Devon was revered wherever she went for her beauty, even more dazzling than Francine’s in her prime, and her impeccably modest demeanor made her an exemplar at the bride training school. The occasional thorny remarks she made could be overlooked as charm.

After all, the most fragrant roses have the largest and sharpest thorns.

“Were you reading a letter?”

Devon’s eyes turned to the pile of letters on the tray. Francine realized what her granddaughter was curious about.

“Lord Crimsworth is scheduled to visit us next week with his ward.”

“Us?” Devon smiled brightly. “He must be coming to see you, Grandmother.”

“No need for such modesty. Since he’s showcasing a young lady who will become your classmate, you, as the school’s top student, should naturally attend the interview.”

“I’m truly happy to have another classmate. Was it Miss Pemblock…?”

Francine found the Duke of Crimsworth’s letter in the pile. The indignation she had felt when that impertinent young man had sent just one letter demanding that she prepare to receive his ward, rather than coming to make the request in person, resurfaced.

“Pemberton, it says. From Goldenborough…?”

“Ah, Goldenborough.”

Devon repeated. “I didn’t even know there was a Pemberton family there.”

The Whitman Bride Training School was both a tool to satisfy Francine Whitman’s vanity and a means to target the tax benefits available only to accredited educational institutions. This required the school to have a certain number of students and regular teachers, with a condition that the composition needed to be diverse. This was also why schools predominantly composed of noble children selected one commoner scholarship student each semester.

Of course, since the class needing bride training was originally limited to nobility, the seventh daughter of an obscure viscounty would likely fill the role of that commoner scholarship student.

“The Duke of Crimsworth vouches for that young lady’s credentials.”

“While he can certainly be trusted…”

Devon said very carefully.

That tone was enough to plant a strand of doubt in Francine’s mind.

Wasn’t the Pemberton viscounty somehow related to the collateral bloodline of the Farraway countdom? If that Miss Pemberton was born in Goldenborough rather than Crimsworth, who knew what words she might have used to deceive the good-natured Farraway and his friend Lovedale to debut in Whittingham society?

In the countryside, fallen nobility sometimes sold their titles to newly wealthy families, or occasionally took in adopted daughters of commoner origin for large sums. This gave those girls the opportunity to pass as noble bloodlines and meet gentlemen far above their station to change their fate.

Surely that Duke of Crimsworth wouldn’t be foolish enough to be used by a mere country commoner woman……

But one never knew. If so, Francine might need to find a new groom for her granddaughter.

“I should investigate the Pemberton family a bit.”

Devon made no reply to her grandmother’s words.

Encouraging others to believe they had come up with good ideas themselves was one of the secrets behind how this thorny rose had captivated half of Whittingham society.

* * *

“So, Miss Pemberton. What kind of education did you receive in the viscount’s family?”

Bronwynner answered carefully.

“I received basic education from a tutor hired by my father…… and learned a little piano and singing.”

The former Marchioness Whitman, though called an old lady, didn’t look much older than Baroness Bingham, perhaps due to excellent care. The stiff dress made of gold damask cloth made the marchioness look even more imposing. Lady Devon, sitting like a doll behind her, wore an equally splendid dress of ivory satin embroidered with gold thread.

Bronwynner couldn’t help but be secretly grateful for the blue silk dress that Madame Floss had put so much effort into making. At least in terms of attire, her quality didn’t fall short compared to theirs.

The old lady asked again from across the tea table.

“How long have you been at Crimsworth?”

When Bronwynner closed her mouth, Jeremy, who was sitting a little apart from the three women, answered instead.

“Just under a month.”

Letting the guardian answer questions he could answer—that was the strategy he and Countess Windell had devised while riding in the Lovedale family carriage. The countess was probably wondering about the progress of the interview from the carriage by now.

The old lady also asked about that very countess.

“Is your sister taking care of chaperoning?”

Though she lacked the sensibility of a noble young lady, Bronwynner had the perceptiveness of a servant who had honed her skills serving a demanding lady. She detected a slight hint of disapproval in that question.

She closed her mouth again.

Jeremy answered.

“Lady Havilland, Countess Helen Windell is chaperoning Miss Pemberton.”

Countess Windell was the sister of Count Farraway who had connected Jeremy with the Pemberton family, and now she had married into the Havilland countdom near Goldenborough—truly an exemplary lady. Having such a person serve as chaperone could greatly influence Bronwynner’s standing in society.

After answering, Jeremy leaned back in his chair with a relaxed posture. He always exuded confidence, but today, dressed in a perfectly fitted black coat with a matching vest, he looked particularly regal. He had dressed up specifically to bring Bronwynner here.

The marchioness cleared her throat.

“Miss Pemberton. What have you come to learn at this Whitman School?”

“Things necessary for my society debut and…… the elegance of my classmates.”

At that answer, a faint smile appeared on Devon’s face. The marchioness pointed out bluntly:

“Elegance isn’t something one can acquire through learning.”

If there was one thing Bronwynner wanted to correct about her guardian and employer’s assumption, it was that she might fear this interview. Of course she worried about passing. She would lose her job if she failed.

But she wasn’t afraid of being questioned in the interview itself. When entering Perth Orphanage, completing basic education courses, and leaving the orphanage to find work, she had gone through countless similar processes in far more pressured environments.

⌜Instead of using that tiny head to learn, you’d be better off swaying your pretty bottom to catch a man. What’s the point of a girl studying things she’ll never use?⌟

The teacher at Perth Orphanage had regularly insulted her as a twelve-year-old girl.

Bronwynner smiled with composure.

“I meant that I want to fill in my deficiencies as much as possible.”

By now, she had also figured out that the strict interviewer preferred to move on to the next question immediately if she liked an answer.

“Wanting to debut in society means you want to meet a good gentleman and marry, I suppose. Do you have an ideal type in mind?”

⌜Remember, Miss Pemberton. When questions about men come up, always talk about Viscount Pemberton. Say your ideal type is a man like your father, and you want to marry someone like him and have sons who resemble him.⌟

Maude had emphasized this repeatedly.

Though it sounded creepy to Bronwynner’s ears, she answered as Maude had advised.

“Someone like my father. Kind, and who values honor……”

John Harcourt had been a dock worker who worked six days a week and preferred drinking outside to spending time with his family on Sundays. But he wasn’t violent. He had adored Bronwynner in his own way and bought gifts for his daughter when he won money gambling.

Was John Harcourt a kind father? Perhaps.

Did he value honor? He probably never heard the word ‘honor’ in his life, but considering he tried to take responsibility for his poor life, sickly wife, and young daughter, he had a conscience. ……Perhaps.

Maude’s advice proved effective. The marchioness asked,

“When you find such a gentleman, what kind of home would you like to create?”

“A happy home.”

Her answer came too quickly, it seemed.

Lady Devon’s light blue eyes turned toward the window. Though an hour had passed since Bronwynner and Jeremy had entered this room, Devon hadn’t once made eye contact with either of them.

The old lady commented,

“Your answer is too abstract.”

Having never thought about creating a home, it was natural that she could only give abstract answers. Family had been too long ago for Bronwynner. She couldn’t even remember if she had been happier then than now. If she knew what a ‘happy home’ looked like……

‘Elise, Kaylee.’

Her lips parted.

“Children……”

“Do you like children, Miss Pemberton?”

“Yes, very much. I want to create an environment where children can thrive.”

At the orphanage, she had always been starved for affection and food. As she grew older, she lived in constant anxiety, trying to protect herself from all the world’s threats.

“A home where children can learn and…… play freely. For that, I’d need to meet a kind gentleman.”

Bronwynner was so absorbed in her thoughts, and the marchioness so busy scoring the prospective student’s answers, that only Devon, who was secretly watching him, noticed Jeremy staring intently at Bronwynner. Devon’s eyes narrowed.

The marchioness shrugged.

“Miss Pemberton, with so many older sisters, you must have had many difficulties.”

“My sisters all treated me well.”

Of course, Bronwynner had only seen those sisters in portraits. The Pemberton sisters had various hair colors ranging from dark brown to reddish-brown, so her red hair could reasonably blend in as one of them.

The marchioness glanced at the wall clock. Bronwynner sensed that the long interview was coming to an end. She also felt that the next question would be crucial in determining whether she passed.

“You said you learned piano and singing. Could you demonstrate your skills?”

“Which would you prefer to hear……”

Bronwynner asked humbly.

The marchioness turned to Devon. Devon’s languid, indifferent gaze fixed on Bronwynner’s face for the first time.

“Which are you more confident in?”

Bronwynner was seeing Lady Devon for the first time today, and she accepted without question the obvious fact that Devon was more splendid and beautiful than any woman she had ever seen.

And she also remembered what Maude had said about Devon.

⌜Lady Devon is truly a thorny rose, a peony in full bloom…⌟

Bronwynner instinctively knew what answer to give.

“Though I’m unskilled at both, I’ve played the piano a bit longer.”

Devon smiled. Kindly.

“Then, shall we hear you sing?”

Perth Orphanage had one old piano donated by some kind-hearted person. There, Bronwynner had only learned to clumsily follow the melodies of songs the children sang. She had learned only the basic music theory included in the basic education curriculum. At the Bingham house, she had barely acquired enough skill to play lullabies, children’s songs, folk songs, and simple pieces for the children.