5. Nobles
As Emily bowed her head, Shaylin spoke up, halting her as she started toward the parlor door.
"No, no need to go looking for her. Let's wait a bit longer here."
Olivier frowned slightly at that. Emily returned to her spot by the window. When Shaylin glanced at the servant standing in the corner of the parlor, the cold black tea on the table was cleared away, replaced by a steaming hot cup.
"Now, where were we? Ah, yes."
Tilting her teacup, Shaylin picked up the interrupted conversation.
"Lady Olivier's specialty is embroidery?"
"Yes. Sitting quietly and stitching calms my mind. Time flies by, too."
"That's truly an impressive talent. I'm hopeless at it myself. If you have any pieces on hand, might I see them? I'm deeply intrigued by the divine masterpieces created with such effortless skill—works I could never dream of attempting."
At Shaylin's request, Olivier paused in thought, then furrowed her brow as if recalling an unpleasant memory.
"...If my request has caused you any distress, I apologize."
Shaylin set down her teacup, her voice subdued. Olivier waved her hands hurriedly.
"No, not at all. It's just... I had a handkerchief I'd been carefully embroidering until moments ago, but on my way here to the parlor, it got stained, so I...
Olivier continued in a polite, pleading tone toward Shaylin.
"When I heard Lady Evril was visiting today, I made a small token of appreciation—a handkerchief I'd embroidered over time. Coincidentally, it featured the same red rose pattern as the scarf I received earlier, stitched stitch by stitch. But as I was coming down, it got this hideous stain, so I left it in my room. That's what I was thinking about. Please don't misunderstand."
"What a shame. Given your refined nature, Lady Olivier, it must have been a splendid piece from your deft hands. On behalf of Lady Evril, who won't receive it, I express my regret."
Shaylin offered a faint smile, and Olivier's lips curved up in relief at avoiding the unintended misunderstanding.
Emily recalled how, just before entering the parlor to greet the visitor, she'd seen Olivier standing in her room holding a neatly folded white handkerchief. Olivier had told her to go ahead and wait in front of the first-floor parlor, but she hadn't appeared right away as expected. Much later, she'd shown up with a tense, rigid expression—Emily hadn't known then about the stain on the handkerchief.
"The sun will set soon. Even in winter, the days are long on the western continent—nice, isn't it?"
Shaylin murmured, glancing toward the window. Olivier stared down at her steaming hot tea, remembering the incident on her way to the parlor earlier.
"Miss, it looks like they've already arrived."
Emily leaned out the window and called out upon spotting the carriage parked in front of the entrance.
"You go ahead and check the atmosphere. I'll be down soon."
Olivier, clutching two folded handkerchiefs she'd painstakingly embroidered, called out excitedly. The news of the Loren family's visit had her thrilled since the night before. Especially Killian. Was he here? Heart pounding, Olivier watched Emily head out the door while she wrapped the handkerchiefs in fine paper. Then the door across from hers opened, and her eyes met Olens's, impeccably dressed.
Olens fixed her with his sunken eyes half-lidded in languid gaze. Locking his stare, he strode into Olivier's room—her room, right across from his.
"The, the Loren family guests are here right now..."
Olivier averted her choked gaze, bowed her head, and tried to slip past him toward the door. But a forceful grip yanked her wrist from the side. Her body lurched, pulled into his arms, her waist trapped in his hold. With swift hands, Olens snatched the wrapped items from her grasp.
"Handkerchiefs, huh."
Thud—the wrappings dropped. Olens shook out the two handkerchiefs.
"Red roses."
Examining the delicate red blooms embroidered on the white silk, he arched a brow in interest and whispered into Olivier's ear.
"Not for me, I see, but I'll take them gratefully. I've been suffering from insomnia thanks to you tossing and turning since yesterday."
He pocketed one and let the other fall to the floor. As Olivier glared at it with a grimace, he stepped on it, grinding it under his shoe heel.
"As you see, it's dirtied now. No good for a gift. The arriving guests are siblings, right?"
Gripping her waist hard, Olens whispered. Olivier bit her lip. Then she startled violently at the hand suddenly hiking up her dress.
"Wh-what are you...! Mmph."
Olens clamped her mouth shut with one strong hand while the other delved under her dress hem, between her thighs. In an instant, he shoved aside her undergarments; the rough scrape against her bare flesh made her body stiffen.
"...No scent on the flower, so it's useless. And it's a lady's handkerchief, after all."
His hand emerged from beneath her skirts, holding the handkerchief. The central rose pattern was faintly stained. Olens held it close, inhaling deeply from the vivid red blooms. Olivier grimaced in humiliation.
"You go first."
Releasing her, Olens shrugged as he walked back to his room. Before closing his door, he pressed the handkerchief to his nose again and said in a sly tone to the frozen Olivier.
"I'll follow shortly."
Recalling up to that point, Olivier bit her lip, her shoulders trembling. Shaylin, seated opposite, tilted her head slightly.
"...Lady Olivier?"
Olivier quickly looked up with a smile. Shaylin watched her with a concerned expression.
"Oh, no... Anyway, Lady Evril is quite late."
"Mm, yes. It's about time we headed back."
As Shaylin murmured toward the parlor door, Olivier signaled Emily again. Emily walked quietly to the door and opened it slowly—then froze. Baroness Belpharos stood right outside. The baroness, too, seemed startled by the silently opened door. Emily hastily curtsied and stepped out. From behind came the baroness entering the parlor, warmly greeting the guest.
Emily passed down the corridor to the study, paused before the closed door to make her presence known, then knocked.
—Knock knock.
The dull knock echoing through the study made Evril flinch. Olens, beneath her dress hem, halted his movements. Releasing his hold on her, the inside of her pale thighs glistened slickly. Olens pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped away the thick-scented fluid, and stepped out from under her dress.
"Pardon the intrusion."
Emily announced as she slowly opened the study door. Seeing no one directly ahead, she tilted her head and glanced sideways. Evril, face slightly flushed, was adjusting her dress; Olens stood before her, handkerchief over his mouth. His neatly combed hair was disheveled. Catching Emily's gaze, he hurriedly smoothed it down.
"...Lady Frey is looking for you."
Emily bowed her head and delivered her message politely.