Chapter 2

During every social season, a flood of new faces would pour into society. Noble ladies, who had just begun to bloom, would dress themselves to perfection and smile brightly, declaring, “I am entering the social scene now.”

The bustling ballroom, filled with these fresh faces, looked like a flower garden from the outside, but in reality, it was no different from a battlefield. Allies and enemies alike—no one could be trusted easily. If one let their guard down even for a moment, they would be trampled and pushed aside.

Those who had made their debut had only one goal: to form a successful connection with a distinguished family’s heir and marry well as soon as possible.

That was all there was to it.

But, frankly, the social scene was a place overflowing with beauties as lovely as flowers. And to make a successful debut in such a place was harder than finding a needle in the desert—especially for someone like Daphne, who lacked a family that could efficiently support her from behind.

Despite such unfavorable conditions, Daphne’s debut was quite successful. It wasn’t sensational, but she received considerable attention in society and gained the favor of many men.

Her flawless beauty, perfect appearance, witty and honest conversation, and a mysterious charm that inexplicably drew attention.

At first, she was considered “quite decent,” but before long, people began to say she was “rather impressive,” and soon after, she received rave reviews as “extremely attractive.”

What was it about that red-haired woman that made everyone so enthusiastic?

Several men who approached her out of curiosity, drawn by her snowballing popularity, found themselves captivated by her. It was said, jokingly, that nine out of ten men active in Roxanne’s social scene shared the same taste.

Thus, that year, Roxanne’s society was ablaze with excitement over the woman named Daphne Sinclair.

People were curious.

Which man would Daphne Sinclair choose as her future husband?

And who would be the man to accept Daphne Sinclair as his wife?

She enjoyed such immense popularity that everyone agreed she would be the first to announce an engagement. But contrary to that belief, she did not share any news at all.

As the green leaves turned beautifully colored and the heat of summer gradually faded, the women who debuted alongside Daphne began to find their matches one by one and announced their engagements to society.

Dry leaves fell from the branches, and long icicles hung from the bare branches each dawn. Most unmarried men and women had already found their partners and made their happy announcements in society. Yet, Daphne Sinclair alone remained silent.

Of course, it wasn’t that she had been free from scandals during that time.

From well-known knights to wealthy merchants, and even heirs of respectable families—

She was rumored to have romantic ties with numerous men and attended society gatherings with different partners each time, becoming the talk of the town. She was openly confessed to and received many proposals to become someone’s wife.

Men knelt before her, pledging to cherish and love her for life.

But despite their efforts, her response was always negative. Those who approached her confidently, like conquering generals, left with drooping shoulders, trudging home in defeat.

People wondered how high her standards must be—some even joked that only a royal from Westro could win her heart, but that talk soon faded. Faced with her undeniable beauty, people gradually fell silent.

Time passed, and before anyone realized, autumn ended and winter arrived.

On a day when the colorful leaves that had covered the ground had nearly disappeared—

The social season was nearing its end.

Daphne stood by the mansion’s window, looking out over the ground frozen solid by the cold. Her luscious red hair flowed down her back. She had now blossomed into a beautiful and mature woman, regarded as Roxanne’s greatest beauty.

Yet, despite being so admired, she was alone.

Just as when she first set foot in Roxanne, she remained solitary and unmarried.

* * *

A massive chandelier hung from the high ceiling, its dazzling lights brightening the darkness, accompanied by beautiful melodies played by a famous national orchestra, and elegantly dressed attendants offering luxurious finger foods and drinks.

Perhaps because she arrived a bit late, the ballroom was already packed with a huge crowd.

Groups of people gathered, chatting and laughing loudly. In keeping with the masquerade theme, many wore masks.

Daphne brushed snow off her clothes and quietly scanned the room. Despite the dead of winter, the atmosphere inside was heated.

“Daphne!”

As she handed her coat to the attendant by the door, a familiar voice called out from afar. Looking in the direction of the voice, she saw a young woman of her age eagerly pushing through the crowd toward her.

The woman’s name was Amelia Jenkins, the youngest daughter of Viscount Jenkins, rumored to be a landowner in the area. She was one of the few female friends Daphne had made while staying in Roxanne.

“Why are you so late? That’s not like you.”

Amelia greeted Daphne warmly and asked,

“We thought you weren’t coming at all since you were so late.”

“Sorry, I took a wrong turn.”

Daphne smiled softly and apologized.

“When did you get here, Amelia?”

“Of course, I came early for the opening. It’s not just any ball—it’s hosted by the Lordio family.”

Amelia linked arms with Daphne.

“It’s the ball that marks the end of this season. I sneaked a peek at the guest list earlier, and it’s much better than I expected. Not just Roxanne, but heirs from good families in Helmberry are attending, too.”

Amelia added excitedly, her sparkling eyes resembling those of a hunter who’d found a good hunting ground.

“Aaah, it’s such a shame. If it weren’t for Dion, I would have shown them my incredible charm without holding back.”

“What about Sir Pollen? Didn’t you come together?”

“Of course we came together. But I don’t know where he is now.”

Amelia answered Daphne’s question indifferently.

“He’s been frequenting a club lately, probably hanging out with the members there. He was so excited before we arrived—I bet he’s already drunk by now.”

Despite talking about her fiancé of ten years, Amelia’s expression wasn’t very warm. In truth, she and Dion, her fiancé, had been forced into an engagement by their parents, regardless of their own wishes.

They exchanged vows at their engagement ceremony—Dion was only eleven, and Amelia was just eight at the time.

“What about you, Daphne? Who’s your partner tonight?”

Amelia glanced around curiously.

“Who’s the lucky man escorting you tonight?”

“That person over there.”

Daphne cautiously pointed behind her. There stood a slightly chubby young man.

Amelia’s eyes widened.

“Richard Reynold?”

Amelia gasped and spoke his name.

“You’re getting along well with Sir Richard?”

Richard Reynold.

He was the eldest son of Count Reynold and his wife, heir to the Reynold Count. He was also one of the men who had fervently courted Daphne over the past couple of months.

“Girl! You said not long ago you didn’t care for him!”

Amelia leaned close to Daphne, giggling.

“Why did you suddenly change your mind? Did he confess his love by gifting you gold-threaded clothes?”

“It’s nothing like that. We’re just pure friends who came here together.”

“Pure friends? Pure friends, you say?”

Amelia scoffed and repeated Daphne’s words.

“Well, maybe you think so, but I doubt he feels that way.”

She glanced at Daphne’s partner again.

Richard pulled a fine handkerchief from his jacket pocket to wipe the snow from his face.

With his hairline receding, he looked at least ten years older than his actual age. He was short and rather stout, giving an overall impression of heaviness.

Far from the image of an attractive man.

“His looks are a bit disappointing, though.”

Amelia clicked her tongue as she muttered.

“But still, Sir Richard isn’t a bad choice. He’s the next Count, and it’s said he’ll inherit a considerable fortune.”

In a world where women married men decades older simply for status, a bald head and a big belly meant nothing. Especially for a woman like Daphne, who had almost nothing.