TMWDS Chapter 32

Leroy only raised an eyebrow slightly and lowered it again, offering no real reply.

Closing the ointment tin, he pulled out a handkerchief and finished wiping his hands.

Feeling dismissed, Ionna, out of pure stubbornness, launched into bragging.

“I only ended up with a bit of bruising. Nils, on the other hand, lost several teeth. Now he speaks like a three-year-old without his dentures in.”

“Ah.”

“Lady Florence has been barred from the palace for a while now, as payment for laying a hand on me. That was my doing too.”

She figured that ought to be enough, and glanced over to check his reaction—when Leroy suddenly burst out laughing.

She'd seen plenty of polite, courteous smiles from him before, but this seemed to be the first time he'd genuinely laughed. Since she'd come back through time, at least.

Ionna frowned and asked, “Why are you laughing?”

“It's just—a little funny, I suppose. Someone taking such obvious, ordinary revenge and looking so proud of herself for it.”

“Why is that ordinary revenge?”

She'd thought she'd landed a fairly satisfying blow, and being dismissed like this left a sour taste.

As Ionna's expression soured further, Leroy gave his hands a light rub together and settled into the seat beside her.

Turning toward her, he tilted his head and asked, “Hm, then answer this. What would you usually have done, before, when something like this happened?”

What would she have done, before.

She had an answer, but it wasn't one she could ever say in front of him. What other response was there, besides simply enduring it?

Getting hit by Nils was such a common occurrence it hardly counted as something worth getting newly upset about.

No—common was an understatement. It might be fair to call it part of her daily routine.

If there was any variation at all, it was only in degree: on unlucky days, some part of her body would stop working properly; on lucky ones, she'd get off with a light beating and nothing worse.

'Though not anymore, I suppose.'

Ionna dodged the question with brazen composure.

“If I responded to every petty little thing like this, I'd just wear myself out.”

“'Every little thing'—that's quite a phrase to use, if this happens often enough to need it.”

Realizing she'd walked straight into that trap, Ionna bit her lip.

“All the more reason there's no need for you to make such a fuss over it, then.”

“What they threw were stones. Just because you've grown used to it from repetition doesn't erase the fact that you were pelted with stones. And, naturally, getting hit with a stone hurts.”

“...Do I really look, to you, like someone who'd be hurt by an attack that petty?”

“My apologies for treating you like an ordinary person.”

Leroy answered indifferently and gave a small shrug.

Apparently with no intention of pressing further on the same subject, he rose without hesitation and headed toward the door—presumably to call in a servant waiting outside.

Watching the man's retreating back, Ionna found herself thinking, unbidden:

'Only this man.'

The only man who'd ever thought of her as an ordinary person, rather than some filthy bastard, or one of the Emperor's foot soldiers.

The one who'd acknowledged that she, too, could be hurt like anyone else, an ordinary person deserving that same care—why, out of everyone, had she gone and married a man like that?

And even now, having turned back time, why couldn't she let him go—why did she keep repeating this same selfish behavior?

If her only goal had been to help him, there had never been any need to go so far as to block off his marriage prospects entirely.

'It isn't love, though.'

She could never call this repulsive habit of hers by that name, but...

'I'd like one last kiss. ...I won't tell anyone. I'll keep it quiet, all to myself.'

'Don't say it like you're actually fond of me.'

'I wouldn't be so shameless.'

Hearing the sound of the door closing, Ionna squeezed her eyes shut.

For some reason, she felt an unwarranted greed threatening to well up in her.

They didn't leave the Modrov estate until a full hour after the ball had already begun.

This was thanks to Marsha's overzealousness—determined that, now that they'd been gifted such a dress and jewelry, she was going to produce better results than ever before.

Watching Leroy's expression grow steadily grimmer, Ionna privately thought Marsha's method of expressing gratitude was slightly misguided, but she didn't actively try to stop her either.

Even though she'd protested out of a sense of obligation at first, the truth was she'd been just as thrilled by the surprise gift as Marsha was.

“Thank you, Your Grace. This is the first time I've ever received a gift like this.”

Ionna said it with genuine sincerity.

She had, of course, received a few perfunctory gifts during their married life—but taking things at this point in the timeline, the statement wasn't a lie.

In response to Ionna's expression of thanks, Leroy answered with pure, unguarded admiration.

“You look like a different person.”

“You don't like it?”

“No—I was surprised to find you suit it even better than I expected. I thought you were beautiful the last time we met, too, but it turns out you could become even lovelier than that.”

He said it with such plainness that it took Ionna a moment to fully register that he'd meant it sincerely. His expression had been far too earnest for it to pass as simple flattery.

The reactions from those they encountered after arriving at the Richter residence were, for the most part, similar.

Ionna generally dressed well enough not to invite criticism, but she'd never before spent this much time or money on her appearance the way she had today.

It went without saying that there was no comparing a custom piece from a famous designer to a plain poplin dress.

The moment they stepped inside the ballroom, all eyes naturally turned toward the two of them.

“Oh my, isn't that... Dame Ionna? What in the world is she doing at a ball?”

“Haven't you heard yet? There's been quite a bit of talk about how she's been showing up to every social gathering lately.”

“Lady Erna, didn't you say Dame Ionna came to the embroidery circle you attend, too?”

“That's right. I expected her to be rather severe, but she turned out to be kinder than I thought. Her embroidery skills were, well, rather dreadful, though. Even accounting for it being her first time...”

The young lady, recalling the image of a raccoon from hell—or rather, a lion—wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

Whoever the recipient of that handkerchief was meant to be, they couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for them.

“In any case, look at her dressed up like this—she really does look like a completely different person. I've seen her a few times at the palace, but she never gave off this kind of impression there. How should I put it, more than I expected, she's...”

“Beautiful.”

“Beautiful.”

“Beautiful.”

Having all landed on the same word, the young ladies exchanged glances and burst into giggles.

“She wasn't quite this striking at the embroidery circle. She came in her uniform that day, you know. Sword and all.”

“Oh my, knights really are something else... Do they fall apart if they go even a moment unarmed?”

Another round of laughter broke out among the ladies.

The reason Ionna had shown up in uniform that day was simply that she'd gone straight from her shift to the meeting place—but there was no chance these women would ever understand the sorrows of someone who actually had to work for a living.

“Well, it makes sense she'd put in some effort for her first public appearance with her partner. Or perhaps—could that dress have been a gift from His Grace?”

The women's gazes, which had been fixed on Ionna's dress, slowly drifted over to the man standing beside her.

Everyone who had invited Ionna to their gatherings so far naturally harbored some curiosity or goodwill toward her—but not everyone shared the same opinion.

The fact that Ionna had never once made a public appearance alongside Leroy had drawn quiet mockery from the latter group. Was he really going to marry a woman with such a poor reputation, one who'd worked directly under the Crown Prince, of all things?

But look at the two of them now. Arms naturally linked, exchanging pleasant conversation—the scene looked, unexpectedly, rather intimate.

“I think I'm getting a lifetime's worth of attention all in one night.”

Ionna, having quietly listened to the murmuring around her, offered up this brief assessment.

They'd all lowered their voices, but her hearing was sharp enough to catch the occasional stray word or two.

If there was any silver lining, it was that the reaction, on the whole, didn't seem to be a bad one.

Just then, a middle-aged couple approached them. Ionna leaned slightly toward Leroy and murmured a heads-up.

“That's Count and Countess Richter.”

Trailing a short distance behind the Count and Countess were a young man and woman.

The man was already a familiar face to Ionna—none other than her insolent subordinate, Erich Richter.

'Why does he look so dazed, though?'

Puzzled, Ionna nonetheless offered the Count and Countess a composed greeting.

“It's been a while, Count Richter, Countess. This is—”