3.
Imelda’s eyes first widened in bewilderment, then contorted in shock.
“Independence? What are you even talking about? Are you in your right mind?
So this is because I scolded you? Did I say something a mother shouldn’t say?
Goodness, so now I can’t even speak, is that it.”
Without pausing for breath, she peppered Lunaria with accusations.
“If there are fewer mouths to feed, household finances will improve.
From now on, don’t contact me, and consider me as having no daughter.
I won’t be giving you money like before either. You’re a stranger now.”
At Lunaria’s words, Imelda couldn’t calm herself and raised her voice with all her might.
“What? Are you threatening me with money now? Fine, go, get out!
If you leave, we’ll all just starve to death.
And I’ll sell all my cherished jewelry and Robelia’s dresses too.
If I don’t, we’ll be out on the street—won’t we?
Is that what you want? Will you only be satisfied when we’re dead? Hm?”
Lunaria regarded Imelda with cold indifference.
Silver hair and violet eyes, exactly like Robelia’s.
Ranting in a frenzy without thought for anything made her not the least bit beautiful.
Even if the family fortunes had declined, there was no trace of the manners or refinement expected of the mistress who had married into a viscountcy.
‘Well, by this time they’d already sold off that hollow “jun viscount” title, too.’
“Then stay well. I’ll be going now.”
When Lunaria declared their parting without the slightest regret, Imelda suddenly forced a smile and grabbed her by the shoulder.
But the corners of Imelda’s mouth trembled with rage.
“Hey, Luna. What are you saying? Leaving home? How is an unmarried girl going to live on her own?
I said all that for your own good. Sounds like you’ve had a lot bottled up, but a daughter should do at least that much.
Other families live the same way! You’re not the only one.
Besides, you’re engaged—how are you going to marry without your parents’ help?”
“A daughter should do at least that much,” “parents’ help,” is it.
A self-mocking smile touched Lunaria’s lips.
If so, why had Robelia—also a daughter—been tended like a hothouse flower with such painstaking care?
Was she the heir apparent or something, and not a daughter at all?
In all her memories, Lunaria had not once enjoyed any benefit bestowed by her parents while alive.
Everything precious and fine always went to darling Robelia.
She had believed that if she worked hard, her family would one day love her.
She only realized, after that one life ended, how futile that wish had been.
“I won’t be getting married. I’ll be breaking off the engagement soon, so don’t be too surprised when it happens.”
Finishing, Lunaria strode up the stairs toward her room.
“What?”
Imelda’s eyes bulged as she shouted.
Just then—
“Mother…”
“Yes, yes, my darling.”
Imelda, who had been about to chase after Lunaria, heard Robelia’s voice and went into the room.
“Heavens, what on earth happened! Why is the floor like this? Lunaria! Did you break Lia’s mirror?
You wicked thing, get back here at once!”
Back in her room, Lunaria could hear Imelda bellowing from downstairs.
She paid it no mind and began stuffing her scant belongings into a threadbare cloth bag.
She had so little that packing took but a move or two.
Lunaria left the house then and there.
Her stepmother did not come after her.
Most likely she was busy listening to Robelia complain about her headache, or massaging her legs, or indulging her chatter.
Her father had once again drunk himself into a stupor through the night, and would be asleep not knowing whether it was night or morning.
The early morning sun rose bright and clear.
Lunaria’s steps as she passed through the front gate felt infinitely light.
Having finally said everything she had long wanted to say, she felt wonderfully relieved.
Even if this were a dream, it would be fine. She couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips.
“Ah.”
Walking along the road, Lunaria abruptly stopped.
‘Where should I go?’
She had boldly declared her independence and left, but there was nowhere suitable to go.
Lunaria didn’t have a single friend.
Her vain father had restrained her, telling her not to mingle with the lowly and disgrace his standing.
The villagers were kind to Lunaria, but it was all for show.
Their disgust toward her family outweighed any willingness to take her in.
As for staying at an inn—she had used every bit of money that came in to pay off debts, leaving not a single coin on her.
“If it comes to it, I can sleep on the road.”
Even living in a stable would be better than before.
For now, she decided to head to the old lady’s mansion for work and think things through step by step.
At that moment, she heard the firm pounding of hooves in the distance.
From the village entrance, someone was riding in, kicking up dust.
The sound drew nearer and nearer to Lunaria.
At last, two horses came right up to her.
Lunaria, without thinking, lifted her head to look at the riders.
Time seemed to slow as if by magic, each motion stretching out; her eyes met his.
Wavy black hair scattered in the air.
The boyish, mischievous blue eyes were, at the same time, cool.
Lips always hooked to one side in a mocking smile. A graceful hand on the reins.
It was only a passing glance, yet the man with the striking features and tall, elegant build flashed past Lunaria and disappeared behind her.
Gentle ripples spread through her chest, refusing to subside for a while.
Lunaria exhaled the breath she’d been holding.
Frantes had arrived.
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
The vigorous drumming that shook the earth broke the quiet of the fields.
Flowers that had been resting through the dawn slowly opened their petals and listened.
In the softly brightening morning light, two men were riding.
They looked like travelers from elsewhere.
Their sleeves were damp with the dew that had settled during the night.
“I do have one idea.”
Randolph, a gentle-looking man with chestnut hair and warm brown eyes, opened his mouth.
He had been itching to speak for a while; his eyes shone with excitement.
“What idea?”
The handsome man riding slightly ahead asked in a tone that suggested he expected nothing at all.
His gaze was fixed only forward.
His curly black hair streamed in the wind.
“A way to make your aunt willingly hand over the family heirloom, Frantes!”
“Really? A method for ‘getting Aunt’s treasure’—something the former Grand Duke of Rotmeria never managed in his lifetime and that has been plaguing me as well—and you know it?”
To some ears, Frantes’s reply could have sounded arrogant.
But such things were routine, and Randolph was lost in his own thoughts anyway, so he ignored it and began to explain.
“Do you remember? When we were last here, at the service, that beautiful silver-haired young lady we saw—Miss Robelia.”
This was their second visit here.
After a resounding failure on the first, they had waited half a year before trying again.
“I don’t remember. Though if you recall her name, she must have impressed you.
At last I have something to tell the Count.”
Frantes had an excellent natural memory.
Even as he said this, he remembered precisely the very dress the lady Randolph referred to had worn.
Playing mischievous tricks on those around him was his hobby.
“Hey now, don’t say such things! It may be a joke to you, but if I repeat that I might end up divorced. Please don’t.
I’m only passing on what a servant told me. So, what was it—Robelia—who she is, well…”
“What does the Rotmeria heirloom have to do with Miss Robelia?”
“Hold on and listen. Miss Robelia is said to be the most beautiful young lady in Tilbury.
Educated by an excellent governess, she’s well-versed in scholarship, the arts, and literature, plays the piano well, and sings to great acclaim.
Miss Robelia has a half-sister who lacks both her beauty and refinement—and she is the key person for us.”
“Finally, the point? Your preface is far too long.”
“Impatient as ever! After we left last time, that elder sister began working as a maid at your aunt’s mansion.”
The casually spoken words caused a tremendous stir.
Frantes, who had been only half-listening, turned his head and stared hard at Randolph.
“How?”
At last getting the reaction he’d hoped for, Randolph smiled in satisfaction.
“I don’t know the details, but that—Lu… what was it… Luni—Luniria?
Anyway, the elder sister, Luniria, asked if they were short-handed and requested to be hired as a maid, and…”
He broke off deliberately for dramatic effect.
“Your aunt reportedly laughed as if greatly amused and readily told her she could work as a maid!”
“My aunt?”
Frantes frowned.
“She laughed as if greatly amused? Does that even make sense? Sounds like a chilling ghost story. Frightening even to imagine.”
“I also think the rumor may be a bit exaggerated, but the fact that Miss Luni—Luniria works at your aunt’s mansion is widely known in the village.”
“They seemed quite a wealthy family.”
Robelia had worn a dress of the latest design and finest fabric—rare in the countryside.
Even the small gems on the necklace she wore for worship glimmered softly from afar.
‘The younger sister appeared the pampered daughter of a well-to-do house, yet the elder sister works as a maid?’
“I heard their father gambled away so much he even sold their noble title.
Miss Luniria went around looking for work to pay the debts, but since the family is so poorly regarded in the village, people thought it served them right.
No one would give her work. In the end, she went to see your aunt.”
“I’m looking forward to the meeting.”
“With Miss Robelia?”
“No. Her sister.”
A peculiar smile touched Frantes’s lips.
