A Belated Birthday Gift (2)

First the Kelvia allergy, and now this.

The handkerchief's effect was undeniable.

The bloodstained handkerchief filled Isabella's gaze. The hardening expression on her face gave way to surprise, then quickly dissolved into flustered confusion.

"This handkerchief..."

For blood to have soaked into it, it must have come from the wound on my cheek that still hadn't healed — proof positive that I had met the handkerchief's owner.

"You asked why I was late. I ran into Lady Harnie on the terrace. And because the cut from this morning had festered and started bleeding again, I had to borrow that handkerchief from her."

"...So that's what happened."

"But that alone wouldn't fully answer your question about why I was late, would it?"

A nod.

Of course it wouldn't. Which was exactly why I'd come prepared with more.

"Then let me ask you one thing. Have any letters arrived for me recently?"

"No. Nothing of the sort."

"And what would you do if such letters had been arriving — only to be filtered out before they ever reached me?"

"...What did you say?"

Not just an ordinary ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠weapon.

A bomb.

"Lady Harnie found it strange, you see. She's sent me letters any number of times, and yet not a single reply has come. So where do you suppose those letters ended up?"

Clatter.

The teacup in Isabella's hand tipped sharply, spilling its contents across the table. Her eyes went wide — only now had the gravity of it begun to sink in.

"What nonsense is this? Explain yourself. Thoroughly."

That bomb worked a treat.

"Last month alone, she sent more than twenty of them. And not one arrived. So she came to me in person to ask why."

"Twenty... you say. Impossible. Who in this duchy would dare tamper with your correspondence..."

"For the record, I can't even remember when the last letter reached me. I merely sought to uncover the truth of the matter."

And with that, I had resolved all three problems at once.

The lateness, the improper attire, the supposed lie — my innocence had been established in a single stroke. Even the demand that I conduct myself as befitting a noble, as befitting a member of the Bagrand ducal house, had been rendered entirely meaningless.

Even if a thread of falsehood were woven into my claims — what of it? Who was going to prove otherwise?

"I'll summon Heron and have this investigated."

Isabella still looked at me, drowning in unanswered questions, and I drove another nail in.

"No. That won't be necessary."

"Karsein?"

"Just assume it was my fault. If I'm going to be treated with this much suspicion anyway, then apparently that's the only regard I was ever worth."

"Don't speak that way. I know you're upset, but you must watch your words, Karsein."

"I'll take my leave, then. I have no wish to continue this conversation."

I don't want to hear an apology from your mouth. You're not entitled to give one, either.

And even if the words did spill out — would that woman even welcome them? I guarantee you this: she'd find them repulsive.

So I refused to give her even a sliver of an opening. I rose quickly, meaning to walk straight out —

And at that very moment, an object on the shelf began to glow with brilliant light.

A Memorial in this branch, is it?

Fine. Whatever wretched little memory this one held, I might as well take a look.

The moment my hand touched the letters, light flickered before my eyes.

What? Nothing's changed at all.

But in the instant that thought crossed my mind —

I could see it. Not just Isabella and me in this room, but Arina seated there as well.

The Duchess's study.

The very place itself was what the Memorial was projecting.

The two of them were having a very simple conversation.

"We cannot leave Karsein as he is, Mother."

That single line of dialogue made the topic plain enough. It was about Karsein, ever stirring up one catastrophe after another.

But the next words were something I never could have anticipated.

And with that brief exchange, the Memorial returned me to my own place in time.

Ha... damn it all.

The curse rose up of its own accord.

This wasn't mere indifference. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠This went far beyond that.

Somewhere in that moment, Isabella's hand came to rest on my shoulder.

"Karsein. Sit with me a moment. That attitude just now—"

Smack.

Disgust surged up, and I knocked her hand away, rough and unceremonious.

"You...!"

Somehow, I had a good idea of the expression I was wearing right now. And an instinct flared alongside it — a certainty that I could never, ever show Isabella this face.

Stay calm. Stay cold.

Even with the words clawing their way up my throat, I should have swallowed them and walked out.

But in the end, one line escaped me.

"I doubt anyone in this world would dream of criticizing someone for a secret tryst with their own fiancée."

The study door, which had slammed shut with such force, soon opened again — and after more time had passed, it opened once more.

"I've brought the results of the investigation you ordered."

"And? What did you find?"

Heron, visibly struggling with how to deliver his report, could do nothing but hold it out.

"The total volume of correspondence did not match. The letters arriving for the other young ladies, and for the Madam herself, all came through without issue, but..."

"Karsein's... the count didn't add up?"

A nod.

"It appears highly likely that the letters were lost or discarded somewhere in the process of passing through the maids' hands. Young Master Karsein has never once received a letter directly."

"And the duration... how far back does it go?"

"From even a cursory examination, it stretches well beyond a few months. And if we were to widen the scope beyond the Theresia Marquisate alone, I estimate the losses could extend to a matter of years."

"Haah... why must it be like this, again... I would sooner it had all been a lie."

Isabella pressed a hand to her forehead and let out a long, heavy sigh.

"I have already conducted a full investigation. But internal staff alone might have buried the whole affair, so I hired outside investigators as well."

"Yes. Thank you."

As Isabella sat there lamenting, Heron spoke up.

"Madam. If you will forgive the presumption — this is not something you should ever have wished to be a lie."

"Heron?"

"It was you, Madam, who was so indifferent to the Young Master. As I have told you before — with Karsein alone, there is a wall between you."

"Why bring that up now, of all times?"

"Because it has happened not once, but twice, has it not?"

Despite a clear precedent — the time she had turned a blind eye, not even knowing of the Kelvia allergy — she had committed the very same mistake again.

Why had Karsein arrived late? Why had he lied, and why had he come dressed in the servants' uniform?

The root of it all was that she had never once bothered to ask.

It was no different from the incident in the dining hall. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠If only she had asked — even a simple, is something the matter? — how much better it might have been.

But Isabella had not. Her gaze was still clouded by prejudice, and that was why.

And that prejudice, Heron knew, he had to shatter — no matter what.

Before the situation spiraled into something beyond anyone's control.

"I understand what you're saying. You mean for me to order an even more rigorous investigation, and clear Karsein's name of any suspicion?"

"No, Madam."

"If not that, then... I need only bestow a fitting reward upon him?"

Heron shook his head slowly.

"What should have come out of your mouth in that room, Madam, was an apology."

"An apology...?"

"If the other young ladies had been in that very same position, would you have summoned them here and berated them as you did the Young Master?"

"You state the obvious. Even if it were their fault, I would have rebuked them sternly."

"Madam..."

Wearing a bitter expression, Heron fetched a calendar from a previous year and spread it open. It was the one Isabella had used last year. Pointing to a single date with his finger, he asked again.

"Do you remember what day this was?"

On the date Heron's finger indicated, a circle had been started — and left unfinished. Beside it, nothing. No notation at all.

When Isabella tilted her head, unable to place it, Heron immediately held up the calendar currently in use beside it.

"And even seeing this, you don't remember? Madam."

There was real weight in his voice now — the sharp sting of a switch laid across the wrist of the Duke's proxy, delivered by a mere butler. But a man like him, the most loyal retainer of House Bagrand, would never say such things lightly.

Isabella stared hard, comparing the two calendars back and forth — until at last, she covered her mouth with both hands.

"Do you understand now, Madam? This is what I meant when I said he never received the same affection — that there was a wall between you. You have never looked upon the Young Master as a child equal to your daughters."

A circle drawn cleanly in the fine pen reserved only for the most important dates, beside January 1st — Claire's birthday.

A circle carelessly traced in the second-rate pen, beside December 31st — and beside it, nothing. No note of any kind.

The difference in treatment between those two days could not have been starker, even if it tried.

She said the words, but her gaze had already wavered. And Heron laid that discrepancy bare with surgical clarity.

"I... I did... that...?"

Only then did Isabella's eyes fly wide open.

Had it been any of her own daughters in that situation, she would have asked first. Asked what the reason was. Asked why they had acted that way.

But because it was Karsein.

Because he was not a child born of her own body, but a child taken in.

Because what remained in her heart was not affection, but only the faintest residue of guilt.

And so she had been looking at him all along through eyes gone cloudy.

"Heron. Where is Karsein right n— ...ah."

Then, all at once, the words Karsein had spat on his way out of the room surfaced in her mind.

He said he was too upset to talk any further. He had said exactly that.

"..."

Left with no other choice, she reached instead for the pen.

Watching her do it, Heron let out a long, silent sigh.

Their relationship, most likely, would never mend.

Of all things — why did I have to see that.

The moment I got back to my room, I headed straight for the washroom to cool my head. The heat welling up from inside was unbearable, and I had to splash cold water on my face.

As the chill rippled across my skin and slowly doused the fire, my mind finally began to clear.

Which meant that last line of mine had been wrong. Plainly, undeniably wrong.

"Ugh. Why on earth did I have to react like that, just because I saw something about a political marriage?"

That was what the Memorial scene had shown. A conversation between mother and daughter — that a political marriage might be the answer to Karsein, a beast who could never be tamed no matter how they taught him.

So in the heat of the moment, I'd thrown it back in her face.

That you were off having secret meetings with your fiancée.

Spilled water is spilled water. Nothing to be done.

"Hoo. Calm down. It's almost time to get ready."

Harnie had sent her letter through Camilla the very day we'd spoken. It said she wanted to see me today — so I needed to get ready, and quickly.

Once I'd finished washing up, I called for Camilla.

"You called for me, Young Master?"

Camilla edged warily toward the laundry basket, her eyes flicking to my hands — checking, no doubt, whether a rag had found its way into them again.

And above her head floated:

The affinity box, having climbed sharply for the third day in a row, now swayed just past the fifteen-percent mark.

...Why has it gone up that much?

Granted, these days I'd been leaving Camilla's workload untouched as part of my dead-trigger management — but could that really account for a jump this big?

I couldn't tell. Whatever. Not important. This was as good a time as any to settle things.

"Stop with the theatrics. I'm not going to do it anymore, so quit showing up so early to block me from working."

"But..."

"I said it twice now that I won't. Do you want me to say it a third time?"

"N-no, sir! I understand perfectly. I'll be careful."

Every single time she entered my room, she hovered and hedged like that, trying to keep me from lifting a finger — and honestly, that was more irritating than anything else. If this was how it was going to be, just giving her work to do was far easier on my conscience.

"Anyway, Camilla. Prepare for an outing. Right away."

"An outing, sir?"

The first scheduled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠event was drawing near. The first step toward keeping this engagement alive was, naturally, a proper meeting.

"I have someone to meet. A noble — and from a fairly prestigious house, at that."

"Understood. I'll inform the coachman at once."

And just as Camilla opened the door to leave —

"Head Butler Heron?"

"Pardon the intrusion, Young Master."

Heron bowed with impeccable courtesy.

With maids and attendants trailing behind him in a long, tangled train.

The moment I saw that procession, something bitter crawled up my throat.

Ha... damn it all.

Isabella had figured it out.

My birthday.

That she'd realized it at all might honestly be a miracle — but frankly, it would have been better if she never had.

It was as if I were watching a perfect reflection of my mother's behavior: a birthday she'd only realized a full day late, mentioned only now.

No. Mentioned wasn't even the word for it.

"Though it is late, the Madam says that if you wish for something, she will grant you anything. If you want a birthday party even now, one will be held for you. If you want clothes, she intends to summon a famous boutique. And if you want accessories laden with jewels, she will call for a jeweler — so she says."

She didn't even come herself. She sent others to deliver the message for her.

And with it, she meant to shove something into my hands — spending money if she had to — just to shave off the smallest sliver of her guilt.

A birthday party? A famous boutique? A jeweler?

I needed none of it. It was almost comical — she hadn't the faintest idea what Karsein actually wanted, so she'd simply plastered the tastes of her three daughters over the top.

How was it possible to be this identical, all the way down to the parts that made my stomach turn?

I don't need it.

No matter how belatedly she realized the truth, no matter how she apologized — it would change nothing.

And yet.

Figures.

The choices were never going to just leave me alone.

Which is why, right here and now, I made my decision — firmly.

"Forget everything else. I'll take the people standing here, that's all. Oh, and one more thing. I hear the maids and attendants have been run off their feet lately. Is that right?"

"...Yes, Young Master. There has been quite a great deal of work recently."

"Then that calls for a performance bonus, doesn't it? Don't you think?"

I would take none of it for myself.