Surviving the Obsessive Young Lady (3): 7
“Please step down, miss.”
Helen, who had descended first, extended her hand into the carriage.
I lightly placed my fingertips on that hand and slowly stepped out of the carriage.
The Shiron Marquis household.
A prominent family in high society, one that suited the word lavish to a tee.
Though that extravagance stemmed from the marchioness's tastes rather than the marquis himself…
“It's ridiculously flashy, as always.”
The fact that excessive luxury only diminished one's elegance remained unchanged.
I muttered softly to myself as I gazed at the marquis household's garden unfolding before my eyes.
A meticulously manicured garden.
Every flower, every tree had been tended to with utmost care—a flawless landscape.
And amid that garden, something out of place caught my eye.
Several ornate tables for the tea party, gleaming in pure white.
“Ah.”
At the sight, my brow furrowed involuntarily.
They were harbingers of what I had to do next.
“Miss, it's about time…”
“I know, Helen.”
I knew. Revealing my true feelings in a place like this would be foolish.
I took a deep breath.
Then I straightened my back, smoothed my furrowed expression, and lifted the corners of my mouth to the precise angle.
A face I'd practiced my whole life.
The light smile returned to its place in an instant.
With Helen at my side, I began to walk, and the household servants swiftly approached.
“Welcome, Lady Levantia. We've been expecting you.”
The lead maid bowed gracefully and gestured with her hand.
A fluid, natural escort, befitting someone from the Shiron household.
“I hope you're well.”
A polite response called for a polite greeting in return. The maid fell into step at my sides, matching my pace.
The tea party hadn't quite begun yet, so under the maids' guidance, I strolled through the garden.
Pretending to savor the flower scents, feigning admiration for the garden, this pretense, that pretense.
'It all reaches the marchioness's ears anyway.'
Even so, my smile didn't falter from my lips.
These were habits ingrained in my body for exactly this reason.
I finished my stroll right on time.
A noblewoman stood at the mansion's entrance, greeting the guests.
“Oh, you've already arrived?”
Marchioness Shiron.
She carried herself with refined poise, looking far younger than her years.
Unlike her lavish tastes, her warm demeanor had earned her a fine reputation in high society.
I lightly gathered my skirt and offered my greeting.
“Thank you for inviting me, Marchioness Shiron. Seeing this exquisitely tended garden makes my heart feel so much clearer.”
“Oh, Lady Levantia, your way with words seems to improve every time you visit.”
Formal greetings. Formulaic compliments. Nothing more was needed.
What we both required was merely the image of the 'well-regarded lady of high society' exchanging pleasantries with the 'young lady of an esteemed house.'
Just as I thought the greetings were sufficient and moved to step forward, the marchioness drew half a pace closer.
With a light wink, she whispered so only I could hear.
“And today, I've prepared that tea you love so much—the one I brewed myself.”
As if anyone would love something whose temperature is matched so carelessly.
But I couldn't say that. Not in front of her, at least.
“Really? I can hardly wait.”
The marchioness smiled in satisfaction.
“Levantia… no, may I call you Chloe, Lady Chloe?”
“It would be an honor.”
You're not the one I want to hear it from.
For a moment, a man from that shabby alley flashed through my mind.
The voice that always called me 'Lady Levantia' instead of my name lingered in a corner of my heart.
A sharp pang stabbed at me again. I barely managed to keep my eyes steady and my smile intact.
“Ah, there are some young ladies your age over there. Why don't you rest comfortably with them?”
She pointed toward one corner of the garden.
A spot separated from the other tables.
I could see young ladies my age gathered there.
“Thank you, Marchioness. If you'll excuse me.”
As I headed that way, I swallowed a sigh inwardly.
Rest easy with your peers, she says.
Everyone in high society knew that 'peers' meant 'rivals.'
No matter how kindly she acted, it was a reminder that she, too, was a fixture of this world.
“Welcome, Lady Levantia.”
“Why don't you sit here?”
Upon reaching the table, the young ladies already seated rose in unison.
The young lady of House Levantia, one of high society's powerhouse families.
Even among nobles, there was a clear hierarchy. Their reaction was only natural.
But acting arrogant wouldn't do me any favors, so I returned an appropriate greeting.
“I hope you're all well.”
Measured courtesy. Modest humility.
Conversations where we praised each other without a shred of sincerity.
Even at a table of just young ladies, it was high society through and through—nothing special.
“So, how have you been lately?”
“With ball season approaching, I'm already worrying about dresses.”
“Me too. I wonder what color will be in vogue this year…”
Trivial chatter flowed lightly from them.
I nodded along appropriately, tilting my teacup.
Then, one young lady lowered her voice.
“Speaking of which, Lady Sinclair…”
Sinclair.
Undoubtedly referring to Veronica Sinclair of Duke Sinclair's house.
The unpleasant name made my insides twist uncomfortably, but her next words quickly eased my mind.
“She has a terrible headache and couldn't make it today. Such a shame.”
“Is that so? I hope she recovers soon.”
I said it politely, but inwardly, I was grateful.
If that arrogant woman had been here, my nerves would have been even more on edge.
“Come to think of it, a lot of people have been getting headaches lately.”
“Right? Must be the spring weather.”
The topic naturally shifted to the recent headache trend. However,
“Ah, Lady Arsel of Duke Arsel…”
Their words cut off there.
Lady Arsel of Duke Arsel.
The moment that name dropped, the air at the table grew subtly heavy.
Hands holding teacups froze midway to lips; gazes scattered to the teacups or table edges.
A silence where no one dared continue.
No one had the courage to add to that ominous, frightening name.
Only the abruptly severed sentence hung in the air.
I watched them, set down my teacup, and smoothly opened my mouth.
“It's a pity we won't see Lady Arsel's elegant black hair today.”
One sentence.
It was enough.
Their stiff expressions relaxed, replaced by light sighs of “You're right” and “Truly a shame.”
No one dared mention what lay behind the name Arsel.
This was necessary to survive in high society.
Turning a dangerous topic into mere sentiment.
Shamefully, being 'seasoned in high society' meant excelling at such things.
The conversation continued with topics straight out of any high society tea party.
So-and-so's family had built a new villa.
Which house sent out ball invitations first this year.
I merely nodded along, matching their words. After all, dialogue in these settings was just an exchange of information, not heartfelt talk.
It was then.
“Hey.”
One young lady set down her teacup and lowered her voice slightly.
She spoke in that girlish tone used for sharing secrets.
“My maid told me there's a nice place somewhere in the back alleys.”
“A nice place?”
“Yeah. Some counseling office—apparently, you feel refreshed after going there, headaches go away…”
Counseling office.
At that word, my heart skipped a beat.
I kept my teacup steady and quietly listened in.
“Ah, my Marie was talking about something similar. She went on forever about how her shoulders don't hurt anymore.”
You pick up familiar names when maids line up at the same shop. Even from another house, I hadn't expected to hear it here.
“It's probably some shady place, right?”
“Marie goes often and says it's fine. I don't trust her, though.”
“Come on, if it's reached our ears, there must be something to it, no?”
For the first time, a girlish laugh spread among them.
I kept my gaze on my teacup, feigning nonchalance. But I couldn't stop my fingertips from trembling slightly.
“Ah, I remember now. The place is called some counseling office…”
Ah.
It's definitely that man's shop.
A chill gripped my chest.
Normally, I'd seize the moment: 'Ah, that place? Yes, I know it.' and steer the conversation.
But my mouth wouldn't open.
It felt like I shouldn't say anything.
Sharing that place I knew with them… it felt profoundly wrong.
The young ladies didn't seem to know the exact location yet.
Just a vague name—hearsay from their maids, nothing more.
I slowly spoke up.
“Don't you think it's a bit unseemly for ladies like us to take interest in shady spots?”
A gentle but firm line drawn.
They nodded at my words.
“You're right.”
“A counseling office sounds dubious anyway…”
“Exactly. It's not a place for us, whatever it is.”
Agreements rippled out one by one, and the topic swiftly shifted to dress colors for the next ball.
I smiled lightly, watching their chatter.
I was smiling.
But recalling that brief moment when they'd shown interest in the counseling office, something welled up inside me.
'Ah, I see.'
I finally realized it.
I didn't want to share it with them.
That shabby alley. That little shop. The light moments when he listened to my complaints, drank tea with me, taught me proper hand gestures.
I didn't want them taken away.
“Lady Levantia? Are you all right?”
“I'm fine.”
They asked worriedly as I sat silently.
Instead, I flashed my familiar smile.
Hoping they'd never take interest in the counseling office again.
“I was just admiring the pattern on this teacup. So intricate, isn't it?”
It'll be fine.
I have the key, after all.
If I don't go, he won't get to drink that tea.
