IWIAHC Chapter 9

Lily behaved as naturally as she could manage.

"Not at all, Assistant. You speak with perfect reason. I would have thought the same in your position. It is I who should apologize most sincerely."

They began tidying the vicinity in an atmosphere of considerable awkwardness.

After conveying instructions to the head butler—summoned by the soldier—regarding repairs to the bookshelf and ink-splattered desk, they gathered the scattered documents from all corners and matched them into proper pairs.

The remainder of the schedule proceeded smoothly. She did not engage in idle chatter, nor did she express any further curiosity about whether they would secure a translator. She pretended not to notice that the ghost continued to monitor her with persistent attention.

Her devotion to the duke's revival had transformed into contemplation of a far more practical matter: how to escape this place with her person intact.

She resolved to seek out the head maid the moment she departed the office.

The ghost, despite her careful efforts to behave with perfect normalcy, seemed to detect something amiss and observed her with even greater scrutiny.

As her hand closed around the handle of the side door, the ghost inquired with studied casualness:

[I'll see you tomorrow, won't I?]

"Yes, Your Grace. Of course."

[I apologize once more for Wolfram's remarks. However, I harbor no such intentions myself. You are under my protection, and I recognize that you have done your utmost. I will certainly reward that dedication. Trust me.]

Lily noted that his tone had softened considerably—as though he were addressing a younger sister. The gentle resonance carried an almost pleading quality.

The difficulty was that she found herself quite unable to trust him.

"Yes. I trust you, Your Grace."

Lily lied with a smile.

That evening, in accordance with her resolution, Lily met with the head maid and announced she would take the promised holiday the day after tomorrow.

The reason provided: today's disturbance had unnerved her so severely that she required time to restore her mental and physical equilibrium.

She had abandoned the notion of submitting a resignation letter. The head maid would most likely scold her for treating the matter frivolously and dismiss the request entirely.

Instead, she intended to depart on holiday and simply fail to return.

In truth, she would have preferred to leave tomorrow morning, but tomorrow she had to meet the duke. She had an item to deliver.

Lily had obtained fabric, cotton, a sewing kit, and a single bell from the wardrobe maid, claiming they were needed for the office. With these materials, she planned to create a ball containing the bell.

Quite apart from her inability to trust the duke's word, she found his circumstances genuinely pitiable.

Without her, he had no one to converse with. Apart from explosive outbursts of rage, he could not express even the simplest intentions. She hoped that even in her absence, he might experience somewhat less inconvenience.

Creating a ball from fabric proved far more difficult than anticipated. She labored extensively to produce what resembled a rattle a small child might play with.

As candles constituted a luxury beyond her station, Lily worked her hands as rapidly as possible before the sun set completely. Toward the end, darkness descended so thoroughly that her stitching grew even more crooked than before.

'Ahem. This will suffice well enough.'

Lily clutched the ball while pointedly ignoring reality.

The ball, roughly the size of two fists placed together, possessed a pleasingly plush quality. Each time it shifted, the bell produced a gentle chime.

She set the ball down and stretched. Her guilt had diminished considerably.

At any rate, with this ball he could express yes or no at minimum. It was not complete isolation from the outside world—surely that would provide some comfort.

The following day, upon seeing the ball in the office, the duke appeared utterly baffled.

[A gift? For me?]

"Yes."

Lily set the ball down in the center of the floor.

"With this, you'll be able to communicate simply with Lord Wolfram even after I've returned to my quarters. It's made of fabric, so it won't break or shatter. Of course, if subjected to excessive force it might burst. Try it once."

[Try what?]

"Project force at the ball. Just enough to roll it lightly."

He still appeared not to grasp her meaning. Lily explained in greater detail.

"Not too forcefully—not a 'PTCHOO' but more of a gentle 'oof-chee' sneeze sensation should suffice to produce the bell's sound. Do you have a sense of what I mean? Channel your anger as though shooing away a bothersome fly."

The duke looked between Lily and the ball in turn, then spoke with evident amusement:

[I'll give it a try.]

He closed his eyes and remained motionless for several seconds. The back of Lily's neck prickled cold as fear suddenly gripped her.

"Wait a moment!"

Lily called out urgently. He opened his eyes and regarded her with a questioning look.

"You mustn't get too genuinely angry, though. As I mentioned—the ball might burst, or surrounding objects could shatter..."

[Understood. Understood.]

The duke made a motion as though patting the area near her shoulder. Then he closed his eyes again and concentrated.

Several seconds passed. His lips began to twitch. What anger-inducing thought was he recalling?

The ball had not yet vibrated. She looked rapidly between the duke and the floor, awaiting the rattle's successful inaugural activation.

Into her ears came a sound she could scarcely credit.

[Pft.]

Pft?

[Puhaha!]

The ghost erupted into laughter that threatened to lift the castle's rafters. He made a show of wiping away non-existent tears as he spoke:

[How could anyone possibly grow angry at such a ball? Especially with you staring at it so earnestly? And a bothersome fly—hahaha—I've thought this for some time, but you really are...]

The duke observed Lily's stunned expression, failed to complete his sentence properly, and dissolved into laughter once more. He appeared supremely delighted.

At that moment Wolfram entered through the door. He regarded Lily and the ball sitting forlornly on the floor.

"Why are you positioned thus? And what is that?"

She harbored the distinct impression it was a failure, but explained with admirable fortitude.

"This is a tool for His Grace to communicate with Lord Wolfram when I must vacate the office... It contains a bell that produces sound. When you ask His Grace if he's present, he can signal, or—roll it once for 'yes,' twice for 'no,' in that fashion. I thought it would serve well."

[Kup.]

The duke showed signs of succumbing to another fit of laughter. Lily's face heated with mortification.

"If it's unnecessary, I'll simply take it back."

Her voice trembled perceptibly. She actually bent down and picked up the ball. At once the duke reached out hastily and placed his hand atop it.

[That cannot be permitted. This is already my possession.]

His slightly curved gaze conveyed distinct amusement.

[Thank you for the gift.]

Lily barely suppressed the urge to snort derisively. She was being magnanimous only because this was the last time.

Aiden Casimir stood in the office.

As the sun gradually set, the office slowly surrendered to darkness. With everything wrapped in indistinct shadows, the duke gazed down at the floor with fixed attention.

A ball made of plain beige-colored linen, devoid of pattern.

When the sulking maid had attempted to reclaim it, he'd been obliged to employ considerable persuasion to convince her to leave it on the floor.

He had thought there would be no occasion for laughter after this predicament.

The maid's chattering voice lingered like an echo. Aiden could not restrain himself—he smiled quietly once more.

Duke and maid.

On the day he grasped that ball in his hands, they would return to their proper positions and live lives as unmixable as oil and water.

Aiden closed his eyes and recalled the maid's entrance into the main building this morning.

The tension dwelling in her pressed-together lips and the cloth-covered tray had certainly differed from usual. She had not collected cleaning implements and had ascended the stairs at a pace more hurried than customary.

Even when asked what lay beneath the cloth, she had evaded answering. The tinkling bell sound had cultivated his curiosity.

Only upon entering the office had she removed the cloth from the tray and announced:

'It's a gift!'

Though her vocal cords surely possessed no special apparatus, her pronunciation bounced like raindrops striking leaves.

The sudden gift compelled Aiden to search his memory for whether today might be his birthday.

The object offered with trembling hands proved catastrophic. Could such a cotton ball—plain background with even the stitching askew—truly constitute an item suitable for presentation to a duke?

Born heir to the House of Casimir, he had received toys cast from melted gold and dolls made of embroidered silk with jeweled eyes even as an infant who had not yet learned to walk.

On the other hand, it was indeed the first gift of such rarity he had received in his entire life.

Aiden gazed down at the ball once more.

'With this, you'll be able to communicate simply with Lord Wolfram even after I've returned to my quarters.'

The maid had introduced it with perfect confidence, but Aiden felt certain it would prove impossible. How on earth was he supposed to grow angry at that?

If he recalled those two eyes squeezed tightly shut while she mimicked a sneeze with excessive realism, or the left index finger dotted with red pinpricks from needle stabs...

Rather than expending futile effort attempting to move the ball, it would prove preferable to simply allow Wolfram to remain ignorant of his presence.

Aiden was severe in his assessment of people. However, after spending a week together, he had come to regard the maid called Lily Dienta surprisingly favorably—even by his own estimation.

Today's gift had completely solidified this impression.

No—more accurately, Lily Dienta had crossed some internal boundary line within him.

Lily Dienta possessed no talent for concealing her inner thoughts, allowing him to see through her with perfect transparency.

Her round eyes held not the slightest trace of baseness. Like a squirrel attempting to imitate a fighting bull, she would be clumsily fierce before immediately redirecting her attention to other matters.

Aiden found her fascinating, and fascination naturally led to amusement and pleasure.