4. The Maid

The next morning, after spending the entire time getting dressed up, Olivier stood tall before the full-length mirror in her red silk dress, high heels, and clutching a clutch from the Paralroma Workshop in her hand.

"How do I look?"

Staring at her reflection as if entranced, Olivier asked. Emily, smoothing out her honey-blonde hair once more, replied, "Perfect."

Olivier twisted her hips to check her waistline. Her slender neck, above the deeply plunging white cleavage, was adorned with the ruby necklace the baroness had lent her the night before, sparkling brilliantly. Tucking the clutch under her arm, she turned this way and that to inspect herself, then finally flashed a satisfied smile at the mirror.

"Shall we head down? They said we're leaving soon."

Click-clack, click-clack. Olivier strode forward, proudly showing off her high heels one step at a time, with Emily following quietly behind on soft footsteps.

A black carriage was already waiting in front of the supervisor's residence. With the footman's help, they boarded, and a scolding voice from the baroness—also splendidly dressed—rang out.

"Why are you so late? Hurry up and sit down."

Lotte closed the carriage door from inside. Since the Belpharos carriage was a four-seater, Emily sat on the fold-down seat at the back with the other male servants. A canopy stretched across the top provided shade.

"Hya!"

The coachman lightly cracked his whip up front, and the carriage lurched into motion. It was an hour's ride by carriage to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the Sorren Mine in Aujesiras, owned by Count Loren.

After racing along sun-baked dirt roads under the afternoon summer sun for a good while, a village came into view in the distance, and at its center stood a grand mansion rising imposingly.

They said the count who had taken over the Sorren Mine had renovated and expanded the existing mansion—and indeed, the estate standing proudly in the village center was majestic and stately, perfectly suited to a high noble's tastes. The supervisor's residence looked like a mere cottage by comparison.

As the carriage passed through the main gate, a vast garden unfolded, leading to a long walkway. In front of the entrance, jets of water shot refreshingly from a square fountain, shattering in the midday sun to form tiny rainbows.

Several guests had already arrived, their carriages lined up long before the entrance. Theirs joined the queue at the end, and when it finally reached the front and halted, footmen hurried over to open the door.

Out stepped the splendidly attired Baron and Baroness Belpharos, along with Olivier in her red dress, onto the plush carpet laid across the entrance steps. Lotte and Emily stood respectfully behind them.

Walking along the long carpet leading to the entrance doors, they glimpsed Count and Countess Loren inside the wide-open doors, busy greeting guests.

The stern-looking Count Loren wore a mustache and welcomed the arrivals. When he had visited the supervisor's residence as a guest in Exangciras, he had seemed like a fussy old high noble, but examining him closely now with the mustache, his face suggested he had been quite handsome in his youth. His usually coldly pale complexion was flushed rosily, as if he had enjoyed a drink or two.

"Thank you for inviting us."

"Have a pleasant stay."

Tall and broad-shouldered, adorned elegantly with medals, he stood proudly and nodded greetings to the guests. Beside him, the kindly-faced Countess Loren welcomed them in a purple velvet dress, a diamond ornament on her forehead, her plump white shoulders and bosom boldly exposed in the graceful manner of a noble lady.

"Oh, you've arrived. What a long journey—thank you for coming."

"We're truly grateful for the invitation to such a splendid party."

The baroness embraced her warmly with those words. After the greetings, the baron’s party was escorted inside by footmen.

Walking down the central corridor revealed banquet halls and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠drawing rooms on either side.

"Your guest rooms are prepared, and dinner is laid out beyond the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠banquet hall."

The polite footman informed them, and the baroness requested to be shown to the rooms first.

"We've been in the carriage for an hour, so I'd like to rest before the ball truly begins." With that, she headed upstairs to the second-floor guest rooms with Lotte, guided by the footman.

The baron shrugged his shoulders and said to the footman, "I'm hungry. Please show me."

The neatly attired footman led the baron, Olivier, and Emily into the banquet hall.

The interior was magnificently decorated. A grand chandelier blazed from the ceiling, and the floor gleamed coldly with polished marble. In one corner of the vast hall, an orchestra tuned melodies for the upcoming ball. Beside them, a choir of about a dozen and a prima donna in splendid dresses warmed up their voices.

"Wow. Not just the ball—they've prepared a performance too."

Olivier marveled as she walked.

In the grand banquet hall, elegantly dressed noble men and women clustered in groups, chatting. Beneath the sparkling crystal chandeliers, the ladies' exposed white bosoms gleamed over glittering dresses, diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and topazes shining brilliantly between their cleavage and necks. Silk skirts whispered across the floor, and the crisp click of heels on the glossy marble rang out merrily.

Olivier and Emily were led across the enormous hall to the dining area.

"Hey there!"

Just then, a familiar noble approached from behind. He was a middle-aged noble like Baron Belpharos.

"What brings you here?"

The baron greeted him warmly and formally. "Viscount Raiten. Fancy meeting you here."

"Of course for me—I'm Ashton, after all—but you're from the Templton nobility and got invited too? I heard you're working as supervisor now. How's the job? Ah, come chat with us. My group's over there."

"Ah, yes. I'll do that."

The baron glanced at Olivier and quickly followed Viscount Raiten.

Olivier pursed her lips. "Here in this huge party, I'm all alone. But at least I have you."

"The dining hall is this way."

The footman gestured politely toward the open space behind the banquet hall.

Olivier moved slowly forward. The dining hall, too, was as luxurious as ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the banquet room. Long banquet tables draped in white linens welcomed guests with refined elegance. The vast space was filled with four rows of these extended tables, where nobles gathered in small groups to dine. Golden, red, and yellow champagnes bubbled vigorously in slender crystal flutes, served by footmen weaving between them.

"Where would you like to be seated?"

As the polite footman asked, Olivier looked around to choose a spot. Then, in the middle of the hall, she spotted familiar faces: Killian, Ilroy, and Evril, who had once visited the supervisor's residence as guests.

Killian wore a neat, luxurious suit with a white shirt, as did Ilroy, suggesting it was the fashion among young nobles. Evril was in a white dress cinched with a blue gem belt, delicate lace gloves reaching her elbows, and pearl-embellished slippers peeking from beneath the flowing skirt—likely tailored to her tall stature. She held a champagne flute and, catching Olivier's eye as she entered, offered a sociable smile.

Following Evril's gaze, Killian and Ilroy glanced at Olivier and nodded in acknowledgment.

Emily's eyes met cold, deep dark brown ones over Olivier's shoulder. She quickly bowed her head, staring at Olivier's back. Even so, her scalp prickled.

Evril frowned slightly at Olivier standing blankly at the entrance. She rose slowly, and Ilroy beside her stood promptly, pulling back her chair.

Evril nodded thanks with her eyes and approached Olivier.

"Are you enjoying the party?"

She spoke gracefully.

"Yes. It's wonderful. Thank you for inviting me to such a fine event."

Olivier curtsied politely, lifting her dress hem.

"No, it's Grandmother's party—not mine. No need to thank me. But..."

Evril glanced at Emily behind her and trailed off.

Olivier quickly turned to Emily. Evril shook her head slightly, displeased.

"You don't need a personal maid even at the party. There are plenty of attendants already. Besides, this is a place for people like us—she doesn't fit in. The ladies' waiting room over there or your guest room upstairs would be more appropriate."

Olivier flushed with embarrassment at the gentle rebuke. Bowing her head, she whispered softly to Emily, "You can go to the guest room now, Emily."

Emily curtsied politely to both and turned to leave the banquet hall. Glancing back at their table, she saw they were already gone. Looking around, she spotted Evril hurrying toward a group of noble ladies some distance away, with Olivier following demurely behind.

Evril looked quite busy. Shoulders gracefully squared, collarbones exposed, she approached them for greetings and introduced the modestly standing Olivier.

Emily watched Olivier shyly curtsy and join the conversation. Thank goodness Evril is there for the unfamiliar lady, she thought, setting off on her way.