air that would normally smell fragrant made her nauseous. One point of kindness, a promise kept as if naturally due, actually sharpened the blade of the dagger embedded in Radilt’s chest.

A consistently cold north wind would have been easier to endure. The moment frozen hands thaw before a warm stove due to premature kindness, the cold they’ll soon be thrust back into becomes far more severe and painful than before.

Radilt quietly closed her eyes.

I prefer a cold and arrogant man. That’s better.