Chapter 6.7

The clumsy yet endearing recital was not for Edgar himself.

Practice below the stage held no meaning. The one matching lines with her was merely a practice partner. The counterpart Natalie would face on stage was someone else entirely.

The recital was solely for Leonard Salinger.

Edgar fulfilled the role assigned to him. As always, he placed the actor on stage and seated the audience. From afar, in the box seats, he watched the actor perform the role he had helped prepare.

When the audience cheered, Edgar received grateful glances from the actor he had assisted. That was the extent of the luxury afforded to the master of the theater.

Edgar had no intention of coveting the untouchable eight-ball. Whether he won or lost, Leonard Salinger would eventually attend the recital.

“Tell me if you truly love Miss Maron.”

The cautious gentleman checked the position of the balls. Whether they were his to pocket or someone else’s to leave untouched.

Even in Leonard’s prudent gaze, Edgar could sense his growing affection for Natalie. Everything was unfolding precisely according to Edgar’s plan, exactly as Natalie had hoped.

So why did it feel unsettling?

Edgar smiled like an actor whose perfect performance had momentarily faltered — as if it were another act meant to hide his unease. In his intoxicated gaze, the eight-ball came into view, along with Leonard’s ball blocking the path to it. Removing that ball had been impulsive.

Leonard, with a calm expression, let out a hollow laugh, seemingly unable to understand such irrational behavior. His gaze toward Edgar resembled one directed at an incomprehensible play. Edgar read Leonard’s thoughts.

Why would you do something so foolish?

But not every “why” could be explained in the moment. Even authors didn’t have reasons for every line and stage direction they wrote. Edgar was no exception. His discomfort grew uncontrollably, without reason.

Edgar’s gaze turned toward the untouchable eight-ball. Leonard’s voice reached his ears.

“You shouldn’t touch someone else’s ball, Edgar.”

That single remark was the needle that popped the bubble of emotion swelling within him. Whether it was defiance or competitiveness that sobered his drunken mind, it was unclear.

But one thing was certain: he didn’t want to hand over the eight-ball.

As the game neared its end, the path to the eight-ball became clear. Edgar followed the path his impulsive mistake had opened, leading him directly to the eight-ball.

The heavy sound of the eight-ball dropping into the pocket echoed loudly.

Whistles and cheers erupted from the gentlemen all around. Edgar’s gaze met Leonard’s.

The sharp eyes of the audience seemed capable of recognizing the actor’s mistake. They might discern the deviation from the script and uncover the truth hidden in the gap.

“Tell me if you truly love Miss Maron.”

It was a difficult question for those bound to speak only the truth. But for Edgar, it was easy. Even if he had lost, he would have answered without hesitation.

I love her.

Leonard would have doubted the truth of those words, and Edgar would have willingly accepted that doubt.

Audiences believed the actor’s lines were lies, so the truth was easily concealed. He could claim to love her countless times, pretending it was a lie.

But Edgar never got the chance to deliver that line.

The gentlemen who had won money from Edgar’s victory eagerly sought drinks. Their conversations, fueled by alcohol, shifted topics endlessly. Starting with billiards skills, they inevitably landed on marriage — the most pressing issue for gentlemen of marriageable age.

Some spoke of partners they had met at balls; others bragged about letters they had received. One naive gentleman confessed he had lost sleep over a single letter, prompting laughter from the group.

To Edgar, drunk and detached, their chatter sounded like indistinct noise. It felt as though he were surrounded by a fog of meaningless words. Just as he considered leaving, someone addressed him.

“…Are you in a serious relationship with the young lady of the Maron Barony?”

Among the haze in Edgar’s mind, only the sentence connected to Natalie remained clear.

He turned his gaze to the gentleman who had spoken. With flushed cheeks and smiling eyes, the man appeared quite drunk.

“I heard you’ve been visiting the Baron’s residence. Everyone’s curious. Has someone finally managed to win Edgar Wharton’s heart?”

Drunk men often failed to gauge whether their words crossed a line. Edgar merely smiled at the man, knowing he would forget the conversation by morning. He placed his glass down without replying.

But Leonard was also watching, meeting Edgar’s gaze. Meanwhile, the man persisted with his questions.

“Are you considering marriage?”

Edgar answered while looking at Leonard.

“I have no intention of marrying.”

Leonard undoubtedly heard the response as well. The gentleman laughed lightly.

“That’s good news.”

The laughter echoed in Edgar’s ears, scattering like balls hitting the edges of the table.

***

The young gentleman with the youthful face claimed he always carried the letter he had received.

“When I see the kind words she wrote, I feel courage well up. A world that was once dull suddenly appears vibrant.”

His eyes sparkled with the pure excitement unique to those experiencing their first love. Leonard, though uninterested in the man’s story, offered a polite smile.

But his measured smile, intended only as a gesture of sociability, unintentionally encouraged the man further.

“I still have it here, in my coat pocket. Her writing is so remarkable. Women are undoubtedly better than men at this kind of thing.”

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a letter, just as he had said. Leonard hesitated, unsure whether to stop the man from reciting the letter or leave him be.

While Leonard wavered, the man unfolded the letter and held it out to him.

“Look at how neat the handwriting is.”

Leonard glanced at the letter with indifferent eyes, maintaining his polite smile.

“Isn’t her penmanship wonderful?”

As the man’s excited voice filled the air, Leonard found himself unable to look away from the letter.

Indeed, the handwriting was flawless, as the man had said. Handwriting often reflected the character of the writer, leading Leonard to imagine the sender as someone with a composed demeanor.

Just like the letters Leonard himself had received.

Leonard’s indifferent gaze wavered. His brow furrowed deeply as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

He had read Miss Sally Maron’s letters countless times, so he was certain. The handwriting was identical.

Confused, Leonard’s eyes shifted to the bottom of the letter, searching for the sender’s name. It wasn’t Miss Sally Maron’s.

While Leonard scrutinized the letter in disbelief, the man retrieved it. As if worried the precious letter might wear out under scrutiny, he carefully refolded it and tucked it back into his coat.

“Tomorrow, I’ll propose to her. Someday, we might look back on these letters and reminisce about today.”

The man smiled brightly.

At that moment, Edgar rose to leave, bidding farewell to the others. The gentleman joined the group of people eager to exchange a few words with Edgar Wharton. Consequently, Leonard was unable to ask about the peculiar situation.

***

Like scattered puzzle pieces, the clues came together at the recital the next day.

Leonard arrived earlier than the agreed time, as he always did. Edgar found this habit curious, likening Leonard to an Enlightenment-era philosopher. But for Leonard, it was simply a routine.

In the quiet drawing room, Mrs. Mars greeted the early guest warmly.

“My goodness, Mr. Salinger! Thank you so much for coming. Isn’t the weather lovely today? How wonderful it is to gather on such a fine day! The other guests will arrive soon. Would you like to rest here? Shall I bring you something to drink? Tea? Coffee? Or perhaps some cold water?”

Bombarded by questions, Leonard regretted arriving early. With no other guests to share her attention, he bore the full brunt of her enthusiasm.

Facing her excessive interest, Leonard offered a polite smile.

“Tea would be lovely.”

Mrs. Mars bustled about in response to Leonard’s reply.

“Alright, alright. I’ll bring it to you right away. Let me call the maid.”

Leonard glanced at the vases filling the room. The flowers, with their lush blooms, seemed to await the attention of the guests. His gaze moved past the vases and toward the fireplace. 

Surrounding the fireplace were paintings that reflected the homeowner’s taste — vibrant works depicting flowers and fruits. Among the still-life paintings was a portrait of Mrs. Mars.

As Leonard studied the paintings, his attention was drawn to an unusual frame. A poem written on white paper. Amid the colorful artworks, the black-and-white frame occupied a less conspicuous spot. Yet the neat handwriting caught Leonard’s eye.

Leonard unexpectedly encountered the handwriting from the letter once again.

“Who wrote this poem?”

Unable to take his eyes off the frame, Leonard asked. Mrs. Mars, seemingly waiting for an opportunity to speak, approached him.

“Natalie wrote it for me. She’s quite skilled in writing. Whether it’s poems or letters, she excels at anything involving words. It’s not as valuable as an expensive gift, but it’s unique enough that I decided to display it. Besides, the wall felt a bit empty.”

The mystery was solved.

The puzzle pieces in Leonard’s mind began to fit together. Standing still, he listened as Mrs. Mars’ voice reached his ears.

“I wonder where she’s gone. I have no idea what she’s doing. Days like this are so hectic. Since she’s not here, she must be in the kitchen. I’ll go find her.”

Mrs. Mars headed toward the door to search for the maid. Upon spotting an arriving guest, her face lit up. 

“Natalie! Come in quickly.”

At Mrs. Mars’ gesture, the guest standing at the door entered.

Natalie, holding sheet music in her arms, wore a shy smile. It was easy to imagine the sheet music replaced with a poetry book or a script of Macbeth.

Seeing Leonard, who had arrived earlier, Natalie’s eyes widened in surprise. She stood still, like a painting, bathed in the summer sunlight that added vibrant colors to the scene.

The completed puzzle revealed the picture before Leonard’s eyes.

The sender of the letter was Natalie Maron.