“We’ll see.”

He answered casually.

Just after six, Countess Windell returned with Seth.

Until then, Jeremy had been sitting in the hall, idly flipping through a newspaper. Maude, who had run down when she heard the countess had arrived, looked puzzled.

“Where is Miss Pemberton……?”

The countess was at a loss.

“Well, Miss Pemberton said she can’t come this weekend.”

“Why?”

Maude asked loudly, finally giving Jeremy an excuse to turn in their direction.

“I don’t know. Marchioness Francine Whitman only said that much. She wouldn’t even let me meet Miss Pemberton……”

Jeremy checked the train schedule to Whittingham in the newspaper.

Maude asked,

“Not allowing you to meet her is too much! Did something happen at the school?”

“I’m not sure about that, but it seemed like other young ladies were being sent home.”

When Maude turned to look at her brother, he was just about to close the newspaper.

“Jeremy! Did you hear? That Whitman witch won’t send Miss Pemberton to Crimsworth.”

“Lady Havilland.” He ignored Maude’s expression regarding the former Marchioness Whitman and asked, “What exactly did Marchioness Francine Whitman say?”

“‘We cannot let Miss Pemberton return this weekend,’ she said.”

“Emil.”

At his call, the old butler appeared.

“Oh, Lady Havilland has arrived. Dinner will soon be ready in the dining room—”

“Prepare a horse.”

Jeremy cut off the butler’s words. Emil asked in confusion,

“Lord Crimsworth, a horse, not a carriage? Where are you going at this hour?”

“I’m going to Whittingham.”

If he hurried, he could catch the last train to Whittingham. He turned to Countess Windell.

“Lady Havilland. Please have dinner with Maude first. Don’t wait for me and Miss Pemberton.”

* * *

Bronwynner—who had pretended to faint—was carried to her room on Annie’s broad back.

Early Saturday morning, she was summoned by Miss Herman. In the tea room sat Miss Herman, the dormitory supervisor, and the head of instruction in a row.

Miss Herman asked,

“Miss Pemberton, are you feeling better now? Can you explain what happened?”

Bronwynner answered truthfully.

“Lady Devon Whitman had her close peers call me to the atelier in the middle of the night, strip me, and examine my body.”

Since her days at the orphanage, Bronwynner had been repeatedly criticized by the director or teachers for her ‘not docile enough personality.’ But she had only spoken the truth about what she experienced. She always wondered what relationship existed between telling the truth and having a docile attitude. Moreover, the children they called ‘docile’ were usually those who couldn’t even make eye contact with others and didn’t respond.

This time was no different.

“Such talk is unladylike, Miss Pemberton.”

“What talk……?”

At Bronwynner’s question, all three teachers shook their heads simultaneously.

She tried hard to calm her anger. Perhaps in her excitement she had forgotten to speak like a viscount’s seventh daughter. She began her story carefully, starting from how Annie, not Devon, had entered her room on the first day.

The dormitory supervisor interrupted her story.

“Switching rooms is prohibited. Why didn’t you report this earlier, Miss Pemberton?”

The more she continued her story, the more Bronwynner felt they weren’t listening to her words. They took issue with her wandering around in nightclothes in the middle of the night, being ‘inappropriately’ undressed in front of others, and using violence. She also had to hear criticism for ‘slandering’ Lady Devon.

Unable to bear it any longer, she said,

“What did Lady Jemima Laurel and Lady Annie Moonstone say? Please bring those two here so we can talk together.”

The teachers shook their heads at this request as well. Then they left her alone to discuss the matter.

As she sat there blankly by herself, she heard chattering voices through the open window.

She realized these were the voices of her peers going to meet their families for the weekend. She opened the door and went into the corridor, where she encountered a maid who seemed to be monitoring whether she came out.

“I want to go home too. Please let me go home.”

If Devon, Jemima, and Annie had gone home, Bronwynner also had the right to go to Crimsworth.

But the maid looked troubled.

“I’ve been instructed not to let Miss Pemberton leave this place.”

Unable to make things difficult for the maid, she returned to her room.

The teachers didn’t return for a long time. She grew tired of waiting and dozed off briefly, and when she woke up, it was already almost five in the afternoon. She hadn’t even eaten or drunk anything until then.

When she went outside again, this time a different maid gave the same answer and sent her back in.

Bronwynner realized she was in a very, very disadvantageous situation.

‘What will happen to me now?’

Surely she wouldn’t be kept locked in the tea room forever without being allowed to go to Crimsworth. The teachers were probably having a long meeting about how to deal with a new student who had caused trouble less than a week after enrollment.

……Or perhaps they had gone home themselves, leaving her to starve or not as fate decided.

Bronwynner stared blankly at the mirror on the wall.

She felt foolish for having dressed neatly to make a good impression on the teachers.

The woman in the mirror had her hair braided into a thick single plait draped over one shoulder, wearing an ash-gray cotton dress that came up to her neck. Though she had covered it with her hair, the red handprint where Jemima had struck her yesterday was still visible.

‘If I get expelled from school at this rate……’

Then Jeremy Lovedale would naturally become angry and throw her out of Crimsworth. That was unavoidable, but she thought it would be good if she could at least retrieve the belongings she left there. She needed to do something about Alec Bingham’s cufflinks.

By now the sun had set, and darkness fell outside the window. Bronwynner lit the lamp.

Except for one carriage passing by, no sound came from outside the window.

The tea room was on the second floor.

‘Perhaps I should jump out the window……?’

Then at least she could return to her room and eat the shortbread Maude had sent her.

Just as she was pulling a chair to the window and about to climb onto it, she heard a familiar male voice outside the door.

“I need to see my ward right now, Marchioness Francine Whitman.”

* * *

Bronwynner felt simply dazed.

The Duke of Lovedale who opened the door and entered was perfectly dressed as always. His black coat, dark gray vest, and silk ascot tie looked as if they had just been taken from the closet without a single wrinkle, and his detached expression was equally immaculate.

However, the golden hair that had fallen over his handsome forehead was slightly, very slightly disheveled, like someone who had rushed here.

He called to her calmly.

“Miss Pemberton.”

“……Lord Crimsworth.”

She hadn’t expected affectionate words from her guardian, but neither had she expected such criticism immediately upon seeing his face.

“What on earth have you done?”

Behind him stood Francine Whitman with her arms crossed. With quite a triumphant look on her face. Just seeing that, Bronwynner could guess what Devon must have told her grandmother.

Her eyes turned back to him.

He was clearly angry.

But…… as far as she knew, he wasn’t the type to get angry without hearing the whole story first. And regardless of what false accusations she might be facing, she didn’t want him to misunderstand her as a vulgar person. Absolutely not.

So she spoke to him earnestly with her eyes.

‘I want to talk to you alone.’

He sighed briefly and turned to the elderly woman.

“May I have a private conversation with Miss Pemberton on the balcony?”

Francine politely objected.

“I wouldn’t if I were you, Lord Crimsworth. As I’ve repeatedly told you, Miss Pemberton has issues with her conduct. Even if I’m watching from here—”

“Surely Miss Pemberton won’t pounce on me.”

He cut off Francine’s words like that.

And then, before the speechless Francine, he took Bronwynner to the balcony connected to the inner part of the tea room.

Jeremy looked at his pocket watch.

“Let’s hear your excuse.”

Bronwynner realized he was giving her a chance.

She opened her mouth.

“My peers……”

There wasn’t much time, and she needed to seize the opportunity he had given her. I was bullied by my peers. She needed to say that, but somehow the words wouldn’t come out.

Moreover, the balcony in March was too cold. In the distance, she could see the lights of Whittingham Palace. She huddled and just breathed heavily.

“I told you to act like a fool, but have you actually become less intelligent in the meantime?”

He urged her. She shook her head.

Jeremy didn’t even wait for her to speak again.

“Because of you, Countess Windell made a wasted trip today. I vouched for you with my name to get you into this school, and you cause trouble after just one week? Is it so difficult to just do as you’re told and behave?”

During her confinement, Bronwynner had thought.

If, if this man came looking for her, she would explain everything properly to him.

That she had been treated unfairly, and that she had no choice but to act as she did to defend herself.

But now, face to face with him, she couldn’t do it.

The Duke of Crimsworth vouching for Bronwynner Pemberton literally meant that he would take full responsibility for the consequences of her words and actions. But because she had rashly trusted and followed Jemima, she had tarnished the Lovedale name. Though what happened after she accepted the invitation wasn’t her fault, the result was that she had caused him harm.

……As if she had become a being that brought disaster.

She lowered her head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Did I ask you to apologize?”

“I have nothing to say except I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”

Bronwynner continued speaking rapidly with her head lowered. “It was something I never had the ability to do from the start. I presumptuously said I would do it, and I’m sorry for wasting Your Grace’s time. I’ll quit both school and the task you assigned before it’s too late. Of course, the advance payment—”

“Miss Pemberton.”