TMIAP Chapter 15

"My wardrobe?"

Liella asked the question in a befuddled voice, her face still heavy with sleep. Mistress Oraingne smiled warmly.

"The mistress has instructed me to help Miss Monica select one of the dresses you sorted through last year."

The contrast was striking: Mistress Oraingne perfectly dressed and groomed, while Liella sat slumped in her chair wearing only a translucent nightgown, having just risen from bed.

Liella's gaze traveled between Monica and Mistress Oraingne several times. Meanwhile, Mistress Oraingne explained that Madame Mollette had been unable to overcome Martinael's stubbornness.

Liella's expression showed she understood the situation. But understanding did not lead to consent.

"No."

"Pardon?"

Mistress Oraingne's face went blank with surprise. Liella frowned, mulling it over, before answering slowly.

"I haven't decided what to wear to tomorrow's soirée yet."

"Weren't you planning to wear the green dress you had made last time?"

"I've looked at it again and I'm not satisfied. Come back later after I've made my decision."

"But surely, with fashions changing so rapidly, the dresses you had made last year—"

"Mistress Oraingne."

Liella cut the woman off with evident irritation. Mistress Oraingne fell silent.

"I said come back later."

Then she looked Monica up and down. The gaze was mostly bewilderment, but Monica read clearly the trace amounts of irritation and spite contained in those eyes. Strangely enough, Monica found herself pleased by it.

"I apologize for the inconvenience, miss. I'll call on you this afternoon."

"...I'm busy this afternoon. Mistress Oraingne, I'll be going into town briefly this afternoon, so just—"

Liella paused before continuing.

"Just select something with Miss Monica on your own."

Monica offered a slight bow. As soon as Mistress Oraingne left the room, she whispered apologetically.

"The young lady isn't normally so particular. The soirée is important, so she's understandably preoccupied."

"It's quite all right. You're the one going to extra trouble on my account."

"How is any of this Miss Orphen's fault! When you get down to it, it's all the young master's doing!"

Mistress Oraingne shrugged. Monica smiled awkwardly. She saw Mistress Oraingne off—the woman had preparations to make for the soirée—then hastened her own steps out of the estate. The reason, needless to say, was the Saturday luncheon appointment.

Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been thinking about how to obtain compensation for a sixty-sing silk ribbon at most. But Monica's head was filled with different thoughts entirely.

'Come back later.'

Mistress Oraingne had said Liella was being unusually fussy today. Normally she was generous and easygoing with the servants. The sort of person who would distribute used handkerchiefs to the maids, several at a time.

'It's not as though she was being asked to give away a dress—merely to lend one. Hardly something to trouble the young lady.'

Monica bit her lip.

She was fortunate, really, that Liella had been irritable. If Liella had cheerfully opened her dressing room as Mistress Oraingne suggested, Monica might have walked out on the spot.

When she'd first arrived at the estate and seen Liella, Monica had measured her own position by the clothes Liella wore, the gloves she had on. Herself with only four changes of clothing, one of them torn and leaving her in difficulty—and Liella with an entire room devoted to storing dresses.

But that difference wasn't actually as significant as it had seemed.

Which is to say...

'Compared to Liella's attitude...'

Monica had risen early this morning and eaten her meal squatting alongside the maids. Then she'd helped with Marti's walk and, following Madame Mollette's instructions, accompanied Mistress Oraingne to meet Liella.

Liella had been sleeping the entire time.

The proof lay in her just-woken appearance, so starkly contrasted with Mistress Oraingne's perfect grooming. Even if she hadn't been sleeping, Liella would at most have been cutting roses in the garden or picking at food in her room before leaving most of it uneaten.

Monica knew perfectly well, thanks to the servants, that Liella had been fasting since yesterday evening for the sake of the green dress she'd wear to the soirée.

Which was precisely why, had Liella opened her dressing room with an easy smile, Monica would have been sad.

From the moment she'd entered Liella's room following Mistress Oraingne, Monica had been watching her carefully. So the fact that Liella was so bothered by her presence brought an odd satisfaction. She didn't want Liella to be so comfortable, so happy, that she wouldn't even notice someone like Monica.

And the hardest thing to bear...

Was herself. Herself, comparing her circumstances to Liella's in every single particular.

Reaching Argent Plaza, Monica scrubbed both hands over her face.

The texture of her skin—rough and sticky, reddened by the harsh sun—registered fully against her palms.

'You're awful, really...'

But presently Monica patted her cheeks a few times and shook her head lightly.

'Whatever else it was, it was my choice.'

No one had pushed twelve-year-old Monica's back. Even if Lizzie had begged through her tears, it was Monica who had chosen that pink brooch. Wasn't that so? She had to think that way. What else could she do?

Tormenting herself with feelings of inferiority until Liella left that estate would be utterly pointless.

'You really are... cheerful, aren't you.'

Monica recalled what the man who resembled Garcia had said to her during her nursing days. The speaker had absolutely not intended it as a compliment, of course.

But at the time, those words had been an enormous comfort to Monica, and they were the same now.

"It's all right."

Monica murmured, hands still cupping her cheeks.

"I'll get through it."

She'd eaten well this morning, too. Thinking of Liella, who'd been fasting since yesterday evening for the soirée—well, Monica's life wasn't so bad, was it?

With that thought, Monica hurried toward the plaza fountain.

Saturday lunchtime, and Argent Plaza was crowded with a fair number of people. But Monica could pick out her appointment at a glance. Small wonder—the man was strikingly handsome.

Except...

"Monica!"

Monica had to twist her pre-prepared sneer into an awkward smile. The man was definitely the one she'd arranged to meet, yet he wasn't. Which is to say—

"Luis?"

The golden hair rippling beautifully in the breeze, and those blue eyes. She knew at a glance. The man smiling at her so warmly and kindly wore a face perfectly identical to Garcia's, yet he was someone else entirely.

The kind man she'd met upon first arriving in this city. Luis.

"My goodness, it's been ages. To meet again like this! Have you been well?"

The man greeted her in the elegant southern style. His right arm swept down in a flourish from above, circling once more at the bottom before clasping behind his back—a greeting that drew the plaza crowd's attention, if only for a moment.

No, no. Monica swallowed. This man would have been drawing people's gazes simply by standing there.

Luis paid no mind, immediately taking Monica's hand and pressing his lips to the back of it. Monica startled and tried to pull away, but the man smiled more deeply and held her hand fast.

"Where's Garcia?"

She knew instinctively. Garcia wasn't coming today. That tone when he'd said he didn't know Luis, though he clearly did—

"Did you think I might not show up?"

Luis, who so perfectly resembled that disreputable man with his lazy head-tilt, widened his eyes.

"Garcia? Surely you didn't arrange to meet Garcia at Argent today—"

"I did. But I didn't expect you to show up, Luis."

Luis, who'd looked surprised, immediately softened his eyebrows in a show of hurt at Monica's words.

"Oh dear. Do you dislike me?"

"Of course not, Luis."

Monica squirmed anxiously, breaking into a sweat as she tried to do something about the hand Luis held captive.

Luis glanced down at Monica's hand, then released it with a smile. Her palm was damp with nervous perspiration. Monica rubbed it against her waist as she continued.

"So you two do know each other."

"That's right. We're inseparable."

"...Garcia didn't say that..."

The man's smile deepened.

"What did he say?"

Well, he called you an unappetizing bastard. She could hardly say that. Monica forced out a laugh. "Ahaha..." Luis's expression said he understood without being told.

"It's quite all right. In any case, Garcia had circumstances preventing him from coming today, so he sent me instead."

"Instead...?"

"Yes."

Monica rolled her eyes from side to side, then held out her right palm. Luis stared blankly at that palm before saying "Ah," taking her hand, and pressing his lips to it.

"Eek!"

At the sudden warmth of his breath and soft lips heating her palm, Monica let out a small shriek. Luis's eyes went round.

"Is this not what you meant?"

"...You said Garcia sent you instead. I thought you knew why we were meeting today."

"I do, of course."

Luis's blue eyes glinted mischievously.

"You hurt your palm because of Garcia, didn't you? You want me to kiss it better?"

"...No!"

"My regrets. Actually, I do know."

Monica's eyes narrowed. Right, this man was a rake... The same face as Garcia's, but the lingering impression entirely different—that bright expression was the first clue. Luis grinned.

"I saw it. Sixty-sing ribbon, torn dress, scraped knees."

"You saw?"

"Ah, pardon me. I heard about it. In any case, I could hardly simply hand money to a lady, could I? I have my pride as Luis."

Something had just been smoothly glossed over there... She felt vaguely uneasy. But in the next moment, Monica had no opportunity to press the point—she was walking along, led by the smiling Luis.

"I didn't realize Garcia had inconvenienced you. When I heard Garcia's description, I was extremely—"

"Extremely what?"

"...I thought you'd be an extremely beautiful lady! And my expectations were correct!"

Monica didn't miss the brief silence that punctuated Luis's words.

Luis tried to laugh it off cheerfully, but eventually he had to confess that Garcia's instructions to him had been "rendezvous with the crazy horsetail-head."

Monica swore to herself. If she met Garcia again, she would absolutely, absolutely grab him by the collar once more.