TMWDS Chapter 39

Of course, a young lady of a powerful house probably kept that many gowns in her wardrobe as a matter of course.

But finishing that entire order in a single day was a rather different problem.

Especially when it took the form of a one-on-one consultation with a specialist absolutely fixated on tailoring the perfect fit.

When Ionna had first heard that morning that someone from the Penelope tailor's shop had arrived, she'd assumed Yvonne had finally gotten her wish.

Yvonne had been pestering Hayden about buying her a dress from that shop, so Ionna had simply assumed he'd caved to his daughter yet again.

But the salesperson, taking in Yvonne's eager dash out to greet her with visible confusion, revealed she'd come at the Duke's order.

"His Grace was, it seems, exceedingly pleased with his last purchase, and instructed us to make more dresses for Lady Ionna at Penelope's."

So it turned out the shop that had produced that magnificent result from nothing but borrowed measurements really was the kind of place people made a fuss over.

The Penelope tailor's shop had opened in the capital five years ago and had never once, since then, lost its place as the top seller in the city.

With a chief designer who'd studied abroad and kept up on every last trend, everyone was practically desperate to have their clothes made there.

Among young ladies, the number of pieces one had commissioned from Penelope's had become something to boast about, and even those who couldn't afford it treated a single dress from there as a dream garment worth having, once.

'I used to have things made there myself, sometimes, once I became a duchess.'

Though, of course, only ever as a formality, and only once or twice a year at most.

The thought of having to discuss the type and color of fabric, the shape and ornamentation of the dress—twenty separate times over—turned her stomach almost immediately.

Ionna got hastily to her feet.

"……Excuse me a moment. I need the washroom."

Fortunately, the salesperson let her go without protest.

Her complexion, evidently, had looked poor enough to warrant it.

Ionna made her way out through the back door of the manor, Marsha in tow.

The stretch of grounds behind the building, leading toward the back garden, was quiet. With no one passing through, it seemed a fitting place to have a conversation not meant for other ears.

The moment Marsha shut the door behind them, Ionna asked, bluntly:

"Was my closet really that pathetic?"

"Have you finally gained a little self-awareness, my lady?"

Marsha shot back, her eyes brightening.

Ionna, with nothing to say in her own defense, simply fell silent.

It wasn't as though Marsha hadn't been nagging her all along about what she was wearing, or when she'd finally hire more staff.

She might be firmly on the Duke's side about it, but there was no way she'd cheer on her mistress's miserly, threadbare habits.

Still, the sudden flood of gifts seemed to puzzle Marsha just as much, because she asked, with a hopeful look on her face:

"If it isn't that, then—did something happen between the two of you yesterday?"

"Nothing like that."

Ionna answered firmly.

Not that nothing at all had progressed in their relationship, of course.

But surely making the perfectly obvious promise to be faithful to each other after marriage couldn't be reason enough for him to suddenly go and gift her dresses on top of it.

Ionna hadn't even properly gotten to show off the dress he'd already given her the night before. She'd used her poor dancing as an excuse to avoid the ballroom entirely, and had ended up slinking home early out of embarrassment.

Not wanting to explain such a foolish story, Ionna quickly changed the subject.

"More importantly—do we have any letters from Cornelia?"

"Of course we do. Actually, quite a few."

Saying this, Marsha pulled a thick bundle of letters from the front of her apron.

Cornelia had been collecting Ionna's share of the invitations every morning and handing them over to Marsha.

Thanks to that, Ionna never had to worry about missing anything to Yvonne's scheming.

Ionna gave the backs of the envelopes a quick, careless once-over.

A few familiar names caught her eye.

Everyone she'd met at the Richter estate seemed to have rushed to send their invitations first, as though afraid she might change her mind if they waited too long.

Here it is.

Spotting the name she'd been looking for among them, Ionna wasted no time tearing open the envelope.

The contents inside were brief. Along with a few lines of polite pleasantries about how pleased they were to have such a distinguished guest, it gave the location and date of the gathering.

The sender's name must have caught her eye from a distance, because Marsha asked, puzzled:

"Josefine Alusi—isn't he one of Lord Nils's friends? Why would he be sending my lady an invitation?"

"I asked him to invite me. There's something I need to pick up there."

"Something to pick up...... Wasn't that the gambling circle?"

"Then I suppose there'll be something changing hands besides money."

Ionna answered offhandedly and handed the letter back to Marsha.

She'd need to go back to her room to write her reply anyway, and that was something she could only do once the guest currently waiting in the parlor had left.

Marsha tucked the invitations back into her apron pocket, then gently pressed Ionna along.

"Shall we head back in, then?"

"I'm not quite mentally prepared yet."

"But if we take much longer, people are going to start suspecting there's something wrong with my lady's bathroom situation."

Ionna finally swallowed a sigh and got to her feet.

If it had to be done anyway, better to get it over with quickly.

Ionna quietly stepped through the door Marsha held open for her.

The parlor where the salesperson was waiting wasn't far from the back door at all.

Which meant that the moment Ionna stepped inside, she caught Yvonne huffing her way out of the parlor, door kicked open behind her.

Marsha leaned in to whisper in Ionna's ear.

"Looks like someone's order got turned down."

Whatever the truth of it was, the moment Yvonne spotted Ionna, her face twisted savagely.

Yvonne stalked up to Ionna and said:

"Perfect timing. Go tell that woman she's making a dress for me too."

Ionna asked, at the sheer nerve of the demand:

"Why?"

"Why do you think? His Grace's the one who called her, isn't he? So can't you just have my order slipped in with yours? He's not going to check anyway."

Yvonne had been avoiding going out in public lately altogether, too busy pestering Hayden to buy her clothes from Penelope's.

She'd been so embarrassed to be seen in last season's dresses that she'd locked herself in her room and refused to leave.

Thanks to that, Ionna had been able to slip in and out of every social gathering she pleased, without a hitch.

'I thought this had been resolved since she went out with Hayden yesterday. Guess not.'

Either way, her own answer was already decided.

Ionna said, a mocking twist to her mouth:

"Don't feel like it."

Ionna's refusal drew an exaggerated scoff of disbelief from Yvonne.

"You're really getting bold these days, aren't you? Marrying the Duke, and now the whole world's yours?"

Sneering, Yvonne crossed her arms with an air of confidence.

"But you know what—here's the thing. If I go say just a few words to His Grace, this whole engagement breaks off just like that."

"I'd love to hear what magic words those might be."

"You're...... acting like you don't already know. Want me to just shout it loud enough for the guest to hear too?!"

At Ionna's easy composure, Yvonne's voice snapped upward.

The circumstances had changed, but people didn't.

This was clearly a conversation she was having for the first time, and yet Ionna found Yvonne's threats more familiar to her than anything else in the world.

Small mercy, at least, that Leroy wasn't with them right now.

"If His Grace decides he doesn't want to marry you, then it'll be my turn next. It's like shit, but I suppose I am your sister after all. So if you want even one dress off me once I'm the duchess, you'd better go do exactly what I said, right now."

Yvonne said this with the same shameless face she'd worn once before, on a day long since gone.

That time, Ionna had groveled, hoping for someone else's mercy. This time, she didn't.

Ionna asked, her smile easy, unbothered:

"And how exactly are you going to marry His Grace?"

Yvonne stared at her as if she'd said something idiotic. She had no idea the exact same thought was running through Ionna's own eyes.

Ionna asked her next question, brightly.

"Do you even know why I'm the one marrying that man?"

"Obviously. Because our father devoted himself to serving the Imperial family. That's why, isn't it!"

"No."

Cutting her off flatly, Ionna took a step closer to Yvonne.

Their difference in height cast a faint shadow over Yvonne's face.