Chapter 2.2

The play unfolded without the slightest error. The actors’ performances were flawless.  

At the curtain call marking the end of the play, applause erupted from the audience.  

The beautiful Juliet ascended the stage amidst the cheers of the crowd. Becoming someone other than oneself was the privilege of an actor.  

There were moments of frantically memorizing lines, changing costumes amidst the chaos, and touching up makeup. These moments both existed and didn’t exist—at least not on stage.  

The young person who once worried about whether they’d have another chance to stand on stage was gone.  

Under the dazzling lights, only the shining protagonist remained.  

Maurice clapped enthusiastically, appreciating not only the performance on stage but also the passion behind it.  

Flowers thrown by the audience soared high into the air, adorning the feet of the actor.  

The actor, responding to the cheers, bowed and glanced toward the box seats.  

It was clear that their searching gaze was looking for someone.  

When their eyes stopped and a radiant smile spread across their face, the gaze was unmistakably directed at this side.  

It wasn’t toward Maurice himself, of course. In that case…  

The subject of the actor’s gaze, Edgar Wharton, merely joined in the applause like everyone else, even in the face of the smile sent by the subject of his rumored affair.  

Maurice was anxious that Lady Wharton might notice the passionate gaze of the actor.  

Whether she didn’t notice or chose to ignore it was unclear, but Lady Wharton simply rose from her seat without a word.  

Edgar extended his hand, as he always did when escorting ladies.  

Lady Wharton didn’t reject his hand.  

Edgar felt relieved that the fortress-like heart of Lady Wharton hadn’t completely shut him out yet.  

“Why not invite Miss Windsor next time?”  

Until he heard those words.  

After a brief silence, Edgar replied.  

“That’s… an excellent idea.”  

Edgar escorted Lady Wharton to her carriage and kept smiling even as the carriage departed.  

Only after the carriage disappeared from view did he let the smile fade.  

Placing his hands on either side of his waist like a weary man, he sighed and finally lifted his head.  

His eyes met Maurice’s, who had been watching.  

Maurice wanted to applaud Mr. Wharton as much as the actors on stage.  

Instead of clapping, he gave him a thumbs-up.  

Maurice, who was enthusiastically giving a thumbs-up instead of applause, almost dropped the bouquet he was holding.  

Edgar quickly reached out and caught the falling bouquet.  

“If someone saw, they’d think it was you who was performing on stage tonight, Maurice.”  

“Everything will work out just fine.”  

Though it wasn’t an appropriate response to the joke, Edgar understood the sincerity of Maurice’s concern.  

He smiled, but his lips, which had been smiling for so long, began to ache, so he rubbed the corners of his mouth.  

Maurice adjusted the disheveled bouquet in his arms.  

“Should I place the bouquet in your room?”  

“No.”  

“…Should I throw it away?”  

“No. Keep it.”  

“What?”  

“Give it to Helen as a gift. And have dinner together tonight.”  

Helen was Maurice’s lover.  

Edgar stepped back with a smile.  

“Well then, have a great evening, Maurice.”  

With those words, he bid farewell.  

He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and walked away—to the other side, opposite the theater.  

Maurice glanced at the bouquet once and the retreating figure of the blond gentleman once.  

Then he happily began to ponder what to eat during dinner with Helen.  

***

The ball hosted by Countess Verita was already crowded when Edgar arrived late.  

The gentlemen attending balls in search of marriage prospects were always the same, so familiar faces were everywhere.  

Among them was Leonard Salinger.  

It was often said that you could tell a person by the company they kept, but it was hard to associate Leonard Salinger with Edgar Wharton.  

It was like expecting a model student and a rebel to be friends, or a priest and a devotee of free love to get along.  

Edgar approached Leonard, whose black coat gave him an unusually ascetic air.  

“Edgar, you smell like flowers.”  

That was the first thing Leonard said to Edgar.  

Compliments about a pleasant scent were usually reserved for someone you wanted to impress.  

But since the comment came from Leonard Salinger, Edgar knew it was merely an objective observation.  

“Are you saying I smell fragrant to you? If you want to dance with me, just say so.”  

Edgar spoke with a playful smile.  

Leonard, who always responded to jokes with a polite smile, reacted in the same way.  

“Looks like you were buried in flowers again today.”  

“Today, it was just one bouquet for Lady Wharton.”  

Edgar assumed the bouquet, which Lady Wharton didn’t accept and had ended up on his lap, was the source of the scent.  

Their conversation didn’t last long.  

From afar, the hostess of the ball came rushing over to greet them.  

“Mr. Wharton, you’ve arrived! The performance at the Flavium Theater today was simply marvelous. The actors were so impressive, and the stage was absolutely stunning.”  

Edgar deftly took the Countess of Verita’s hand and kissed the back of it.  

“A stage shines only when there are distinguished guests like you to appreciate it. Thank you for the invitation.”  

Edgar smiled as he met the Countess’s gaze.  

The Countess, unable to hide her radiant smile, belatedly covered her mouth with her fan.  

Soon, people began to gather around Edgar, and the atmosphere grew lively.  

Edgar needed that liveliness.  

He needed to act like a permanently celebrated celebrity, laughing and chatting as if there were no problems at all.  

People’s emotions were simple—if they laughed long enough, they’d convince themselves there was truly something to laugh about.  

That everything was fine, that there was nothing to worry about.  

As long as the unsmooth problems didn’t come walking up to him on their own.  

“It seems yet another young lady has fallen for you. She’s sending you quite the passionate gaze, Mr. Wharton.”  

At someone’s remark, people began glancing toward “that side.”  

“Will that young lady win your heart tonight,  Mr. Wharton?”  

Another person joked.  

Laughter spread, and amidst it, Edgar gave a delayed response.  

“Tonight, for a change…”  

Curious eyes turned toward Edgar.  

“I think I’ll spend it alone, quietly.”  

People interpreted Edgar’s words as a joke and laughed.  

Only Leonard looked at Edgar with a puzzled expression.  

“Has something happened?”  

Leonard asked in a serious tone. Edgar matched his grave demeanor and answered calmly.  

“I’m contemplating my future—what kind of work I should do to earn a living.”  

Countess Verita interjected into their conversation.  

“Mr. Wharton, you’d make an excellent actor.”  

“I was actually considering becoming a priest.”  

Edgar replied lightly, prompting laughter from those around him.  

That laughter revealed the image of Edgar Wharton in people’s minds—someone who could never be a pure and virtuous priest.  

Like an actor who had no complaints about his role, Edgar smiled.  

In the face of jokes and laughter, problems were hidden, and his heart felt lighter.  

As Edgar scanned the laughing crowd, his gaze happened to fall on “that side.”  

There, he saw the young lady “sending him passionate glances.”  

However, what caught Edgar’s attention wasn’t her gaze—it was her ribbon.  

A pink ribbon that seemed to whisper, “I’ve undone your engagement.”  

The contents of a forgotten letter resurfaced in his mind.  

…It’s because your lips, like ripened roses, stir both my body and heart. I dream of the day we meet as if by fate.  

To make sure you recognize me, I’ll wear a pink ribbon. When the ribbon flutters, it means, ‘I love you.’  

Will you remember me? Will you recognize me?  

Will you ask me to dance and give me a blissful kiss?  

Will you make all the deep, secret passions within my heart and body yours?”  

He didn’t remember much after that. He vaguely recalled that the letter was filled with too many words and even more requests.  

Edgar observed the pink ribbon tied confidently around the young lady’s light brown hair.  

It was as bold as her upright posture.  

Should I call it shamelessness or commend her for keeping her promise?  

Edgar found it hard to define his first impression of the young lady who had so meticulously expressed her raw desires for him in her letter.  

What baffled him most was her innocent expression, as if saying, “I don’t know anything.”  

Her large eyes darted nervously whenever someone passed by, scanning her surroundings.  

Occasionally, her thin shoulders, exposed above her empire-style dress, flinched as she stepped aside to make way for others.  

Gradually, she moved sideways to avoid people until she ended up pressed against the wall.  

Gone was the confidence she had when sending the letter. She stood there like prey cornered by a predator.  

Edgar chuckled softly.  

At that moment, a noblewoman approached the young lady with the pink ribbon, like a predator who had found its prey.  

Beside her was an older man with thinning hair.  

As the two approached, the young lady with the pink ribbon visibly faltered, stepping back.  

People continued speaking to Edgar, who had suddenly grown quiet.  

“…That line in today’s play was particularly moving. Juliet’s line, I believe….”  

“…Mr. Wharton, are you interested in club activities? Our arts appreciation club….”  

But their words barely registered in Edgar’s ears.  

His attention remained fixed on the other side.  

By then, the young lady with the pink ribbon was left alone with the older man.  

The more she listened to him, the worse her expression became.  

She rubbed her waist as if she were in discomfort, opened her lips slightly only to close them again, and pressed them tightly shut.  

Her searching gaze seemed to plead for help.  

Her thin, delicate fingers were too frail to fend off the man with a punch.  

But why should that matter?  

What did it matter what her hands were like? It wasn’t Edgar’s concern.  

He didn’t want to appear as though he sympathized with the embarrassing letter by giving her any attention.  

“…If you are interested, Mr. Wharton….”  

Edgar’s attempt to rejoin the conversation was interrupted when the older man extended his hand toward the frightened young lady.  

“Mr. Wharton?”  

The call was one of surprise as Edgar abruptly left his seat.  

He headed straight toward the prey and the older man.  

Edgar told himself it wasn’t because he was interested in the young lady.  

It was because he couldn’t stand the sight of an older man leering at a much younger woman.  

Edgar’s steps stopped in front of the young lady, who had her eyes tightly shut.  

He extended his hand.  

The young lady with the pink ribbon opened her eyes slowly.  

She blinked, staring at the two outstretched hands before her.  

Her gaze traveled upward, meeting Edgar’s.  

With light brown hair and a pale pink dress, everything about her was muted—except for her deep, emerald-green eyes.  

Seen up close, her eyes shone with an innocent clarity.  

Edgar smiled gently.  

“Aren’t you going to take my hand?”