7. That Summer
“It's almost the end of the month, and you haven't taken your day off yet, have you?”
While getting dressed up for the upcoming Lüben family's ball, Olivier spotted Emily and remembered that she hadn't used her monthly day off. “Now that you're in Eliyum, take a day to relax and have some fun. I'll allow you to come back before noon the next day anyway, since I'll be sleeping in late after the ball.”
Emily's hands, reflected in the full-length mirror before them, were busily tying the knot to secure Olivier's waist sash. When Olivier shot her a look expecting a reply, Emily nodded to her image in the mirror.
“Yes.”
Normally, on her days off, Emily would visit her parents' home during the day and return to the supervisor's quarters at night, spending only about half a day there in total. She didn't seem to have any peers her age in Exangciras village, and she never stayed overnight at her parents' house either, so Olivier had never seen Emily cut loose and have fun since becoming a maid.
Even in the big city of Eliyum, Emily quietly trailed behind her, going to bed at night and starting her routine again in the morning. Olivier felt sorry for her.
During their previous stay in Eliyum, Olivier had gone to balls every night and spent her days joyfully roaming sights with Shaylin. But Emily, who was just a year younger, simply followed quietly behind her. While Olivier was out at balls, Emily didn't seem to go out much and just stayed in the house. It was the same here at the Duval residence.
Lora, Shaylin's maid, would get all excited in the evenings, dress up glamorously, and head out with glee, but Emily hardly stirred from the house.
“On your day off, try sightseeing in Eliyum. Take it easy—have tea at a pretty teahouse, eat at a famous restaurant.”
“Yes.”
Emily's response sounded half-hearted as she tidied the dress stand, so Olivier turned, opened her clutch on the dressing room table, and took out a single gold coin.
“Here.”
When Olivier held out the gold coin, Emily froze, her hands stopping as her eyes went wide.
“......Pardon?”
“Take it. Go have fun with this.”
As Emily stood there stunned, Olivier pressed the coin into her hand.
“Miss...”
“What? I don't really have anywhere to spend money here anyway. During the day, I go around with Lady Shaylin, so she covers most of it, and at night I'm at the balls, so no expenses there. I've got plenty of pocket money saved up, so this is like a bonus. A bonus.”
Emily hesitated, so Olivier flashed a bright smile.
“Please, just go out and enjoy yourself. Lora seems to go out at night—maybe tag along with her. I'm not here at night anyway.”
Olivier glanced at her reflection in the mirror and lifted the corners of her mouth again.
“This looks pretty good, doesn't it? I was surprised Shaylin knows the Templeton nobles too. Like the Fore family last time, and now the Lüben family—she said they got close at the Founding Festival. Her social skills are amazing. I guess most of them are leaving Eliyum soon for the summer festival in Leon, but we should make the most of the time we have left.”
Olivier was thrilled about the balls that had been going on nonstop for days now. When word spread that the Duval residence had been rented by a lady from the Ashton Pret family, invitations poured in from the Templeton nobles whose estates lined the area.
She was unmarried with no fiancé, and the Pret family held lands in the Roa Plains, Ashton's largest wheat producer. Every year, their golden fields brought overflowing wealth. Anyone who connected with her could expect a massive dowry befitting the prestigious "Prosperous Pret" name.
Most of the unfamiliar invitations had Shaylin grimacing and waving them off, instructing Lora to send polite refusals starting with “We have prior engagements...” But when the Fore count and countess personally knocked on the Duval residence door, she couldn't refuse them face-to-face and ended up attending their ball.
At the Fore ball two days ago, she ran into the high-ranking Templeton Lüben count and countess again. Having chatted happily with them at the Founding Festival, Shaylin couldn't decline their invitation either. Olivier, who had accompanied her the whole stay, was now getting all dolled up to attend the Lüben ball tonight as her plus-one.
“How do I look?”
Olivier twisted this way and that in front of the mirror, so Emily quickly smiled.
“Perfect.”
*
The late-night Lüben ball dragged on like any other. Servants circulated trays of meat pies paired with tart drinks, while older men gathered to sip absinthe or wine over card games. Young men and women hit the dance floor when the music started, then gossiped with wine glasses in hand afterward.
Olivier sighed as she watched Kruve chattering excitedly in front of her.
The Lüben count was a Templeton noble, so she hadn't run into Ashton nobles like Croshrus or Literven. But the moment she entered the hall, her eyes locked with Kruve's, and he'd been stuck to her the whole ball.
He'd approached her happily, greeted her warmly, then grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the floor for a waltz the moment it started, moving with fluid grace. When she tried to slip away after, he held her with endless topics, and somehow she ended up dancing several more times.
After that, perhaps assuming she was Kruve's date since he'd claimed her early, no other young noblemen approached.
Grabbing her dance-weary wrist, Kruve led her to the veranda connected to the hall. In the dark, dim corner, he started prattling on about trivialities. Now he was talking about his brother's wife, the Kruve baroness.
“Does Lady Belpharos have that... affliction too?”
Olivier nearly spat out her juice. Affliction? What affliction? What does this man think I am?
She stared at him pitifully. Kruve gave her a sly glance and continued.
“My sister-in-law's recovering at a hot spring because of a problem down there.”
“What illness does the Kruve baroness have?”
Olivier set her juice glass on the wide stone balustrade and asked. Kruve pursed his lips briefly before speaking.
“That thing young women get in their lower parts from constipation. I didn't know, but apparently most young women suffer from constipation due to extreme dieting. Surely Lady Belpharos doesn't...”
Olivier replied curtly, exasperated.
“Not me.”
Kruve nodded as he looked at her.
“Indeed, Lady Belpharos has a figure that needs no dieting.”
Olivier frowned, unsure if he meant fat or thin.
“What do you mean by that...”
Kruve stepped closer.
“The perfect figure other young women can't achieve no matter how hard they try—one that needs no dieting. Seeing your voluptuous, curvaceous beauty, I can't contain myself no matter how I try.”
Only when his hand touched her face did Olivier jolt back in alarm. But behind her was the hard stone balustrade.
“Lady Belpharos.”
Kruve closed in. Soon, a strong arm wrapped around her. He pressed his lips fiercely to her surprised ones, followed by a long kiss.
It wasn't the kind that made her body tingle and her mind blur, unable to move. Olivier wondered if this was what a first kiss with a man felt like—bland.
With Kruve, it was just lips meeting. She dodged his tongue probing her mouth, recalling her kisses with Kylie.
Theirs were sweet and soft, dizzying like wandering in a dream, languid and intoxicating. With Kruve, there was no thrill—just lips and tongues touching, no excitement. Her breath didn't quicken, her heart didn't race. If anything, his wet, slimy tongue sloshing around disgusted her.
Even as she evaded, it pursued relentlessly, sucking and battering until her tongue tip went numb. As numbness turned to nausea and revulsion crept up, the hand on her waist slid up to the bare skin above her dress's neckline.
The palm's slow, rubbing caress was so creepy that Olivier, trapped against him, wrenched her head away and twisted her body with all her strength.
“Lord Kruve.”
Finally free, Olivier contorted her face in disgust.
Kruve leered at her with lewd eyes, licking his lips.
“Don't mistake me for some pervert who chases young girls' flesh. I've been burning for you since last winter, unable to hold back my passion. So, I formally propose.”
Suddenly, Kruve dropped to one knee and took her hand. As Olivier gaped in disbelief, the scene from romance novels—supposed to be the most romantic, tender, heart-fluttering moment—unfolded before her.
“Will you marry me?”
Looking up at her with hot eyes in his kneeling proposal pose, Olivier thought that if she were the heroine in this horrific romance novel, she'd track down the author, throttle them, and snap every finger that wrote this cursed scene.
“Of course, I won't demand much dowry. You're beautiful enough, and that kiss made my soul tremble, so a modest five hundred gold will suffice.”
At Kruve's smug declaration, Olivier shook her head in utter disbelief. What insane confidence. Older, second son of a baron with no title, yet demanding a dowry. By comparison, Lord Literven seemed saintly. He was set to inherit a viscountcy and lands, and offered two thousand gold as a bride price instead.
Of course, Olivier loathed both.
“Thank you, but I have no thoughts of marriage yet. I have to go to the Academia soon.”
She spoke in a voice stripped of emotion. Kruve furrowed his brow slightly.
“Like my sister-in-law, you can continue studies after marriage. Unless you're Eximia class material, wasting your youth at the Academia is pointless—better to travel the western continent with me, no?”
His stare at “unless” made fury surge in Olivier.
Unable to fathom his intentions or why he dared such nonsense, her patience snapped.
“Lord Kruve, forgive my bluntness, but I have not the slightest desire to marry a man with no title or lands.”
At her contemptuous glare and barbed words, Kruve shot up, breathing heavily with blazing eyes.
“A fallen baron's daughter relying on a pretty face and young body to act rude— we'll see about that.”
He stormed back into the hall. Olivier fanned her flushed face, burning with rising humiliation, trying to calm down.
After a moment, composure returned. With a long sigh, she gazed at the brightly lit hall ahead.
Unlike the trembling encounters in the sweet romance novels she'd read, every ball brought her lecherous, immature creeps. If her life were a romance novel, she'd grind her teeth and kill the author penning this nightmare, then stride toward the illuminated hall.
The Kruve baroness doesn't have hemorrhoids from constipation (see ch. 91)—she's the redhead Brie Kruve baroness. -_-;;
Self-roast jam ^^ No way to contain my gratitude for the coupons, but updates slow down mysteriously T_T
The plot gets kinda complex from here on out...