Chapter 8
If Edgar truly meant to provoke me, he wouldn’t have chosen someone like Ricardo—someone far too out of reach. He would’ve picked a man I could control.
But even that assumption was too generous.
Edgar didn’t think about Cecilia that deeply.
He had placed a young, handsome knight at her side while believing she was plotting revenge.
And knights, after all, obey the one who pays them. Even if I developed feelings for Sir Pascal, he wouldn’t act on them. He would stay loyal.
That way, Edgar would have a wife who, despite being beside someone she could desire, would be unable to betray him.
Perhaps that was his intention in assigning Sir Pascal to me.
After lunch, I stepped out of the mansion. Pascal was already waiting outside.
He stood like a painting—poised and perfect. When he saw me, he opened the carriage door and dropped to one knee.
“Oh my,” Sarah sighed, sounding breathless.
“It’s rare to see anyone still do that. Sir Pascal must be someone who values tradition, My Lady.”
I glanced at his leg. His firm thigh practically asked, Well? What are you waiting for? Step up.
“Sir.”
“Yes, Lady Cecilia,” Pascal replied, grinning up at me as our eyes met.
“I don’t have the nerve to soil your custom-made uniform like that.”
At my words, his expression shifted into surprise.
I waited silently.
Looking slightly embarrassed, Pascal stood and stepped aside.
“Thank you for the consideration.”
“Think nothing of it.”
As the carriage door closed, Sarah lamented what she clearly thought was a lost opportunity.
“You said it’s not done these days.”
“Exactly. That’s why it was such a rare chance. Wouldn’t it be great if people started saying the Countess of Linton has the knight of all knights at her side?”
Cecilia’s reputation was already in shambles. If any rumors spread, they would only benefit Pascal—or Edgar, who’d placed such a knight beside his wife.
Meanwhile, I would be branded the disgraceful woman clinging to a man far beyond her worth.
“Sir Pascal is someone Edgar scouted personally. He’s his man. I can’t treat him carelessly.”
Sarah nodded, convinced.
“That’s true.”
“You mentioned you booked the dress room?”
She nodded again, and I changed the subject immediately.
Luckily, she didn’t press the issue.
“Yes. It’s incredibly exclusive. Even well-known noblewomen can’t get a slot easily. But who would dare ignore the Linton family? When I said My Lady wanted a dress from there, they moved us to the top of the list.”
It was so well-regarded, it didn’t even need a name. Everyone simply called it the dress room, and that was enough.
The carriage came to a stop. Thankfully, Pascal didn’t kneel again.
“You can rest at a nearby tea house. I’ll be a couple of hours at least.”
“I’m fine, My Lady.”
“If I come out and you’re gone, I won’t panic. So if you change your mind, go rest.”
I didn’t wait for his reply. Sarah opened the door to the dress room, and we stepped inside.
“Welcome!” chirped a bright voice.
A young girl appeared. She couldn’t have been more than twelve or thirteen.
“Are you the Countess of Linton?”
After confirming my identity in a clear, confident voice, she led me to a seat.
“Countess of Linton.”
A woman who looked five or six years older than Cecilia entered and offered a graceful nod.
“It’s an honor to serve you today.”
“No need to be so formal. I’m only here to have a few dresses made.”
She introduced herself as Madame Dolores.
“Friends call me Dolly.”
“Madame Dolores,” I replied with a firm boundary in my tone.
Despite my cold rejection of her casual offer, she didn’t show the slightest sign of offense. She simply smiled with practiced grace.
“May I ask what kind of dresses My Lady is looking for today?”
“The most urgent is for a banquet. I also need five or six everyday dresses. And something less flashy, suitable for garden parties or tea gatherings.”
The young girl beside her quickly scribbled everything down.
“If you have any particular styles you prefer—or dislike—please do tell us.”
She spoke with a sweet, flattering tone, clearly hoping to treat me as a special client. But I shook my head.
“As I said, as long as it isn’t too extravagant, I’m fine. I’ve heard you can handle the rest after taking my measurements.”
Dolores nodded, though her expression soured slightly.
“But to create something truly suited to you, I will need some of your time, My Lady.”
“I’ve heard of your skills, Madame. I trust that whatever you make will be exactly to my taste.”
From behind, Sarah gave me a pleading look, silently urging me not to brush her off.
Just like with Pascal’s knee, she likely thought this was an opportunity I’d regret missing.
“Take my measurements.”
But I wasn’t someone with personal preferences.
Even if they presented me with countless options, it would just waste time and deepen my awareness of how colorless I truly was.
With a resigned gesture, Dolores nodded at the young girl, who quickly retrieved a measuring tape.
“Please follow me to the changing room. You’ll need to undress so we can get precise measurements.”
I followed her. Thanks to the girl’s efficient movements, it didn’t take long.
“When the dresses are ready, please contact me. I’ll send someone to pick them up.”
I could tell Dolores had hoped to build some sort of rapport with the reclusive Countess of Linton.
Most likely for gossip fodder. Who wouldn’t want a peek into the life of the woman infamous for her suicide attempt?
If that was the kind of relationship she wanted, then I wasn’t interested.
Leaving Dolores and her disappointed expression behind, I exited the dress room.
“Sir Pascal isn’t here,” Sarah noted.
As expected, he had wandered off somewhere.
“The carriage is gone too! What now, My Lady?”
“Let’s walk around a bit. He’ll show up eventually.”
Sarah gasped like I’d just suggested roasting rats over an open fire.
“Walk?! On foot?!”
“Why not?”
“You can’t! You’re a noblewoman. A lady doesn’t go sightseeing on foot!”
How strange that in this world, unless you were locked inside a carriage, it was as if your legs didn’t exist.
What a profoundly inconvenient place this was.
“It’s not illegal, is it?”
“No, it’s not… but still…”
“Then that’s enough for me. Like you said, if noblewomen aren’t expected to walk, then no one will suspect I’m the Countess of Linton just by strolling around.”
Leaving Sarah speechless, I began to walk at a leisurely pace.
She hesitated, then lowered her voice and whispered,
“And… you might run into the Earl of Linton.”
I raised a brow. In my limited imagination, affairs didn’t unfold in broad daylight, on public streets.
“I only heard it secondhand, but… a lot of people claim they’ve seen the Earl of Linton with that sly fox around here.”
The streets were quiet. Likely because the midday sun was too harsh.
If I were Edgar, I wouldn’t drag my beloved into this kind of heat just to parade her around.
I ignored Sarah and kept walking.
She followed, visibly displeased.
“Sarah.”
“Yes, My Lady,” she replied in a sulky tone.
“Do I have any money?”
She shook her head.
“Noblewomen don’t carry cash.”
“Then how did you pay for the dresses?”
“I put it on the Earl’s account, of course. That’s the usual way.”
So noblewomen in this world not only couldn’t walk freely but couldn’t even carry their own spending money.
“I wanted to try that drink from the street vendor. Guess that’s not happening.”
“Those things will make you sick!” Sarah burst out, wide-eyed.
Even with my supposed memory loss, it must’ve been frustrating to watch the daughter of the Rosette Count act so shamelessly, as if she’d never learned the most basic social rules.
“It’s still something people drink. Why would it make me sick?”
A quiet voice interrupted.
At the same time, a lukewarm drink was gently placed in my hand.
“My Lord?”
It was Ricardo. I used the title Edgar had once addressed him with.
“No need to be so stiff. Just call me Ricardo, Countess of Linton.”
“Thank you for the generous offer—but I’ll pass.”
The moment he appeared, Sarah instinctively stepped back several paces.
“What a coincidence.”
“Is it?” Ricardo asked, raising an eyebrow.
I thought it was a joke—but his face was perfectly serious.
He was dressed in the same all-black ensemble, as if still headed to a funeral.
“I saw the Countess and decided to follow. That’s all.”
“Why?”
“Who knows.”
He gave a cryptic answer, clearly trying to throw me off.
It probably would’ve worked on someone else.
“We’re planning a banquet in a few days.”
When I continued the conversation smoothly, Ricardo’s brow furrowed. He seemed confused that I wasn’t reacting as he expected.
“I was wondering what arrangements to make for your attendance, and here we are—what luck.”
“My attendance?”
Ricardo gave a short laugh, his tone dry.
“Where else would the heir to the Bastian dukedom be, if not at the Bastian estate?”
I took a sip of the drink he handed me.
It was slightly bitter—something like a light beer.
“I figured… even if the Duchess is frail, she wouldn’t go so far as to welcome a bastard into the household while still alive.”
I stole a glance at the sharp bridge of his nose and asked quietly,
“Was I wrong?”
“No,” Ricardo turned his head.
“You were exactly right.”
He leaned down. His face drew close.
Given his height and broad build, his body blocked me almost completely from view.
“Not a child anymore, are you? You drink and play your cards well, Countess.”
He wiped the corner of my mouth with his finger.
I watched him walk away, momentarily dazed—until I caught sight of something familiar in the distance.
Edgar.
He was looking straight at me.
He had a beautiful woman on his arm. She must’ve been Miss Elodie.
“Earl of Linton,” Ricardo greeted casually, waving.
“What a coincidence. First I run into your wife… and now you. And to top it off…”
Ricardo let his gaze sweep over the glamorous woman beside Edgar, then chuckled.
“…the famed Miss Elodie, no less.”
Edgar stared at me, his expression cold and hard.
We sat around a café table—a strange, uncomfortable combination of people.
Ricardo and I sat on one side, Edgar and Elodie on the other.
Now that I saw Elodie in person, she really was lovely.
Her plain brown hair gave her an understated charm, but when she smiled, the dimples in her cheeks drew your eyes to her like magnets.
“They say Miss Elodie’s voice is heaven itself,” Ricardo began.
Elodie didn’t seem any more pleased about this awkward situation than I was. She kept casting nervous glances at Edgar.
“And yet here we are—her voice all to yourself, Earl of Linton. How tragic for the rest of us.”
“That’s a misunderstanding,” Edgar replied coldly.
“Elodie still performs regularly. If you’d like, I’ll send you tickets.”
I stirred my tea slowly, watching the liquid swirl around the spoon.
