4. The Maid
Over the next few days, Emily lived in a state of constant dread. The morning after, while serving the baroness at breakfast, she ran into Lotte, but the maid treated her as casually as ever, without a hint of anything amiss. This nonchalant attitude continued afterward. Even when Olivier scolded her into fetching the peerage directory, Lotte silently pulled it from the baroness's bookshelf and handed it over without a word. The same went when Emily returned the earrings. Lotte's demeanor remained utterly routine.
Emily, on the other hand, spent every day on edge. Whenever Olivier called her, she'd zone out before snapping to attention—a habit now. She kept making uncharacteristic mistakes, like spacing out while pouring tea from the pot and letting it overflow the cup, or spilling it in the wrong place. Eventually, Olivier asked her seriously.
"Are you... on your period or something?"
Olivier tilted her teacup cautiously as she asked. Emily shook her head frantically.
"N-no, miss."
Emily bowed her head in embarrassment and answered quickly. Olivier set her teacup on the table.
"Hmm. Really? Then why have things been so off with you these past few days?"
"...I think I might be coming down with a cold."
Emily mumbled evasively and moved toward the half-open boxes scattered on the floor. Yesterday, Baron Belpharos had returned from Eliyum to the manor, laden with gifts for Olivier. Inside the colorful, luxurious lidded boxes were extravagant items—flashy and elegant, the sort any noble young lady would wear to a party.
Emily pulled a dress from a large round box. The red silk gown featured opulent pearl trim along the bustline, with shoulders cut just low enough to evoke the cool allure of summer attire. A slender pearl band cinched the narrow waist, and from there, the skirt flared out lavishly, pooling on the floor.
"Trevere lives up to its name. It's gorgeous."
Emily held the dress up to shoulder height and unfurled it. Olivier gasped in admiration.
"Shall I help you try it on?"
"No, I don't want to wrinkle it. I'll save it for the day before the party, in front of Mother. She's lending me some jewelry, after all."
The word jewelry made Emily flinch. Memories flooded back of the baroness's room during her last visit to return the earrings—raw, lascivious scenes. She shook her head sharply to banish them. To clear her mind, she busied herself. She hung the dress on a thick wooden hanger and laid it across the bed, then began unpacking the other boxes.
Out came pearl-embellished red high heels that matched the dress perfectly, a gossamer lace shawl, and a glossy red leather clutch. The clutch's surface gleamed with the engraved initials PA.
The moment Emily lifted it, Olivier's eyes widened. She set down her teacup, rushed over, and snatched the clutch, staring at it intently.
"W-what is it, miss?"
Emily asked, startled. Olivier stroked the clutch delicately without looking up.
"This... this is from Paralroma Workshop."
"What's that?"
Emily's puzzled question made Olivier furrow her brow.
"You don't know Paralroma Workshop? It's the most renowned imperial goods maker—not just on the eastern continent, but the entire world. Their bags especially are legendary for their sturdy, meticulous stitching and the artisan spirit infused in every piece. The Edelburir ducal house acquired it half a century ago and started selling to the public. I heard they just opened a western continent branch in Eliyum..."
Olivier clutched the red clutch to her chest.
"Ah, it's divine. The texture is incredible. And the design is so pretty, but it's waterproof and super durable too. I saw it in a catalog next to us while picking dresses with Mother the other day. It's the latest model. She probably doesn't even have this one."
Emily shook her head at Olivier's wistful caresses. She couldn't fathom why a mere bag elicited such a reaction. The dress room already held three or four clutches of similar style.
Olivier hugged it tight and declared,
"A woman carrying a luxury handbag is like healing the gap between the life she's living and the one she dreams of! You'll get it when you're my age."
Excuse me, we're only a year apart? Emily thought. Noble young ladies dreamed of imperial heights, no doubt. Wherever that was, it felt like a realm beyond the clouds to Emily—untouchable, unlike Olivier. Shrugging, she gathered the dress over one arm, shoes and shawl in the other, and headed to the dress room.
*
"Sit here, look at this!!"
Olivier grabbed Emily's wrist while she was dusting the window frame, yanked her to a chair, and proudly spread a handkerchief on the table. The white silk was edged with delicate floral embroidery, each corner adorned with lavish golden butterflies.
Emily examined it closely. The golden waves flowing over the white silk were flawless, stitch by perfect stitch—like a masterpiece painted in thread.
"Incredible, right?"
Olivier boasted. Emily nodded.
"Yes. More beautiful than any butterfly I've ever seen."
"It better be. My fingertips ached making it. After countless failed attempts during that tearful time, this is the result. It'd been so long, my calluses were gone—holding the needle hurt like hell raw."
Olivier dramatically clutched her fingertips with her other hand, whining.
"But this one's good enough to show off anywhere, right?"
Emily smiled faintly at Olivier's expectant look. The childish whining mixed with bragging was endearing.
"Truly, no lady at the Loren house party will outdo you in embroidery."
Olivier's face lit up.
"Tomorrow, finally. Even with my parents, it's been ages since a party like this. And it's the Ashthon nobles. I hear they're surprisingly gentlemanly with ladies, despite their usual arrogance. Women get treated like princesses at banquets. Servants don't pull out chairs—they do it themselves, and only sit after the lady does. I can't wait."
Then, as if struck by a thought, she pursed her lips.
"Reading the peerage directory made it clear. Evril has reason to be like that."
"Like what?"
Emily asked. Olivier pointed to the thick red-bound book on the desk, her expression sour.
"That haughty attitude. Sure, her beauty and being a countess's daughter contribute, but she's already engaged to the Kingston ducal house. Wedding next year makes her the next duchess. Part of the Ashthon imperial family. If she has a son, he might not matter much, but he would have imperial succession rights. So, maid mode around her. No point ruffling feathers. Different countries, sure, but who knows? Connections to Ashthon..."
Olivier's eyes turned dreamy, like climax scenes in romance novels, lost in her fantasies. Emily stood. Unlike her lady, she had much to do today. Finish the window, pack tomorrow's outfit and spares, and a luggage bag just in case. At breakfast in the servants' dining hall, Sarah had whispered that noble parties could end anywhere, anytime. Emily didn't know why luggage was needed, but better safe.