Chapter 9
Lunaria rose from her seat.
Baron Eclobe’s chatter cut off at her unexpected movement. All eyes at the outdoor tables gathered on her.
Lunaria walked up to her fiancé and stopped.
“Mr. Marmore.”
Her clear voice drifted on the spring breeze.
I used to call you Zeke…
The name she had once treasured on her tongue, saved and rolled gently—now she disliked even saying it, not to mention using an affectionate nickname. The thought stung a little.
“What? Lunaria?”
Jakoran, red-haired and boyish-faced, answered without even looking at her.
Coward that he was, he pretended only now to have noticed her.
How pathetic.
“Let’s break our engagement.”
“What?”
Jakoran snapped his head around and barked furiously.
“What nonsense are you spouting all of a sudden!”
“Don’t shout without manners. We’re not the only people here—others are present as well.”
Lunaria’s voice was calmer than ever.
“From now on, I’ll tell you why I intend to annul our engagement.”
“Don’t talk drivel. Annul it? Who do you think you are?”
“Lower your voice. I’m ashamed of you—your ignorant bellowing of ‘you, you,’ your groveling to your parents while drowning in gambling debts you couldn’t restrain, and this disgraceful carousing with the pitiable gentlemen gathered here. I can’t endure it any longer.”
With a light, unburdened expression, Lunaria added the finishing words.
“That is how I’ve truly felt all this time. You’ve no idea how stifling it was not to say it. I wasn’t going to, but out of the lingering sentiment between us, I’m telling you kindly.”
“What did you say? Y-you—because I pitied you and treated you a bit better, you’ve forgotten your place and grown impudent!”
Jakoran glared, raising his arm high. Behind him, Frantes leapt to his feet so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
Lunaria instinctively flinched.
She saw the old earl who had once struck her, overlaid on Jakoran. The bellowing rang dully in her ears.
She exhaled with effort and clenched her fist.
It’s all right.
Even in her past life, her story had not ended because of half-baked men like these.
There was nothing to fear. She had endured worse.
She steeled herself—and moved.
Smack!
Jakoran’s head whipped to the side.
A red handprint bloomed on his cheek and began to swell.
Stunned by the speed of it, he stared blankly.
“A word of advice: if you call yourself a person, behave like one. And don’t you dare do this to Lobelia.”
“Huh? Wh-what… what did you say?”
At the mention of his younger sister Lobelia, Jakoran’s pale blue eyes wavered.
Lunaria lightly tugged the sleeve of Frantes’ coat—he had, at some point, come to stand beside her.
Even he had been taken aback by her action and was frozen in place.
“Let’s go.”
Taking advantage of the men’s gaping stupor, the two of them slipped out of the café.
“Hey! Wait! You there—Lunaria! Is this a joke? Where do you think you’re going!”
“Hold yourself, man. If you knew who that gentleman is, you’d faint right there…”
Over the murmuring crowd rose frantic shouts.
Now and then, the baron’s voice could be heard trying to stop them.
“Mr. Frantes, may I… run a bit?”
Lunaria asked, apologetic.
“As much as you like.”
Frantes smiled.
They ran all the way, breathlessly, to the village inn where they’d left their horses.
Before long, Lunaria’s stamina flagged, and Frantes ended up pulling her along by the hand.
Her lungs burned, yet her spirits soared. Her chest felt wonderfully light.
Why did I endure this for so long when it was this easy? It was as simple as saying the words.
Warmth traveled through Frantes’ hand—rougher to the touch than she expected—
a warmth like spring sunlight, the kind that felt as if it could fill her with strength again and again.
Lunaria lifted her head proudly and burst into bright laughter.
Buoyed by joy, an unplanned thought slipped out.
“Mr. Frantes—would you like to learn how to make lemon cake sometime?”
It was a delightful dinner hour.
Between softly dancing candle flames, witty talk flowed.
Stories of what had happened at the mansion, things seen and heard around the village.
Frantes, reading the mood, did not bring up the annulment—because Lunaria didn’t.
The lemon cake served for dessert was something he had never tasted even in the capital.
The sponge was moist, and the layered lemons—by some magic—held a sweet, refreshing flavor that lifted the heart.
Its look, taste, aroma, and texture—all suited Frantes perfectly.
When I return to the grand ducal residence, I’ll have the chef attempt this.
Randolph, whatever had happened to him earlier, was already fast asleep by the time they returned to the mansion.
He didn’t join them for dinner.
Emily—presumably the cause—brandished her fork with alarming vigor throughout the meal, shooting daggers at Frantes,
as if she wanted to stab him with it.
She had been like that ever since Lunaria returned to the mansion covered in dust.
Frantes studied Lunaria’s profile as she sat beside him.
Each time her rose-colored lips parted to speak, a pleased smile spread on Madame Mezen’s face.
Alive and brimming like a pulsing heartbeat, and yet as serene as a fairy—
her brilliant golden hair, like melted gold, was tied firmly at the back of her head, revealing a swanlike elegant curve of neck.
When Frantes had first entered Tilbury, Lunaria’s wavy hair had fallen to her waist in rippling waves.
It suited her well.
Even while conversing, Lunaria moved her wrist with supple grace as she handled her knife—
a poise that overflowed with dignity, unlike her ex-fiancé’s coarse bluster.
Has everyone gone blind?
That such a beautiful, refined lady should be treated as trivial for no special reason.
Is the sense of beauty in Tilbury different from the capital’s?
Lunaria was far more intriguing than he had expected.
It was worth breaking his appointment with his aunt to visit the Veila mansion earlier.
Whatever he said, she had remained composed—
and then, upon realizing she had no money, her face had flushed so red.
The memory drew a natural smile to his lips.
He had never been tugged along quite like this before—
and yet the feeling was pleasant, not unpleasant.
