Chapter 4

“How do I look? Does it suit me?”

Camillia twirled around, wearing a dress identical to Rowena’s.

The voluminous petticoat rippled beneath the widely spread pale violet satin.

“But I think I’ve gained a little weight lately. Look at my waist.”

Camillia spoke as though she were worried, but her tone was as light as a feather.

Rowena looked at Camillia’s slender waist before lowering her gaze to her own abdomen.

No matter how she looked at it, her body was not slender.

Her weight had increased rapidly since she was around fifteen, and no matter how little Rowena ate, she could not lose it.

That was why, whenever Camillia said something like this, Rowena of her previous life would offer words of comfort, such as, “You’re much slimmer than I am. You’re as graceful as a bird.”

She had thought that Camillia might be struggling in her own way.

But things were different now.

Rowena did not want to offer thoughtful comfort to the woman having an affair with her husband.

Rowena crossed her arms as though she were confronting a very serious problem.

“You’re right. Your waist does seem to have gotten a little thicker.”

“…What?”

Camillia’s mouth fell open in bewilderment.

“And that dress. It’s the dress the mistresses of our family wear at official events. Why are you wearing it?”

“You were ill. I prepared it in advance because I thought there might be things I’d have to do in your place. Do you know how difficult things were for me while you were bedridden? Look, Rowena. I even arranged all the flowers here.”

Camillia skillfully composed her expression and pointed toward the tea table.

Pale violet roses were beautifully arranged in a round porcelain vase.

They were also the symbol of the Libroth family.

“That’s true. Sometimes I forget that you’re the gardener’s daughter.”

Rowena murmured as though speaking to herself.

Camillia was originally the daughter of the gardener who tended the Libroth Count’s residence.

Apart from their difference in social status, she was different from Rowena in every respect.

There was a four-year age difference between them, and their personalities were completely different.

However, Camillia was extremely sociable, and Rowena was exceptionally accepting.

Since Rowena’s grandfather was not a man who asserted his authority, they had naturally grown up together.

Later, when Camillia married Baron Traville, Rowena had smiled brightly from the family seating area.

Her grandfather had even provided Camillia with a dowry.

Thinking that she had been betrayed by such a friend left a bitter taste on her tongue all over again.

Rowena moistened her mouth with her half-cooled tea.

Camillia then went to the refreshment table set up on one side of the lounge and brought back a large slice of chocolate cake.

After placing it in front of Rowena, Camillia naturally sat down beside her.

“Anyway, I’m glad you’ve fully recovered, Rowena. I’ll step back again and help you from behind the scenes.”

After saying this, Camillia took out some face powder and abruptly began applying it to Rowena’s chin.

“Skin with redness like yours looks prettier when you cover it up.”

“……”

The touch of Camillia’s hands on her face was unbearably unpleasant, but Rowena endured it.

Although she had made a few cutting remarks, she had calculated that it would be troublesome if things escalated into a serious quarrel.

For the time being, it would be better to remain the innocent Rowena while gathering evidence.

A little while later, Camillia put down the brush.

“Oh, how pretty. Our Rowena looks just like a plump little piglet.”

Rowena stared intently at her reflection in the hand mirror.

Acne was scattered along the edges of her pale face, impossible to conceal even with heavy makeup.

Her round cheeks were flushed red with anger, and her lips were pressed together resolutely.

Rowena liked the way she looked.

Unlike in her previous life, she liked the pair of eyes that now shone with fighting spirit.

“By the way, Rowena, why aren’t you eating your cake?”

“I don’t have an appetite.”

Camillia anxiously glanced at the chocolate cake Rowena had not touched, then gave a small laugh.

“Is it because I said you looked like a little piglet? I was joking.”

“I know. You’re good at making jokes.”

And I know that all those jokes are what you really think.

Rowena forcefully swallowed the last sentence.

“Thank you for coming to the memorial service again this year.”

Rowena stood at the entrance, greeting the visitors.

The guests expressed their sincere condolences before entering.

The hall, filled with the gentle melodies of string instruments, was cozy.

Spring sunlight poured through the wide-open windows, peacefully coloring the pale emerald walls.

She recalled the moment when she had once shared her first dance with her grandfather in this radiant space.

Her grandfather had placed his large hand on the top of Rowena’s head and said,

“My little flower. Rain is bound to stop eventually. Only then does a rainbow appear. You’re simply caught in a passing shower right now. So hold your head high and look at the sky.”

Had he somehow foreseen this situation?

Rowena looked up at the clear sky after the rain.

The clouds drifting leisurely and the languid sunlight were so peaceful.

They were so peaceful that she felt as though she might cry.

Just as her eyes were beginning to grow moist, a familiar voice called out to her.

“Countess Libroth!”

A man with a bundle of documents tucked under his arm approached her with quick steps.

It was Baptiste Morin, a reporter for the Erisvale Tribune.

“Here are the documents you requested.”

He bowed politely before handing the documents to Rowena.

She quickly looked through them.

“You’ve really worked hard.”

They were certificates attesting to her grandfather’s virtuous deeds for his canonization, petitions, a history of the village, and letters of recommendation written by priests from the local diocese.

“There are more than forty letters of recommendation alone. It must have been difficult to gather them……”

“Thinking of it as a way to repay the Count for his kindness actually made it enjoyable. I’m sure the hundreds of people who signed these petitions all felt the same way.”

Approximately thirty years ago, her grandfather had rescued children who were being taken away as slaves to Baltan.

The approximately two hundred children who had survived at that time had all become residents of Erisvale.

In that sense, this canonization was everyone’s heartfelt wish.

This time, I’ll make sure it gets approved.

In her previous life, the canonization had failed because all the documents had been burned, but this time, she was confident.

How fortunate it was to know the future.

Rowena tightened her grip on the documents she held against her chest.

She called over a servant passing nearby and instructed him to take the documents to the study before turning around again.

Just then, a large, splendid carriage stopped in front of the white paving stones.

A familiar coat of arms filled Rowena’s vision.

The silver sword and blue wind combined in the emblem were the symbol of the Winderbane Marquisate.

“Ah, the sunshine of high society has descended upon this rural village once again.”

Beside her, Baptiste Morin murmured blankly.

The ladies who had been about to enter, as well as the gentlemen accompanying them, all stared toward the same place.

At the end of their gazes, Marquis Winderbane appeared.

He was dazzling, as always.

His body, visibly covered in firm muscles even at a glance, was clad in a gray brocade jacket.

The cream-colored cravat wrapped around his thick neck was loosely tied in a rather untidy manner, and a large ruby sparkled on the index finger of the large hand holding an ebony cane.

Rowena felt her earlobes grow hot just from looking at him.

I’m certain he said he was going to Marsen by His Majesty the Emperor’s order.

Why had he returned?

Rowena parted her lips slightly.

For some reason, the surroundings had fallen silent.

It was as though, the moment the carriage door opened, a wind of silence had blown out from within and covered everyone’s lips.

Everyone except one person.

Baptiste Morin.

Baptiste Morin murmured quickly in a low voice.

“I…… If I could interview that gentleman just once, I’d have no other wishes. Article headlines are coming to me right now. Would you choose one for me?”

“Of course. Tell me.”

“How about, ‘The Sacred Illegitimate Son Born Between the Last Saintess of Vormios and His Majesty the Late Emperor’?”

“Wouldn’t that be considered blasphemous?”

“Then…… ‘The Hero Who Saved His Majesty the Emperor in War Was Actually His Half-Brother.’ Ah! That’s too sensational, isn’t it?”

“……”

Had Baptiste Morin always been such a talkative person?

Rowena stared at his thin lips with bewildered eyes.

“Or how about, ‘The Golden Hand Who Succeeds in Every Business He Touches: What Will He Choose This Time?’”

“……”

“Should I just go with something straightforward? ‘An Incredibly Beautiful Man,’ something like that?”

“It wouldn’t be bad as a subtitle. The Erisvale Tribune is a newspaper with many female subscribers, after all.”

And because it was true.

An incredibly beautiful man.

While Rowena was dwelling on those words, Marquis Winderbane approached without hesitation, one hand thr*st into his pocket.

No, it would be more accurate to say that he came rushing toward her.

The marquis stretched out his long legs and swiftly climbed the entrance steps.

Before she knew it, he was standing in front of Rowena.

“I missed you, my lady. Has it been sixty-four years?”

His voice, with its warm resonance, was very pleasant to hear.

Rowena opened her eyes wide and silently looked up at the marquis.

His smooth, honey-colored blond hair fell stylishly over his pale forehead.

Beneath it, a pair of blue eyes, like polished lapis lazuli, held a faint hint of mischief.

And so Rowena thought that Edric Bernhardt was playing another prank.

As she always did whenever he made a joke, Rowena became a gracious lady and offered him a simple greeting.

“It’s good to see you, Marquis Winderbane. What brings you here?”

“There’s something I left behind.”

“What is it?”

“My lady.”

“Yes…… Pardon?”

“You.”