LRAB Chapter 23
Chapter 23
I answered sarcastically, “If you’re going to keep getting up like you’re leaving, only to come back and start more trouble, won’t our conversations just drag on? At this rate, we’ll end up with some form of affection, whether it’s grudging or otherwise.”
“...It seems the lady has the upper hand,” Rick admitted with a wry smile as he stood.
“It was a pleasure talking with you. Until next time.”
“Yes, take care.”
I waved cheerfully, even though my expression was hidden behind my mask.
Haha. I really talked a lot today.
Hahaha. Pretending to act like Natalie is actually kind of fun. She must find life so entertaining.
Hahaha. This water tastes amazing...
“...AAAAAAARGH!”
No matter how hard I tried to think of something else, the words I’d said earlier kept replaying in my head.@@@@
“Even if someone is annoying, it’s easy to grow attached to them if they sneak you snacks.”
Seriously? The salt-and-sweet routine has its limits! Have I forgotten the level of venom Tristan’s remarks can contain? Do I think waffles or get-well gifts can fix that?
There’s no cute and cuddly between us!
“Sigh...”
We’re going to get married, so I guess I’ll have to develop some attachment to him.
But the idea of actually becoming fond of that guy feels like losing somehow... Like I’m letting myself fall for someone who doesn’t deserve it. Not that it’s wrong to grow attached, and, well, okay, his face does sometimes make my heart flutter a bit, but—
To break the endless cycle of thoughts spiraling through my mind, I called for a server.
“Excuse me! One gin and tonic, extra shot!”
***
In high society, every bit of gossip warrants a healthy dose of skepticism.
"A and B are getting married?" They probably just danced together once.
“C’s business is failing?” More likely, the person spreading the rumor got turned down for a free meal from C today.
"Doris Redfield has been bedridden since stepping on the young duke’s foot?"
The Countess of Redfield must be trying to use this as an excuse to invite the young duke over.
‘Doris Redfield stepped on his foot three times and still walked home on both legs. It’s obvious the countess is exaggerating her daughter’s condition to pair up the young duke with Natalie.’
Despite recognizing this transparent ploy, Tristan still found himself shopping for a get-well gift to bring to the Redfield estate that Saturday.
Even though he was busy investigating reports of monsters in Blue Atrium, he figured he should at least confirm that his fiancée’s already small feet hadn’t somehow shrunk further.
After carving out what little free time he had, Tristan successfully made it to the gates of the Redfield estate with a gift in hand.
Unfortunately, the person who greeted him was the worst possible choice.
“Oh my, Your Highness. What brings you here?”
Natalie Redfield. The most beautiful—and most tactless—woman in the history of the Redfield family.
“I don’t recall inviting you, nor receiving word of your visit. Surely you haven’t come to trouble the Redfield household, have you?”
“I heard my fiancée was injured.”
“While it’s true she’s experiencing some discomfort, that hardly explains your sudden appearance. Would you care to make an appointment for another day?”
“Miss Redfield, have you never made a sick visit before? Ah, perhaps you’ve never had a friend exchange such courtesies with you? If so, that’s unfortunate. Still, projecting your own misfortune onto your sister’s circumstances seems like an inappropriate choice.”
“Why would a sister who receives her elder’s love ever feel lonely? Unless, of course, you believe familial love to be inferior to a fiancé’s love. Which, might I add, raises questions about whether what you’ve brought here even qualifies as ‘love.’”
Tristan briefly entertained the thought of locking Natalie in a cabin deep in the woods, where she’d have no one to talk to but squirrels and deer. That might improve her temperament.
Of course, she was probably imagining him hanging upside-down from a fir tree in that same forest. Her sharp glare made it all too clear.
Their conversation—or linguistic duel—was unexpectedly interrupted in the most peaceful way possible.
Behind Natalie, a voice called out.
“Please, calm down! If Doris finds out you’re arguing because of her, she’ll be hurt!”
“For my birthday once, I skipped buying a fraisier cake because it was too expensive. I ended up crying while eating three Ferrero Rocher chocolates instead. They were good, but still...”
The specificity of the rambling confirmed it—this was Doris Redfield.
Her maid, unfazed, responded with curt politeness: “Please watch your step, my lady.”
Tristan’s mind swirled with questions.
“Where on earth has she been at this hour?”
It was a Saturday night, so plenty of parties would’ve been taking place, from lavish balls to small gatherings around a table with friends. Since she hadn’t taken a carriage, it was likely the latter.
“She has friends?”
He felt a pang of guilt for even entertaining the thought. Of course, she could have friends.
“Maria seemed friendly with her earlier today... When did they become close?”
More questions piled up, but answers eluded him. It was a rare feeling for Tristan. Normally, he would work backward to unravel a problem.
“What do I actually know about my fiancée?”
Doris Redfield. The third daughter of the Redfield family. Quiet, uninteresting, and not particularly beautiful.
Even the tidbit about her liking sweets was something he’d only stumbled upon by accident earlier that year. Hardly groundbreaking information.
“How is it that I know so little about the woman I’ve been engaged to for five years?”
He could deduce complex issues in Blue Atrium from rumors and a few documents, yet when it came to Doris, he knew little more than the dance hall attendants who announced her arrival.
The reason was obvious.
He’d never cared to know.
Even as this realization settled in, his mind felt oddly blank.
Yet his feet kept moving forward.
“And what am I going to do if I catch up to her?”
“Ask her what she likes besides snacks?”
By the time these thoughts ran their course, Doris and her maid had reached the estate’s side gate. The door creaked open.
“Please head in safely, my lady. I’m sure the mistress will look forward to seeing you again.”
“Thank her for me. I’ll visit again soon.”
So, it had been a gathering with friends after all.
Tristan felt an inexplicable sense of relief. He didn’t know why.
Just as Doris stepped through the threshold, her shawl slipped off her shoulders.
“Eek!”
She hastily pulled it back up, briefly revealing her bare shoulders under the moonlight.
The maid seemed more startled than she was.
“What’s wrong, my lady?”
“My shoulders showed... Sorry, it’s nothing. I don’t usually wear dresses like this.”
“Thank you for your hard work tonight. Please rest well.”
The maid turned and walked off into the night. Doris carefully adjusted her shawl, ensuring it was secure, and closed the door behind her.
It was time for Tristan to leave as well.
“So, she doesn’t only wear nun-like clothes. She can wear a proper dress every now and then.”
Though surprised, he felt reassured knowing she was well enough to spend time with friends.
“Damn it. It really was the countess exaggerating her condition to lure the young duke over.”
Tristan sighed and turned away. He’d wasted enough time. The rest of his walk would be spent focusing on the pressing issues of Blue Atrium.
“The restricted zones imply the higher-ups are aware of the monsters’ presence... And yet, why does she seem more dressed up when meeting friends than attending balls? No, why am I even thinking about that?!”