Chapter 17

First, I slipped the ring Penelope had found onto my finger.

Then I fastened the bracelet that shimmered enchantingly with every movement. Finally, I hesitantly opened the jewelry box.

“It’s beautiful.”

The necklace was, undeniably, stunning. Even someone like me, who knew next to nothing about jewelry, could tell it was no ordinary piece.

A large emerald sat at the center, framed delicately with smaller peridots.

It felt heavy in my hand—so heavy that wearing it for long might strain my neck.

Just wearing it would probably exhaust me. But I couldn’t exactly ignore the gesture of goodwill from Edgar.

I fumbled to find the clasp.

“Let me help.”

Startled, I jumped up at the sound of the voice that had come without warning.

“Edgar.”

“Sit. I’ll do it.”

“I can manage.”

All I had to do was bring the clasp to the front and hook it myself.

Edgar clicked his tongue and pressed down gently on my shoulder, urging me to sit.

“When someone offers help, just accept it.”

Dressed formally, Edgar looked more polished than I expected.

His usual tousled blond hair was neatly slicked back, revealing a clean, composed forehead.

His hand touched the back of my neck.

Cecilia’s reflection in the mirror flinched.

To avoid showing that expression, I lowered my gaze.

“All done.”

“Thank you.”

Edgar stepped back and gave me a once-over.

“Not bad.”

“You too.”

His lips curled into a crooked smile.

“You’ve changed. That’s good. But don’t you think it’s a bit… sudden?”

I was in the middle of fixing a smudge in my lipstick and didn’t quite catch what he said.

“Sorry? What was that?”

When I glanced at him through the mirror, Edgar had his usual vague, unreadable expression.

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

“Did you check on Miss Elodie?”

His brows immediately knit together at the mention of her.

Unlike me, Edgar had the power to show his emotions freely.

He had no need to care how his expression made others feel—least of all someone like me.

“I’m sure she got here safely.”

“Still, you should go see her. She’s probably nervous.”

Even veteran performers get stage fright.

And tonight, Elodie’s stage happened to be hosted by her lover’s wife.

Sarah kept saying I must be in turmoil, but really, the one with a broken heart—the one soaking her pillow with tears—was Elodie.

Unlike me, who had no feelings left for Edgar, Elodie still loved him deeply.

And love, even for someone as talented as her, forces you to confront the harsh truth that you’re just a mistress in someone else’s story.

I pitied her.

I hated being pitied myself, yet I couldn’t stop myself from feeling pity toward Elodie.

Another one of my mother’s favorite accusations—my selfishness.

“If you go, she’ll feel reassured.”

“And you want me to be seen with another woman on my wife’s big night?”

Edgar’s voice turned cynical.

“I’m your countess, Edgar.”

I looked him straight in the eyes, drawing the boundary between us with perfect clarity.

“What other woman? It’s Miss Elodie.”

Is there anyone who doesn’t know about Edgar and Elodie?

It would only be a scandal if he showed up with anyone besides her.

“No one will be surprised.”

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

Here we go again.

“What now?”

“You used to be obsessive—like a madwoman. And now you’re pulling this clever little act. If you think this’ll make me come running back, you’re sorely mistaken.”

I ignored his jab and, with the maid’s help, changed into my shoes.

I lifted the hem of my dress and stepped onto the shimmering silver heels.

Literally stepped on them. I nearly lost my balance.

A firm hand grabbed my wrist, steadying me.

“Thank you.”

“You can barely walk. And you’re wearing those shoes?”

“Pepe worked really hard to find these.”

I pulled my hand away and took a few practice steps.

Blood rushed into my toes. Every step felt like walking on glass.

“Do I look okay?”

I managed to walk one full circle around the room without tripping.

“Stay focused. If you fall out there, you’ll never live it down.”

“I’ll be careful.”

I let go of the dress I’d been holding up during practice.

Penelope’s hard-won heels disappeared under the floor-length gown.

At this point, I might as well have worn flat slippers.

“My lady. It’s time.”

Sarah called from outside the door.

Edgar held out his hand.

When I just stared at it, he snapped.

“Take it.”

“Is that really necessary?”

“What did Countess Rosette teach you, exactly? The first dinner party hosted by a newlywed couple—of course the couple has to appear together.”

Yet another rule.

I awkwardly took his hand.

I thought it would be for show, but Edgar gripped mine with real force.

“Edgar, you’re hurting me.”

“Deal with it.”

Wearing shoes I hadn’t broken in, I let myself be dragged out by Edgar.

“Ah…”

From the second-floor landing, I could see the crowd gathered below.

They were all looking up—waiting for us.

“What now?”

Edgar glanced back in irritation as I hesitated.

Their eyes terrified me. But expecting him to understand that?

That would be asking too much.

I dragged my heels forward, hoping only that I wouldn’t have a panic attack.

“My lady.”

The head maid—someone I’d barely seen—approached, holding a tray with two champagne glasses.

Edgar took one for himself and handed the other to me.

“Thank you all for attending our humble dinner.”

A smooth smile had already taken hold of his face.

He gave a short speech and raised his glass.

Everyone else lifted their glasses into the air.

I brought mine to my lips.

And then, just as quickly, music poured from the banquet hall.

“Oh my.”

“Is that…?”

“That’s Elodie.”

The excitement in the hall rippled up to the second-floor landing.

Edgar, brimming with pride, gestured toward the banquet room with his open palm.

“Please enjoy a voice straight from heaven.”

Following the crowd, Edgar made his way down the stairs into the hall.

“I thought Elodie didn’t accept private engagements?”

“You still don’t know? Count Linton and she are…”

The rest was swallowed up in whispers.

“See? El wasn’t nervous at all.”

Edgar leaned in and murmured.

I stepped into the banquet hall and saw Elodie standing on stage.

She was singing with her eyes closed—an aching love song.

Not exactly a fitting piece for a dinner party. But her voice… it truly was as divine as they said. “Heavenly” wasn’t an exaggeration.

And if a voice like that descended from the sky, did it really matter what she sang?

Thanks to Elodie, the bard Ricardo had brought along faded into the background.

Letting him sing just one song turned out to be the right call.

He quickly finished and slipped back into the crowd, unnoticed.

“Cecilia.”

“Countess Rosette.”

She approached, lightly tapping my elbow in greeting.

“You and Count Linton seemed to be getting along quite well.”

There was little malice in her voice—it was buried so deep you’d barely notice—but her eyes were cold, poking at me with quiet contempt.

“That necklace… I hear it’s a family heirloom from the Linton line.”

“So it seems. Edgar said it belonged to his mother.”

“Seeing the two of you together puts my heart at ease.”

In any case, Countess Rosette played the role of doting stepmother exceptionally well.

People came up to her often, offering greetings and compliments.

“This is such a magnificent event. How did you come up with that decoration?”

“I was in awe the moment I stepped inside. It’s such a relief that Countess Linton’s health has improved. If anyone else had hosted the next party, it would’ve been a disaster.”

They praised every little detail, even ones I hadn’t noticed myself.

“As a mother, I must say—more than the beautiful dinner, it’s Cecilia’s recovery that truly brings me joy.”

Countess Rosette spoke sweetly.

“Isla was so worried about her sister. She’s been beside herself for weeks.”

She was born to perform, that woman.

Whatever attention had been on me now naturally shifted to Countess Rosette’s maternal warmth.

“Is there another stepmother-daughter pair this close?”

“Cecilia is like my own daughter.”

Then a woman to my left scoffed.

Countess Rosette turned to look at her.

Naturally, the small group around us turned their attention in the same direction.

The first thing I noticed was her neatly coiled chestnut hair.

“Didn’t you already have a daughter? What was her name again?”

Rosette slowly unfolded her fan and covered her mouth.

Then she looked the woman up and down and said, “Ah, Lady Margaret. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Not even Margaret flinched under that sharp gaze.

I was confused. Rosette rarely slipped like this.

She was a natural-born actress—she’d played the part of the kind stepmother for over a decade and had fully cemented her place as Countess of Rosette.

To see her show open contempt so plainly was surprising.

“I didn’t expect to see Lady Margaret here. I’m not one to judge too quickly, but in this case, I must say—Baron Artois acted rashly.”

Margaret simply shrugged.

“I’ll be sure to pass your message along to Baron Artois.”

From that reply, it was clear Margaret was his daughter.

Still, it was odd for her to refer to her father—or even her brother—by title.

The tension was rising. Countess Rosette’s grip on her fan tightened.

“Isla.”

She ignored Margaret and called out to Isla.

“Mother.”

At her soft call, Isla hurried over at once.

“What’s wrong?”

She stood beside Margaret.

With the two of them side by side, I realized Margaret was younger than I had initially thought.

I glanced discreetly around the banquet hall.

Just as I’d suspected, the women with pinned-up hair had wedding rings glinting on their fingers.

Penelope had styled mine into an elegant updo, too.

In contrast, the ones like Isla—wearing their hair long and loose—were visibly younger. Girls, not yet women.

“You should’ve greeted your sister first.”

Countess Rosette scolded Isla with feigned sternness.

“She looked busy. Besides, you know how she doesn’t like all that formal politeness between family.”

Isla’s playful tone softened everyone’s expression—except Margaret’s.

“Of course. We’re all family,” said the woman standing to Rosette’s right in a warm voice.

“Thank you, Lady Ellen. When you only learn manners from books, it’s easy to come across as unintentionally rude. But you’ve never once slipped.”

She didn’t name names, but it was clearly meant for Margaret.

I glanced at her sideways.

“Well, I did learn my manners from books, so I must not know better. But Lady Isla seems very well-raised—must be thanks to her excellent mother. After all, she made sure to skip greeting her sister and went straight to securing the best view of the singer.”

Isla’s cheeks flared bright red.

“I just didn’t want my sister to feel hurt.”

“And why exactly would the guest of honor feel hurt? Perhaps I lack the refinement to understand such complex social cues.”

Margaret was no easy opponent.

“Lady Margaret.”

Countess Rosette finally stepped in.

“Countess Rosette, you do coddle your daughter. You won’t even let us exchange a few words? How is she supposed to learn how to interact with people like that?”

Margaret pecked at Isla like a hawk. People around us were beginning to look uncomfortable.

As the hostess, I probably should have stepped in, but I didn’t know what to say.

While I hesitated, Isla suddenly clung to my arm.

“I was just trying to protect you, but Lady Margaret ruined everything.”

Before I could even question her, she kept going.

“Don’t be upset, okay? I’m sure it’s just a coincidence that Miss Elodie’s dress looks like yours.”

Thanks to Isla’s words, all eyes turned to Elodie.

Until now, everyone had admired her voice—but she was still just a guest performer.

No one had really looked at her.

Until now.

Elodie was moving on to her next song, wearing a dress in the same shade of blue as mine.

A plaintive melody flowed from her delicate frame.

She looked like the tragic heroine of a romance, singing of lost love.

“She must’ve copied the design after hearing what you were going to wear. There’s no way Count Linton would gift her a similar dress, knowing how important this dinner is to you.”

An uncomfortable silence followed.

“I don’t really see how the dresses are alike,” said a familiar voice, cutting through the high, pointed tones of the gathered women.

“Lord Ricardo.”

We all instinctively bent our knees in greeting, forming a neat little circle around him.

“Lady Catherine, do you think the dresses look the same?”

He barely acknowledged the bows and turned to the woman standing opposite me.

“Well…”

“Lady Ellen?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing.

“And what does Lady Margaret think?”

Margaret, noticeably younger than the other women, narrowed her eyes, seriously comparing Elodie and me.

“Completely different, Lord Ricardo.”

Her answer turned Isla’s face a deep shade of red.

“But choosing the same color dress for such an occasion is still rather inappropriate,” Margaret continued, glancing at Isla.

“And pointing out something everyone was trying to ignore isn’t exactly what I’d call polite either.”

“She’s still young. There’s a lot she needs to learn,” Countess Rosette said quickly.

Even with the fan covering her lips, I could easily imagine the shape of her mouth behind it.

Strangely enough, I felt a little satisfied.