~Chapter 15~
“Master Marick, we sincerely welcome you back to the mansion after such a long time.”
Riden heard the servants’ voices greeting Marick as he stepped out first.
Left behind in the carriage, Riden fidgeted with her toes inside her shoes until a gloved hand extended towards her.
“Would you like to come out?”
“Thank you.”
She carefully took Marick’s hand and stepped down.
Beyond the lined-up servants, a beige stone building caught her eyes first.
‘So this is the villa.’
It felt even more surreal because this place never appeared in the novel.
Next, her gaze moved to the servants themselves.
Their faces clearly showed curiosity about who she was, having arrived with Marick in the same carriage.
‘What on earth should I introduce myself as…’
Unable to think of an appropriate introduction, she hesitated. At that moment, Marick stepped close behind her and gently placed his hands on both her shoulders.
‘…Huh?’
“She is a very important person. Treat her with the utmost respect, understood?”
“Yes, Young Master.”
After this one-sided introduction, Marick reached out his hand again, leading her into the building.
“It must be uncomfortable because of your shoes.”
He spoke softly in front of the stairs.
Unlike most buildings that started from the ground floor, the villa’s main building began from the second floor, up a flight of steps.
“It’s fine, my lord. They don’t look that steep.”
Marick, who had been smiling gently the entire journey, suddenly leaned closer and whispered into her ear.
“If I were the one marrying you, I would’ve just carried you up.”
‘This future brother-in-law… is kindly dangerous with his jokes.’
Riden awkwardly replied,
“Yes, that… would certainly look very intimate. If we were engaged, that is.”
“Haha, but since I can’t do that, I’ll just hold you steady instead.”
As they entered the building, Marick turned to the servants following them.
“Where are the people Mother sent ahead?”
“We’ve guided them to the drawing room while the luggage is being sorted.”
Meanwhile, Riden was mesmerised by the villa.
The townhouse of the Count’s family was grand, but this villa was extraordinary in scale.
‘If a villa is like this, then the main houses of counts or dukes must be even more magnificent.’
As she imagined this, Marick called out to her.
“Miss Riden, are you tired?”
“I think I’m okay.”
When she first rode a carriage towards the capital, she thought her hips would break, but she seemed to have gotten used to it now.
Marick looked delighted and led her along.
“Let’s stop by the drawing room before heading to your room. This way, please.”
“The drawing room?”
“Yes. Mother has prepared some people for you.”
At the mention of his mother, Riden moved without resistance but soon froze mid-step.
‘People prepared by my future mother-in-law to chaperone me…’
A sudden wave of anxiety washed over her. She gripped the bouquet of daisies in her hand tightly.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“No… it’s fine…”
Marick bent slightly to meet her eyes, and Riden forced a small smile.
‘You promised to endure for just two weeks, remember? Let’s do this, Riden.’
“Let’s go… please.”
Her frail voice followed behind the slightly excited Marick.
Meanwhile…
The Fashion Fab Four exchanged glances as they saw the woman entering the drawing room.
‘Is this really the chick?’
‘Doesn’t seem like it…’
‘Is the Duchess’ choice… really this?’
The Duchess Samantha Kenwulf, whom they served, was originally from the Western Empire and known across the continent for her impeccable aesthetic sense.
Since her debut as a young noblewoman, Samantha only dealt with beauty. Every designer longed to be chosen by her, because if Samantha wore a rookie designer’s piece, their orders would be booked out for the next year.
That was why these four top designers left the fashion-forward Western Empire to work for the Kenwulf family in the Eastern Empire — out of pride in being chosen by Samantha.
But… had age dulled her once razor-sharp sense?
They all silently questioned as they looked at the woman before them.
The woman with voluminous crimson hair looked less like a fluffy chick and more like a rooster with its comb raised.
Henji Dolomy, unaware of their distaste, greeted them coquettishly.
“You are the Duchess’ closest aides, correct? I’m sure you’ve already heard my name, but let me introduce myself again. I’m Henji Dolomy.”
“…Yes, yes.”
They hadn’t heard her name before, but they bowed anyway.
Her greeting was laced with exaggerated flirtatious gestures, making her even less like the innocent chick they had imagined.
‘Who imagines a chick wriggling their body seductively like that…’
Certainly none of them.
Henji, folding her arms, smiled.
“Have you finished your tea? Then shall we go?”
“Go… where?”
“Where else? You’re here for my debutante, aren’t you? I’ve set up a powder room where you can work.”
“….”
“Are you still drinking? It’s okay. I’ll wait for you.”
The four designers sipped their tea as slowly as possible, praying that someone who knew the chick’s true identity would arrive soon.
Henji clicked her tongue.
“You take forever. Fine, drink as long as you want. I have things to attend to.”
She swept out of the room, closing the door loudly behind her.
Knock knock.
Marick knocked lightly before confidently pushing open both doors to the drawing room.
At the sound, all noise inside ceased.
Riden followed him in, stepping carefully.
Four people, who seemed to have just risen from their seats, stared at her.
‘Who are they…?’
She glanced at Marick, hoping he would introduce her, but he merely smiled warmly.
‘…It’s okay. There’s no need to be scared.’
Gathering courage, Riden smiled softly and bowed.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Riden McCurry.”
Silence fell heavy despite her polite greeting.
‘Did I say something wrong…?’
She sent a pleading look to Marick, who was still just smiling when—
“Phil. S-sketch… sketchbook!”
“Huh?”
Serawang, who had been staring intently at Riden, shouted urgently. Her assistant swiftly handed her a sketchbook from somewhere.
Scratch scratch scratch!
Like a possessed woman, Serawang’s pencil flew across the pages.
Minolo, the shoemaker, quickly snatched a page from Serawang and buried his nose into it, sketching shoes with fervour.
Only Twiffany, the jeweler, remained still, peering into Riden’s eyes.
She was not the type to sketch immediately; rather, she captured the image in her mind like a photograph for later design.
Looking at Riden’s eyes that kept shyly hiding beneath her lashes, Twiffany thought:
‘Warm blue topaz… yes, not the cold type, but the gentle, sunlit blue just before sunset – golden hour hues.’
“Such a warm colour…”
She murmured softly.
Serawang, finishing her furious sketching, dashed to Riden.
“You should be wearing white right now, not this. Everything but your natural colours is unnecessary! Why are you in these clothes?!”
“Wh-what?”
Startled, Riden stumbled behind Marick.
To her, Serawang simply looked insane.
“Ha… I see. Not everyone sees what I see. You’re such a generous person, aren’t you? Smiling in clothes that do nothing for you! Am I wrong?”
“I… I don’t understand what you mean…”
She tugged at Marick’s elbow.
“My lord, please explain…”
She felt abandoned, guided here only to face chaos.
Just then, Phil, the assistant, raised a hand.
“Um, don’t we need to confirm something important?”
The designers snapped out of their trance and looked at Marick.
Phil asked,
“The chick?”
Marick glanced briefly at Riden, suppressing his rising smile.
“The chick.”
‘What does that even mean?! Don’t leave me out of this conversation!’
Riden pouted in confusion at their cryptic words.
At that moment—
Creak.
The door opened again as the woman who had left returned.
