TMIAP Chapter 39

"You don't care much for Lady Mollette, do you?"

Luis's question cut through the thread of Monica's thoughts. She started, recollecting herself.

Without thinking, she'd referred to Liella as Miss Mollette—no, as Liella Mollette. Luis, with his quick perception, had caught the slip at once.

Lizzie Orphen, or Liella Mollette. She'd been turning those names over in her mind so persistently that she'd finally made a mistake.

This man was going to propose to Liella Mollette—or rather, Enrique would, though when one considered that Luis was also Enrique's persona, it came to the same thing. Either way, it was hardly politic to make such errors before a man who intended to marry Liella.

Monica's eyes darted about. Luis smiled faintly.

With a sigh, Monica rose and patted the stone bench beside her, inviting him to sit. Luis complied with good grace.

"Well... not many servants are entirely fond of the young ladies they serve. I'm sorry if I gave offense."

It was the best excuse she could manufacture on short notice. But Luis nodded, accepting it readily enough.

"I understand."

"Do you really?"

Monica studied his face with care. The young man waved a hand dismissively, smiling.

"I felt much the same when I worked as a ship's doctor. I tended my patients with all possible care, but I couldn't love their disagreeable personalities along with their ailments."

Hmm. When he worked as a ship's doctor. Monica's eyes narrowed.

She had a great many questions she wanted to put to him, but she swallowed them for the moment. Luis, apparently unaware of her thoughts, continued.

"If anyone troubles you, tell me. I'll come and help."

"What a comfort that is."

The words came out half-sardonic. After all, if Liella Mollette set herself to making Monica's life difficult, what could Luis possibly do about it?

But she didn't care to pursue the point further.

Besides, Monica was perfectly aware that she herself had given Liella the greatest cause for complaint.

Even just now, hadn't Liella been glaring at her—and hadn't Monica swept out with Luis in full view, as if deliberately provoking her?

Monica couldn't explain that impulse, even to herself.

The piano music had shifted to a gentler concerto.

"A waltz."

"Is it?"

"Shall we dance?"

Luis rose and offered his hand. Monica shook her head.

"I don't know how to dance. And we should go back. You too."

"Honestly, standing up there pretending to know people I don't is a hundred times less amusing than spending time with you, even if you can't dance."

She knew it was nothing but empty flattery. Yet despite herself, Monica felt a small flicker of pleasure.

Perhaps because she'd never once heard such words since coming to this house.

'No, wait... haven't I?'

Now that she thought about it, she had heard something similar.

'After looking at rough girls like Maria all day, I don't quite know how to praise someone like you, miss.'

Remembering Hans's words, Monica understood belatedly why they hadn't pleased her. Her mouth twisted.

"As an apology, won't you dance with me?"

The cheerful, handsome young man extended his hand once more.

Monica was still somewhat irritated with Luis, but one thing was certain: his beautiful face possessed an almost magical power to lift one's spirits.

She decided she was quite willing to dance with him.

Luis took her left hand and raised it, placed her right hand on his arm, then held her waist with his free hand.

Since she'd removed her gloves after spilling wine on them, she felt the warmth of his bare hand against her waist. The sensation was oddly ticklish.

"Now, step left. That's right."

Luis proved an excellent teacher. But after only a few steps, Monica discovered an important fact: she was an utterly hopeless student when it came to dancing.

"Oh, I can't do this."

"It's all right."

"I'll never have occasion to dance anywhere, anyway."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that."

Luis requested several more dances, but Monica quickly freed her hand and sat back down. He shrugged lightly and didn't press further.

"I hear you've agreed to make the 'green medicine'?"

"Do you two share everything? Ah... I suppose you would."

Monica's eyes widened, then she laughed. Luis winked.

"Beryl Collegium. A fine institution."

"Have you been there?"

"Of course. I even attended for a time."

"You did?"

"Indeed. I was quite the star pupil. Received a scholarship my very first term."

Just like his claim about working as a ship's doctor...

It was almost certainly a lie.

How curious. Even knowing that this cheerful man was constructed entirely of falsehoods, Monica found herself wanting to play along.

"Really? Then if I enroll someday, you must help me. Help me become a star pupil."

"If you can get in. The entrance examinations for Beryl Collegium are tremendously difficult, you know."

"Show-off!"

Thump. She swatted his arm playfully again. Luis lifted his chin with obvious satisfaction.

"Then it would have been the medical college. When I get the formula by letter, you'll help me, won't you? This is your concern too."

"Ah, but I don't particularly want to help."

"Why not?"

Because it's all lies? Monica gazed into his blue eyes as she thought it.

In those beautiful eyes, brimming with laughter, she could detect no trace of deception whatsoever.

Luis grinned broadly and took her hand once more, pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Was kissing ladies' hands his habitual response to awkward situations? Even that habit seemed insufferably rakish, making her want to shake her head in exasperation.

"Think about it, Monica. If you make the green medicine and feed it to Enrique, my opportunities to see you will naturally diminish."

Ah. When she considered it, Luis had a point.

A small twinge of regret stirred in one corner of her heart. But instead of clasping Luis's hand and crying 'Indeed!', Monica drawled sarcastically.

"What a convenient excuse."

"Ah! Lovely Monica is quite heartless. You wound me deeply."

Luis clutched his chest, pretending to groan.

The piano performance seemed to have ended; enthusiastic applause rang out. Shortly after, several violins struck up a lively tune. A set of bagpipes joined in, adding a distinctive melody.

Cheers and laughter drifted on the breeze. Someone had clearly begun dancing.

Monica opened her mouth, sensing it truly was time to part, but Luis moved first, grasping her hand and pulling her to her feet.

"Since you've wounded my heart, please grant me at least one polka."

Before she could grant permission, he spun her around using their clasped hands as an axis.

"Eek!"

She squealed in surprise for an instant, but the next moment laughter bubbled up.

Monica knew the polka well enough. She'd danced it several times in the plaza during festivals.

No doubt several ladies and gentlemen were dancing the polka in the hall above as well. The only difference was that her movements weren't nearly so elegant as theirs.

But the cheerful young man lifted Monica up and dipped her backward.

His lead was so strong and swift that Monica needed only to follow. They clapped their hands together, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"Monica-moni! Get up. We've only gone around five times!"

Monica crouched down, unable to complete even ten steps. Luis extended his hand, urging her on, but she was too breathless to dance any longer.

"If anyone saw us, they'd get the wrong idea."

Instead of rising, Monica gasped out a warning. Even while panting for breath, she couldn't stop laughing—it was almost absurd.

"What do you mean?"

"They'd think you were in love with me, for heaven's sake!"

A young man and woman clapping hands together in a deserted corridor—what else could it look like? It really was time to return.

"You'd be better off picking out some young lady you want to marry and finishing your dance with her upstairs."

"Ah, Monica-moni. Don't you think I might want to marry you?"

It was ridiculous. This rake truly had no sense of propriety. Monica adopted the haughty tone of a fine lady.

"Luis, I'm not a fool."

The rake laughed heartily.

The young man's appearance had become thoroughly disheveled. Monica picked up the lace cravat she'd been sitting on, intending to retie it for him, but there was a problem.

"I don't know how to tie a cravat."

"Oh, just keep it. Use it as a handkerchief."

"Something this expensive?"

Luis smiled and picked something up from the ground.

It was the handkerchief Isabella had given Monica, which she'd used to wipe her sweat and tucked away.

She must have dropped it from her skirts while dancing. He spread out the corner embroidered with Isabella's initials, whispering mischievously.

"Not yours, I see. My heart breaks to learn you have another man."

"Good grief. That belongs to Miss Valentino!"

"Claiming it belongs to a friend to hide another man's token—quite common, really."

Monica giggled and snatched the handkerchief from Luis's hand. With his characteristic exaggerated gestures, Luis accepted the lace cravat, made a show of wiping Monica's sweat with it, then folded it neatly and returned it to her.

"Do take it with you!"

"Lovely Monica-moni. I must confess a secret."

"What?"

"I don't know how to tie a cravat either."

The two parted with quiet laughter. The young man headed up the stairs; Monica crossed the corridor toward the side garden.

She spread out the cravat in the afternoon sunlight. The lace embroidered with fine thread on the white cloth was beautiful. Too long and large to use as a handkerchief.

Perhaps she'd spread it on the table in her room and admire it for years to come. As Monica entertained this thought, she spotted Hans straightening up from his work in the distance.

"Oh, good afternoon."

She offered an awkward greeting. Hans removed his cap and returned the salutation. His face was quite red—he looked as though he'd been working in the sun all afternoon. Monica suddenly worried whether he'd seen her with Luis.

"Um, Hans."

"Yes?"

"Have you been here the whole time?"

It was a tentative probe to see if he'd witnessed anything between her and Luis.