My unsettled thoughts were promptly consumed by the mountain of paperwork dropped into my lap. As my pen flew across page after page, the question of Isabel was soon pushed aside by Winchester’s and Sierra’s next moves. Between signing documents and marking necessary revisions, the day slipped by in a flash. But when I finally dragged my exhausted body and mind back to the townhouse and saw the scene laid out before me, a sinking realization struck.
I wouldn't be getting to sleep early tonight.
“My goodness, it has been far too long, Lady Dirnant.”
“Yes, it… truly has been a while, hasn't it? Madame Gisele.”
Amid a veritable sea of sparkling jewels and fluttering silk stood a woman dressed more lavishly than anyone else in the capital. Yet what proved far more overwhelming was the bright, expectant gleam in her eyes.
Ah, please, don’t look at me like that…
“I heard His Majesty the King is hosting a banquet to honor your distinguished service, which means you’ll be needing attire grand enough for the occasion. I came the moment I received word.”
Who on earth sent for her?!
Ah. It was me…
I could have kicked myself for what I told the butler this morning: ‘I need a dress fit for the banquet. It’s an important occasion, so please arrange for someone truly skilled.’ If I’d known this would happen, I would have explicitly told him to contact an ordinary, reasonably dependable boutique instead.
Not that the butler had chosen poorly. Madame Gisele was the proprietor of the salon that produced formal wear for every major royal event, always standing at the very forefront of fashion to direct its tides. It was no exaggeration to say that the most expensive, most breathtaking garments in high society passed through her hands; her craftsmanship was legendary.
Even so, the pressure was suffocating. I offered her a strained smile.
“Oh, well… Rather than something so extravagant, I think something modest suited to me—”
“Yes, an extravagant gown perfectly suited to you.”
Dismissed on the spot.
Her bright, beaming smile was one of the things I feared most in this world. Whenever she smiled like that, it never boded well for me.
It wasn't as if I disliked pretty things—far from it. Opulent, shimmering, airy dresses, brilliant gems, lovely shoes, elegant hats… How could anyone hate them? I was only human, and I adored beauty as much as the next person.
Adoring them from afar was one thing, but enduring the ordeal firsthand—stripping down, getting dressed, stripping down, getting dressed dozens of times over—made my stomach churn. Hauled about by the assistants she had brought along, I was forced to test every sample gown she had designed, undergoing alteration after alteration and redesign after redesign on my own two feet.
“Hmm… It’s pretty, but it feels a bit suffocating and awkward.”
“Not at all. It’s lovely.”
“It isn't.”
“I believe it is.”
“It really isn't.”
“If a duke’s daughter says it’s pretty, can’t you just agree for once?! Let’s just go with this one, please!”
“I lack the talent for speaking against my conscience. Sila, bring out the next dress!”
Madame Gisele was as relentless as ever. Good heavens, I was hardly someone to back down easily, but I was utterly defeated! Dazed, I watched a young girl named Sila carry over a pale green gown. Why did our townhouse have to be so spacious that it could fit all these racks of dresses? We should have bought a smaller place!
The endless barrage of gowns made my head spin toward madness. Yet Madame Gisele meticulously critiqued every single piece, holding this and that against me without showing the slightest hint of fatigue. The woman’s stamina was terrifying.
She was of far lower birth than I was, but I couldn't bring myself to push her away. First, she possessed the royal family’s trust enough to oversee their formal wear; second, her reputation in high society was impeccable; and third, rather than merely trying to sell a dress, she was genuinely pouring her heart into crafting a work of art tailored to my body.
If only I had the kind of ethereal beauty that could make even a rag look stunning, the way Isabel did. In a sense, Madame Gisele was suffering because of my shortcomings.
Any ordinary merchant would have backed off by now. Unable to lose my temper at someone working so hard for my sake, I obediently squeezed myself into the pale green dress, following her every instruction. Naturally, that one was rejected right away as well.
Only after I had tried on several more gowns did a look of true satisfaction finally cross her face.
“Oh, my. How magnificent.”
Thank the heavens!
Contrary to my expectations, she decided that a slightly deeper shade suited me far better than pastels. I lifted my arms obligingly, allowing Madame Gisele to pin and adjust the fabric to my proportions. Still, isn't this… showing a bit too much skin?
“Isn't this neckline cut a bit low?”
“My lady, your collarbones and shoulders are exquisite. You must show them off.”
“Are you implying the rest of me isn't?”
“Perish the thought!”
A truly formidable adversary.
I gave an exasperated shake of my head at Madame Gisele, who parried every one of my complaints without missing a beat. When she stepped back, my full reflection was finally revealed in the mirror.
The slate-violet gown featured wide bands of fabric draping across the shoulders before wrapping the bodice and tapering down to a slender waist. In contrast to the understated top, the skirt was breathtakingly opulent; though free of lace or ribbons, cascading layers of fabric flowed like gentle waves, lending it an air of effortless grace and luxury. The jeweled accents scattered across it would surely sparkle under the chandeliers. Once the petticoats that served as a crinoline were secured beneath, the voluminous hem fell in stunning swells—even if it did take up far too much space.
“Since you are unmarried, my lady, I initially intended to go with a lighter palette, but this is far more refined. Elegant and dignified.”
“Don't you think the neckline dips a little too deep?”
“That is the focal point. We should avoid any overly flashy necklaces if we can; your lines are too lovely to obscure.”
“Ah, right.”
“On that note, shall we select the remaining accessories?”
A clap of Madame Gisele’s hands struck a chill of pure dread into my heart. With the docile gaze of a cow led to slaughter, I was plunged once more into despair as her assistants brought in tray after tray of shoes and jewelry.
Exactly three days after Madame Gisele’s visit, the ordered gown and matching accessories were delivered to the townhouse. As expected of her discerning eye and mastery, even Mother, who happened to see me trying on the completed dress, praised how lovely it looked.
At the very least, I wouldn't have to worry about looking shabby amid a flock of radiant young ladies.
During this time, Khalid had traveled down to the Prodiad duchy; having been away for six years, he had a substantial backlog of estate affairs to settle. Still, he never failed to write regularly. Seeing his devotion in using expensive courier magic just to send his letters, I forgave him for having to miss escorting me into the banquet. I hadn't expected it in the first place, and Carlyle had already agreed to be my escort.
Most of my own days were consumed by work at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. After ten days, the pile of paperwork submitted to my desk dwindled noticeably, much to my relief. Celine had traveled briefly to the Proms Estate to address trade issues involving Queen Anne; that a newcomer like her was entrusted with such a mission alongside Senior Matilla was largely thanks to my glowing recommendation.
Though soon enough, I found myself fretting over how to scold Celine if she fell completely under Matilla’s spell and declared she never wanted to return to my office.
Of course, Celine never abandoned my side. When she returned after finishing her assignment with Senior Matilla, she gave me a thorough report with no hint of wanting to leave my wing. I really was doing a fine job raising my junior.
The banquet, initially slated for a few days later, had been rescheduled by the royal court for two weeks after my return from the treaty negotiations, likely owing to the packed schedule following the pact. Khalid’s absence, as one of the banquet’s key figures, had clearly played a major role in the delay as well. What point was there in a victory banquet celebrating the war without the Commander-in-Chief?
Time passed, and on the morning of the banquet, I received word from Khalid’s aide-de-camp that he had returned to the capital from his estate. But what surprised me far more was the piece of news brought to me that afternoon while preparing for the festivities.
Someone had come rushing into the Ministry of Foreign Affairs completely out of breath—and whenever someone appeared in such a state, it almost always heralded extraordinary gossip.
“Duke Prodiad broke off his engagement.”
