MB Chapter 24

【 Present 】

"Is today the day you said you were going to the tea party?"

"Yes. I felt at loose ends today, so I thought I'd go out."

Whether the nobility faction or the conservative faction, meeting them simply to ease boredom felt like too much of an imposition.

And so the household Goiyo had chosen was neither—one too small and weak in influence to properly affiliate with either camp. A viscountcy, strictly speaking.

The Bermus Viscount household was a modest family whose name Goiyo had never once heard, neither before nor now.

Goiyo had dressed in a white empire gown. The fabric covered the chest in a straight line, a transparent lace overlay extending over the bare shoulders like a second skin. The lace pattern was floral, but so delicate that on the whole it gave no particular impression—calm and unassuming.

"Does something look strange?"

"Not at all. It's lovely. I was simply taking note of the style you favor."

"I don't favor it. I just wear what I'm used to."

With some nod to current trends, though.

"Goiyo—have you grown more accustomed to roses?"

"Why do you ask so suddenly?"

"I was wondering, if you're comfortable with it, whether you'd like wine in the garden this evening when you return."

"I've grown a bit more used to them. There's even one I find myself drawn to."

"The white rose."

Goiyo's eyes widened—an expression that asked, how did you know?—and Entzi smiled, unhurried.

"I watch you, of course. If the white rose is acceptable to you—"

He snapped his fingers.

The lace that had covered her shoulders split apart and curled, and several roses bloomed in its place, adorning her from the décolletage to the small of her back. The outermost layer of the skirt, too, curled upward and gathered beneath the rose decorations as a ruffle.

The somewhat loose empire gown was, in the space of an instant, a mermaid silhouette—elaborately decorated at the chest.

Entzi smiled at Goiyo's startled expression.

"What do you think of this?"

"You truly are talented in so many things... dresses as well..."

"Thank you for the compliment, my lady."

He had been prepared to restore it if she seemed unwilling—but looking at Goiyo's face, there was no need to go that far. Entzi, who had been very slightly tense after his own presumption, let the last of his hesitation go.

Curious about the dress transformed in an instant, Goiyo looked into the mirror.

She was startled by the unfamiliar silhouette—but the reflection in the glass was not an unpleasant one. The design was ornate, but the white color made it less overwhelming than it might have been.

Behind her reflection, Entzi approached.

A large hand reached around her—as though to embrace her—curved near her shoulder, then moved behind the slender curve of her neck. Where her throat had been bare, a garnet the same deep red as Entzi's hair glittered.

The upper portion, which had looked slightly bare after the lace disappeared, was now complete.

"A gift, Goiyo."

"I... thank you."

It was not that a man couldn't have good taste—but she wouldn't be wearing an elaborate gown every day. Recalling the rather perfunctory quality of her own previous choice of gift, Goiyo felt a small and unavoidable defeat.

"Do you prefer this style of dress?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I've been thinking—I answered when you asked, but I've never asked in return. Your taste, Entzi."

"Since you're the one wearing it, it should be suited to your preference—but if you're asking what I prefer to look at, it's this."

Rather than the last one, that is. Entzi smiled with perfect ease.

"My lady, it is time to depart."

The maid's summons—Goiyo turned to take her leave, and Entzi called her back.

"Is the Bermus Viscount household near the imperial palace?"

"The direction is similar, but it's close to the far edge of the capital, so it isn't really near."

"I'll escort you. I happen to be going in the direction of the palace anyway."

'Then why ask whether it was nearby?' Her brown eyes narrowed slightly—but Goiyo quickly understood.

It was their first outing since the marriage. The outward performance of it would also be necessary.

"That I don't mind. But if you're thinking of a four-horse carriage like the day we returned to the estate—that I do mind."

"That was strictly for the spectacle. You needn't worry. The city being rather congested, horse-drawn carriages are a nuisance anyway. We'll take one with automated magic."

"You do ride ordinary carriages as well. I thought you'd take the train."

"Laying track in the middle of the capital is awkward."

Well—it's not that I don't own trains.

At the reply that came back to her joke, Goiyo decided she would not make wealth-related jests to Entzi.

"Welcome, Lady Rubiette. Or should I say Lady Bethelgius now?"

"I had not expected to see you here, Lady Prityl."

Was not the hostess of this party Lady Bermus?

She turned. Behind Lanthe Prityl, a woman flinched slightly at the shoulders. Her hair the color of gold, her expression a touch drawn—she looked, in some faint way, like Melishi.

Thank you so much for coming, the woman said, quietly—and from that small greeting, Goiyo confirmed this was Elly Bermus.

"We'd been so worried, not having seen your face since the wedding—"

Lanthe Prityl. This woman, designated heir to the Prityl Marquisate, was well known in society alongside her younger brother, Konth Prityl—for her crude and discourteous manner of speech, dressed as frankness.

Lanthe was fond of worrying at anyone who seemed weak, regardless of age or sex—but she had shown particular malice toward Goiyo among all.

Goiyo had been the elder daughter of the only ducal house in the empire, yet she lacked the fixed, certain capability of someone like Therio Alte. Her quiet, composed manner only sharpened the impression in Lanthe's eyes—

'She's been looked down upon for it.'

Goiyo had chosen a small tea party and sent her intention to attend without any great attempt at secrecy—not expecting perfect privacy. A few people gathering because Lady Bethelgius was attending had been predictable enough.

But she had not anticipated Lanthe Prityl bringing her entire entourage to a modest viscountcy's party.

Lanthe, whatever her fondness for gossip, was undergoing heir education—she was not so entirely free as to be truly idle. And Lanthe's name had not appeared on the guest list Lukurue had provided, which meant her arrival had been sudden, a last-minute decision.

Still. Now that they had met, what would follow was all too obvious.

The Prityl Marquisate was one of the core conservative faction houses—they would have no particular regard for Bethelgius, who stood with the nobility faction. And Lanthe, moreover, knew that Goiyo was inclined to quietly absorb most unpleasantness.

Worried that bad rumors might adversely affect Rubiette—a fool who swallows everything. That would have been the image of Goiyo in Lanthe's mind, and nothing more.

"I had business with Lady Bermus—and to think I'd encounter you here, my lady."

"Indeed, Lady Prityl. I'm glad to see you too, after so long."

"It's been a while, so I couldn't help but notice—you look particularly radiant today. Is it that marriage has deepened your beauty, or is it the Marquess's resources at work?"

Lanthe's gaze moved deliberately down the necklace, then the dress. It was one of the looks Goiyo Rubiette had always disliked—but now she felt nothing stronger than mild tedium.

"I jest, my lady. Only a small curiosity about the source of the Marquess's resources—I spoke lightly. In any case, you look lovely—it's a pleasure to see."

"My, Lady Bethelgius—you were so plainly dressed before that I once thought you'd just come back from a funeral."

"Lady Renier, that is rather too much. Although Lady Bethelgius has favored a simple appearance, simplicity and modesty are admirable virtues, are they not? She's dressed with a little more flair today, that's all."

The laughter from the group that followed—Goiyo swallowed a sigh.

Thank you, she said, courtesy stripped of all content, and took the seat Elly Bermus had offered. Lanthe sat across from her as a matter of course.

Having lost the seat of honor without a word of protest, Elly called a maid to bring the teacups.

Warm Darjeeling. From the cup's unmistakable red, a rising fragrance reached her—and Goiyo thought of Entzi.

The unpleasantly heavy body scent from when she had first met him had, with familiarity, transformed to something like black tea. Perhaps he had simply been wearing perfume in the early days.

Nothing in Goiyo's expression reflected where her thoughts had wandered. Lanthe's old friend Emily Renier, reading only the composed, aristocratic face, smiled faintly.

"I'm glad you look well, in any case. Some of the rumors about the Marquess had us a little worried."

"Ah—those rumors, Lady Renier." Lanthe picked up the thread. "About Lord Bethelgius's... preferences..."

"I heard them too. Simply hearing them made me uncomfortable."

The three lowered their voices while glancing sideways at Goiyo—the intent to cultivate anxiety so transparent it had become almost boring.

'Whatever the rumor, it can't possibly be more extraordinary than the reality.'

Goiyo sipped her black tea and gave them the question they had been waiting for.

"What is this rumor, exactly?"

"Please don't take it too much to heart—it really is just a rumor, my lady."

'If she genuinely hoped it wouldn't be taken to heart, she would have kept her mouth shut.'

"Please, go on."

"Well, it's just that the Marquess, apparently..."

The three exchanged glances—performing hesitation—and then Bella Pierrette lowered her voice to deliver it.

"He has apparently never courted a woman. Not only that—they say he has never even been kissed."

"Goodness—not even kissed? I've heard something to that effect as well. He dances occasionally, and apparently that is precisely where it ends—any woman who pursues him further is cut off with absolute finality. They say there are dozens of young ladies who sent letters captivated by his appearance, and received not a single word in return."

"Quite so. But here is the peculiar thing—they say he is so kind to his aide. You know the one? The one who lives in the same estate?"

"I saw a different person myself. A certain attendant—he was giving directions to a footman, and his expression and manner were so gentle, I don't believe I have ever seen him look at a woman that way."

Which means—?

Goiyo's expression shifted, subtly. She was far too practiced to reveal it—but something very close to laughter was rising.

She pushed it back down below the tongue.

"So you are saying... that the Marquess Bethelgius is—a sodomite?"

"Not our words—only a rumor."

"Just a rumor, of course. If he were truly so inclined, why would he have married you, my lady? Of all things—the Rubiette daughter. You chose him over even Lord Alte—surely he could not have known the sincerity of your choice and deceived you in this way?"

The intent to wound was perfectly transparent—but Goiyo found her attention occupied less by the sting than by wondering what face Entzi Bethelgius would make upon hearing this.

That Entzi had no experience in courtship was something she had heard from his own mouth. Thinking about it now, it made sense that such a rumor would circulate.

Even in a nobility where political marriages were common, few arrived at the altar with not a single romantic encounter to their name.

And yet—accusing a man who had married a woman of being gay. Goiyo was recalling the Entzi who had kissed her first and finding the notion absurd, when she paused.

'Perhaps it really is true.'

A kiss was something one could force oneself to manage. Had he not refused to share a bed with her?

It might have been discomfort at the thought of sleeping with someone from a house he intended to destroy. It might have been some desire to treat one's first time as sacred. But the possibility that he was genuinely gay was not, she supposed, entirely without basis.

Goiyo's head tilted fractionally—then returned to level.

'Whatever his preferences, it has nothing to do with me.'

"What we told you was rather too much, I'm afraid. Don't let it trouble you, my lady. You're not thinking of asking your husband about it directly, I hope?"

"Lady Prityl's sense of humor..."

Even Lanthe appeared to sense that the mockery had gone somewhat past the acceptable—the three of them were beginning to gather up their words.

Goiyo, who had listened throughout with the same composed, aristocratic face, said, in a perfectly even voice:

"No—I intend to mention it to him."