That's Why I Still Can't Love You Yet
“Good heavens…!”
Count Orland’s ball was already only three days away.
I had spent the intervening time diligently studying every rule of etiquette one was expected to observe at such gatherings, only to realize mere moments ago that etiquette was not the problem at all.
Ania had thrown open my wardrobe, declaring she would choose something suitable for me to wear, and the cry of pure horror that escaped her told me everything I needed to know.
“How on earth do you own so few clothes?”
“These are clothes, aren’t they? They’re comfortable and perfectly serviceable.”
Edward had always been the sort of brilliant fool who knew nothing beyond magic and the sword. Banquets, gossip, the endless social theater of the nobility—none of it had ever held the slightest interest for him. The state of his wardrobe was the inevitable result.
There were no garments suitable for a formal ball. All that hung inside were a few sparring outfits, the knight order’s dress uniform, and the academy uniform.
“……No halfwit shows up to a ball in comfortable clothes.”
I had not thought it a serious matter until I heard Ania use language that harsh—something she almost never did. Watching her expression slowly curdle, I scrambled to pull something out.
“Then what am I supposed to wear? How about this?”
I held up the knight order uniform. Ania sighed and raked both hands through her hair.
“I truly cannot believe it. That my own husband possesses such catastrophic fashion sense.”
“The uniform is fine clothing. It elevates the honor of the order, and besides, it is aesthetically pleasing, is it not?”
I rather liked the knight order uniform. Its cut was close enough to a modern suit that, by my own standards, it looked the most respectable thing I owned. Ania, however, was having none of it.
“Wear that and you will become a laughingstock.”
“Is it really that bad?”
“It is exactly that bad.”
She rummaged through the sparse contents of the wardrobe (there was so little that “rummaging” was generous) before deciding the situation was hopeless and seizing my hand.
“We’re going shopping.”
“Must we buy clothes just for one ball—”
“Right now!”
“That’s extravagance.”
I hated the idea of spending money on garments I would never wear again. The Radner family was so financially strained that calling them nobility felt almost fraudulent. This was no time for luxury.
“And yet that same man bought me dress after dress without a second thought.”
“……”
When she put it that way, I had nothing left to say. In the end I let her pull me out of the mansion by the hand.
The carriage brought us to a city not far from the estate—Freron, a bustling commercial hub where countless merchants came and went, the very heart of the empire’s trade.
From the outskirts, long lines of freight wagons waited to be inspected. We, however, would face no such delay.
“I am Ania of House Bronte.”
“Ah, my lady! Allow me to summon an escort at once!”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ve only come shopping with my husband.”
When the emperor’s closest confidants, House Bronte, sent their daughter, no one was about to demand an inspection. Had I arrived alone, the story might have been different.
Beyond the gates the city opened wide before us. Since arriving in this world I had seen little more than the Radner estate, the capital, and various mansions; the sight felt genuinely foreign. Merchants shouting their wares, wholesalers furiously working abacuses—after living so long among nobles, watching ordinary people go about their lives held a strange charm of its own.
Yet the carriage turned away from the noisy market heart of the city and toward quieter streets where the paving was clean and even. On either side stood shops selling jewelry and clothing.
“Come along, Edward.”
The moment we arrived Ania stepped down and took my hand again.
“At the very least, won’t you let me choose my own clothes?”
“Absolutely not!”
She was relentless. Did buying a single outfit really require this much fuss? To my eye, noble fashion was hopelessly gaudy and old-fashioned. In a world still clinging to medieval aesthetics, heavy ornamentation was the mark of beauty and wealth. The ladies and gentlemen of means glittered with jewels and cubic stones, every accessory flashing for all to see. It looked, to me, exactly as vulgar as those modern designer pieces that slap their logos across every surface.
“In you go. I’ll pick something for you.”
The instant she dragged me inside, despair settled over me like a shroud. The racks were filled with garments that looked as though they had stepped straight out of the court of Louis XIII. Garish pinks and yellows, shoulders padded to absurd heights—and why, for the love of all that was holy, were men expected to wear stockings and skirts?
“My dear, I am truly sorry, but this is simply—”
“They say this is the height of fashion right now.”
“No matter how I look at it, I cannot—”
A brief, stubborn tug-of-war ensued between the woman determined to dress me and the man determined never to wear such things. In the end Ania was the first to yield.
“Very well. What sort of clothes do you prefer?”
“Something a little less ornate. No skirts. And none of those bizarre pinks or greens.”
“All right. How about this, then?”
The outfit she selected was surprisingly decent. Feathers and cubic stones still clung to it here and there, but it was a proper suit rather than a skirt. A white shirt, a tailed evening coat, a glossy gray waistcoat, a bow tie, and clean, modern trousers—ready-made clothing that almost looked contemporary.
“Of everything you’ve shown me, this is the one I like best.”
“I’m glad.”
It reminded me a little of nineteenth-century English formalwear, or perhaps riding attire, but compared to the ridiculous costumes she had offered earlier it was pure salvation. I changed in the fitting room and stepped out.
“Well?”
I struck a slightly awkward pose—it had been a long time since I last wore a proper suit—and Ania nodded.
“It… suits you.”
“Does it look all right?”
“You look a touch older, but it suits you.”
Her reaction felt oddly lukewarm. No matter how hard I tried, the aesthetic sense of this world simply refused to make sense to me.
Ania lightly cupped her flushed cheeks and stole glances at Edward from the corner of her eye.
His face would have carried even the most extravagant garments with ease, yet somehow these formal clothes suited him just as well. With a low-crowned bowler and a jewel-headed cane in hand, he looked like a successful young entrepreneur. Of course, most of those newly rich businessmen were empty-headed opportunists who seized every chance to slight the nobility, and Ania had never cared for them—
But it suits him far too well.
Edward had always looked striking even in ordinary day clothes; dressed like this, he became a gentleman who drew every eye. Indeed, people turned to look as he passed. Ania found herself unexpectedly pleased by the fact. That her husband could appear so magnificent to others—there was nothing more satisfying.
“Does it truly suit me?”
Edward, still doubtful, kept checking his reflection in the shop windows and asking again.
“It does. You look splendid.”
“What if I grew a beard?”
“I don’t think that would suit you.”
“Then I won’t.”
Watching him fuss over the clothes she had chosen, Ania felt her heart swell until she wanted to throw her arms around him that very instant.
Would the day ever come when this lovable man truly loved her? When he no longer regarded their marriage as a mere contract, but rejoiced in it with all his heart?
She pictured Edward clinging to her, face flushed with longing, begging for her love. And so the time was not yet right. She would not be the first to offer her heart. Someday he would come to want her. Love could wait until then; it would not be too late. If she gave it first…
It might end the way it had once before.
The one who yearns more is the one who loses.
Ania never wanted to be betrayed again.
That’s why I still can’t love you yet.
She gazed at the clean line of Edward’s profile and allowed herself a small smile no one else would ever see.
Three days later, the day of Count Orland’s ball arrived.
I put on the golden mask Ania had prepared, dressed in the new clothes, and let the maids lead me this way and that through the mansion.
“My goodness, young master… dressed like this you look like an entirely different person!”
“If only you would go about like this every day.”
Whether their praise was sincere or mere flattery, their hands worked over my face and hair until the mirror finally showed something halfway presentable. Something, I thought, that might belong on the cover of a romance fantasy novel—the face of a male lead. While I was still admiring the handsome features that were now mine, one of the maids smiled.
“All finished.”
“May I go?”
“Not yet. The young lady will be ready shortly. Please wait just a moment.”
I walked with awkward steps to the sofa outside Ania’s dressing room and checked my pocket watch. Fortunately we still had time to spare.
Even if we were late, it wouldn’t really matter.
Had it been a ball hosted by the crown prince or princess, perhaps, but no one was going to take issue with a slight delay at the gathering of some dissolute count.
I sat with that thought for some time. Then the dressing-room door opened slowly.
“Ani—”
I began to speak her name and froze completely.
“My lord.”
Anyone would have done the same, faced with such beauty.
Her slightly upturned eyes held a seductive allure. Her golden hair, full and voluminous, cascaded around her. The yellow dress that resembled Geumdonghwa seemed as though it had been created for her alone.
“Well?”
She whispered with that exquisite face.
“Does it suit me a little?”
“……”
“Is it no good?”
“No… it suits you. Perfectly.”
Ania smiled, bright as morning sunlight, a radiant halo seeming to shine behind her.
“Then shall we be on our way?”
She spoke and walked ahead. I could only stare after her, utterly dazed.