Villainess? Young Lady - 4

At my age, most people are already married—or at the very least engaged. In a world that treats you as an adult from seventeen onward, a twenty-one-year-old noble sits squarely in the prime of the marriage market. Strictly speaking, I might even be starting to slip past it.

Before the possession I had been too young; after it came the war; after the war ended I simply had no interest in marriage, and so I kept putting it off until I reached this state. The head of the house trusted me so completely that he never once pressed the matter himself.

The rest of the nobility, however, were nowhere near that patient. Marriage proposals poured into the family without a moment’s rest, and the house head forwarded every last one of them straight to me. Balancing the work of Audit Department Chief with a steady stream of polite refusals proved exhausting.

Then, at last year’s New Year’s Audience—when every noble in the empire gathered in the Imperial Capital—disaster struck.

“This child is my daughter.”

It was the New Year’s Audience held just as the empire was finally catching its breath after war, succession strife, and the purging of the opposition. As department chief I had been making the rounds, and in the process I ran into the Iron Blood Duke. Margeta was standing at his side.

At the duke’s introduction she bowed demurely; I returned the greeting in a daze.

“I have always fretted that she has no friends her own age. Fortunately you are about the same. Would you keep her company while she remains in the capital?”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

Who in their right mind would refuse a duke? I accepted lightly, thinking only of strengthening the connection, and from that moment the signs turned ominous.

Margeta began dropping by the Audit Department’s reception room at the slightest excuse, and sometimes she even invited me to the Barenti family’s residence in the capital. The unexpectedly frequent meetings left me dizzy, yet I told myself I only had to endure until the New Year’s Audience period ended.

Even after the Audience concluded, however, Margeta stayed in the capital. It was roughly then that the Iron Blood Duke first broached the subject of a marriage proposal. I broke into a cold sweat, managed to refuse, and he scowled, left me with a single sentence, and walked away.

“Tell Mar yourself.”

In other words, I was to look a newly adult duke’s daughter in the eye and say, “I have no intention of marrying you.” Ah, what a cruel man…

But what choice did I have? If I simply lay down and refused, I felt certain he would open my belly on the spot. Forcing my trembling heart to calm, I finally conveyed my refusal to Margeta several days later when she visited the Audit Department.

“You’ll regret this, Young Master Karl. There aren’t two people like me in the world.”

To my surprise she neither flew into a rage nor looked despondent. She merely smiled lightly and left. For a while afterward I lived in terror that “you’ll regret this” actually meant “I will kill you.” Fortunately I had no further contact with either the Iron Blood Duke or Margeta, and I am still alive.

Looking back now, the Iron Blood Duke’s sudden proposal makes a little more sense. Sooner or later he would have to marry Margeta off, yet anyone of suitable rank was too old, and anyone of suitable age lacked the proper standing.

Then I rose on the back of the imperial family. I was not the son-in-law of his dreams, but I was good enough for a compromise. He never imagined I would reject the proposal outright. Even now I can only be grateful that he never showed his anger afterward.

…Yes, I truly was grateful.

Until a year later, when the Iron Blood Duke contacted me and casually tossed the buried bomb back into my lap.

“I was shortsighted at the time and committed a discourtesy toward Your Grace.”

Wait—suddenly saying something like that—

Watching me hem ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and haw without an answer, the Iron Blood Duke gave a short snort of laughter.

“Yes, Your Grace is absolutely right.”

“I will keep that in mind…”

I had no idea why the conversation assumed I wanted the proposal in the first place, but under the duke’s intimidation I could hardly lift my head and argue. All I could do was keep saying “yes, yes” and prostrate myself flat.

The Iron Blood Duke regarded me in silence. His face was so naturally fierce that the mere look made my body tremble. He was clearly a generation older than the other dukes, yet he remained unnervingly vigorous—outwardly he could still pass for middle-aged.

The low voice that followed turned into a dagger and flew straight at me.

“I will keep that in mind.”

With another snort the Iron Blood Duke cut the connection.

Sleep was finished for the night. I was certain I would dream of my head on a pike outside the Iron Blood Duke’s castle.

Instead I dreamed of being dragged to the guillotine. At least it had been downgraded from a death dream to a pre-death dream. Small mercies.

“Father, really. No matter how much you like Young Master Karl, contacting him out of the blue is rather rude.”

Margeta’s laughter filled the room.

The day after that delightful forced video conference with the Iron Blood Duke, Margeta dragged me into the vice-president’s office attached to the Student Council room. With no other council members present I casually mentioned the previous day’s call, and she had been laughing ever since. I had received a threat to my survival, and she was laughing…?

“I cannot imagine I have ever been to His Grace’s liking.”

If anything I was on the hated list. Yet Margeta shook her head.

“How many people do you think Father cares enough about to contact personally?”

Very few, certainly. The problem was that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the “care” I received felt far more negative than positive. The person at the top of a kill list is also someone you “care” about, after all.

My uneasy expression only made Margeta laugh harder. As expected, a duke’s daughter has no understanding of a fragile civil servant’s heart.

“If Father’s calls frighten you so much, wouldn’t marrying me solve everything?”

“Your joke goes too far.”

“Heh. Does it?”

I let out a quiet sigh and stood. I had finished everything for the day; it was time to leave. When I rose, Margeta stood as well, apparently intending to see me out.

“I will take my leave. Will you come at the same time tomorrow?”

“Yes. I will come find you again tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

I hoped this expo or whatever it was would start soon and end even sooner. It felt as if I were reporting to work twice a day. Was there another civil servant in the world in my situation?

The moment I confirmed Karl had left the vice-president’s office, I sank onto the sofa and buried my face in my hands.

“Hwaaaa—”

If I looked in a mirror my face would surely be bright red. In front of Karl, simply keeping my composure was almost more than I could manage; the instant the tension eased, this was what happened.

“Dense man.”

I muttered resentfully toward someone who was no longer here. What woman in the world brings up marriage as a joke—especially to a man with whom marriage talks had already once been exchanged? I could not tell whether he was truly that oblivious or desperately pretending not to notice.

Thinking the former left me frustrated; thinking the latter wounded my pride. Caught between the two, my resentment toward Karl only grew. That was why I had called Father last night and asked him to prod Karl a little. Imagining Karl flustered in front of Father improved my mood considerably.

I let out a soft sigh and walked to the window. They say the one who falls first is at a disadvantage, yet this felt like an especially hard fight. Still, how fortunate that we had met again here at the Academy.

I never expected to fall this hard.

I first heard Karl’s name two years ago. The youngest department chief in imperial history—impossible not to hear of him even if you tried. After that he only continued to rise on the strength of the imperial family, and his relationship with the Duke of Victory looked close as well.

From that moment I guessed: if I ever married, it would be to that man. I knew the kind of worries Father had over my marriage partner. And then this Karl appeared—perfectly suitable to become a son-in-law of a ducal house.

I actually met my leading husband candidate only a full year later, and even that would have been delayed further without the pretext of the New Year’s Audience. Feeling dissatisfied, I deliberately visited more often and tossed out mischievous remarks. Looking back now, it is a little embarrassing.

After that I simply fell. I had only meant to grow comfortably close to the man who would become my husband, yet I sank far deeper than I could control. It is regrettable that the feeling remains one-sided on my part.

There was no dramatic incident or turning point. Meeting him, talking with him, laughing with him—little by little affection took root, until one day, like clothes soaked by a fine rain, I had become like this. There were many reasons to like Karl and none at all to dislike him. If not Karl, then whom was I supposed to marry?

“I’m sorry, but I am not yet ready to be with anyone.”

Remembering the moment I first held Karl in my heart inevitably brought that memory with it; I bit my lip lightly. I had assumed he would of course accept the proposal, only to be rejected to my face. I answered as casually and indifferently as I could, then fled back to the ducal castle.

I still do not know how long I wept and pounded an innocent pillow in shame and humiliation. Only after my older brother and sisters surrounded me and comforted me did I finally calm down. Being soothed like a child by siblings much older than myself remains a truly… mortifying memory.

It’s all Karl’s fault.

I have done nothing wrong. If Karl had not needlessly played hard to get in the first place, none of that would have happened.

Afterward the shock of my first heartbreak kept me shut inside the ducal castle, but the Academy entrance ceremony approached and I had no choice but to open the door and go out. At the time I hated the very idea of the Academy, yet I hated even more the thought of rumors spreading that the Iron Blood Duke’s youngest daughter had been rejected by the Audit Department Chief and was now in seclusion.

Hearing about the Student Council after enrolling was, in a way, destiny. The Student Council is regarded as a staircase leading to the bureaucracy. Under normal circumstances I would never have given such a group a second glance, but now I had a reason to cling to a certain civil servant.

Not ready to be with anyone? Then I would stay at his side until he was ready. I would pass the civil service examination with flying colors and enter either the Ministry of Finance or the Audit Department.

With Father’s recommendation I could skip the examination entirely, but a recommendation can be refused by the head of the department, sending the candidate elsewhere. Who would dare refuse the Iron Blood Duke’s letter of recommendation? Yet the man in question already had a track record of refusing the Iron Blood Duke’s marriage proposal.

I was lucky.

In the end I never even needed to take the civil service exam, because Karl himself came to the Academy. How overjoyed I was when Father told me the news. We truly are fated to be bound. There was a slight tangle in the middle, but we have met again like this.

Now I need only approach the Karl who can no longer run away—step by step, at a leisurely pace. First I must quickly change that loveless form of address, “Young Master Karl.” He calls me Mar without hesitation, yet refuses to yield an inch on the title he himself receives.

Still, when I think of how much I have suffered, I rather want to torment him a little. Yes—I will make Karl fall so hopelessly for me that he begs me to call him simply Karl instead of Young Master Karl. I will pretend to refuse, and once he looks desperate enough I will casually accept.

I am impressed by my own perfect plan. As long as we share the Academy, I cannot possibly lose Karl. He is already as good as in my hands. The Barenti family always obtains what it desires. The only question is when.

Ah—there he is.

While a sly smile kept escaping me, I saw Karl leaving the building through the window. I covered my mouth with my fan and watched his retreating figure grow distant. He might suddenly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠look back, and then he would see my embarrassingly smiling face.

Watching him walk toward the Baking Club room brought to mind a certain pink-haired young lady. Karl seemed to pay her a great deal of attention, and she appeared to hold some goodwill toward him as well—though it did not seem to be romantic interest.

It doesn’t matter.

I will say it again: the Barenti family always obtains what it desires. Karl may wander and push me away a little for now, but the place he ultimately belongs is at my side. If he strays elsewhere along the way, I can forgive that much. I am generous enough to allow it.

No matter what happens in between, in the end the one who will be smiling is this Margeta Barenti.