Chapter 28
Classie had been a resident of the capital for less than a third of a year, leaving her with almost no social circle among the local aristocracy.
The few minor gatherings she had managed to attend were strictly at Florence’s side, and those outings were always cut short by Meren’s relentless interference.
Now, however, she found herself entering the home of a top-tier noble entirely on her own. Classie felt a mixture of exhilaration and dread as she smoothed the fabric of her gloves.
To a minor noble like herself, figures like the Emperor or Grand Duke Siwil were legendary entities, existing in a realm far above the common clouds.
She felt a surge of anxiety and pressed her hand to her brow, desperate to avoid any social blunders.
“We are here, My Lady.”
The trip had passed in a blur of nerves. Hearing the driver’s announcement, Classie performed a final check of her reflection in a handheld mirror before stepping out into the evening air.
She nearly gasped when she saw a man in a crisp, formal uniform waiting right at the door.
“Please, allow me,” he said, extending a steady hand.
Classie noticed several other attendants dressed identically throughout the driveway, confirming they were staff of the Grand Ducal estate.
“I appreciate it,” Classie replied with a polite smile as she accepted his support.
While she stepped down, another servant approached her driver to coordinate the carriage’s placement.
The coachman shot her a worried look, but the attendant was quick to offer reassurance.
“A messenger will be sent to summon you whenever the young lady is ready to depart,” he explained.
While the man spoke to the driver, Classie understood the message was intended to put her at ease. Once the carriage pulled away, the man turned his attention back to her.
“Are you expecting a companion, or are you arriving solo?”
“I am by myself today,” she replied, feeling a bit self-conscious as she presented her card.
The man verified the invitation with a quick glance and handed it back.
“Shall I escort you to the ballroom?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The sheer scale of the Siwil Grand Ducal House left Classie in awe.
At most noble functions, guests were left to navigate the labyrinth of social rules on their own; those who didn’t know the proper steps simply suffered the public shame of their ignorance. High-born children spent years mastering these intricacies just to survive a single night.
But the Siwil household operated differently. They took it upon themselves to ensure no guest felt lost, placing a small army of guides to usher visitors through the event.
She reflected on the Grand Duke’s reputation as the most influential of the Emperor’s kin. His ability to maintain such a flawless staff was truly impressive.
The main doors stood wide, revealing the glittering interior. Her guide gestured toward various sectors of the room while speaking in hushed tones.
“The ladies’ parlor is situated over there should you require it. Please do not hesitate to request assistance from any staff member you see.”
As the guide bowed out, a couple hurried past Classie into the heart of the party.
She followed at a distance, but when the pair merged into a group of friends, Classie veered off toward the side of the room.
She found a quiet spot along the wall near the center of the hall where several long benches had been placed.
Sitting on the edge of the seat, Classie took a moment to observe the sea of people.
It seemed as though everyone was part of an established clique. It didn’t look like anyone else had received a last-minute invitation like she had; the room was a tapestry of familiar greetings and laughter.
The festive mood only heightened Classie’s sense of isolation. Ordinarily, one acquaintance was all it took to be introduced to a dozen more, but she was a total stranger here.
She worried that approaching a closed circle might be seen as an intrusion.
Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted nearby.
A massive crowd had formed, creating a dense circle around a central figure.
From her low vantage point on the bench, Classie couldn’t see the person everyone was so eager to meet.
She assumed it must be a member of the Siwil family.
“The Duchess has made her entrance,” someone nearby remarked.
“We really should pay our respects,” another added.
“There’s no point trying now; the crowd is too thick to get a word in.”
Classie decided then that she wouldn’t even attempt to greet the Duchess. She hadn’t come with the expectation of befriending royalty, anyway.
Leaving the dream of high-level networking behind, she began to scan the room for eligible young men, hoping for a more attainable conversation.
However, the center of the noise began to shift.
The crowd was moving, and they were heading directly toward her.
Classie wondered if the Duchess was actually approaching her section of the hall.
She turned away from the group of men she had been watching to look at the approaching throng. To her utter shock, the person at the heart of the excitement was someone she already knew.
“Sir Dernick?” she whispered.
Dernick had clearly spotted her and was cutting a path straight to her bench. He didn’t look surprised at all; instead, he hovered a hand over his mouth to hide a playful smirk.
“Well, look at this. What brings Miss Classie to a place like this?”
He sounded relaxed, almost mocking.
Classie, meanwhile, felt the world tilting.
“Sir Dernick… you are the Duchess?”
The question escaped her lips before she could filter it. Though she hadn’t shouted, her words were clear enough that several nearby nobles gasped in shock, their eyes bulging as they stared at her.
Even Dernick’s playful expression froze for a heartbeat.
Classie looked at him, completely lost.
A moment later, Dernick doubled over, clutching his stomach as he roared with laughter.
“Good heavens, Miss Classie!”
His loud outburst drew even more attention to her. She remained paralyzed, unable to fathom what she had said wrong.
A woman standing just behind her leaned down to whisper a correction.
“That is Lord Dernick, the sole heir of Grand Duke Siwil.”
Horror washed over her. Classie felt her blood rush to her face, the heat of embarrassment far outweighing the shock of his true rank. She stammered for a second like a gasping fish before spinning on her heel to flee.
She ran blindly, desperate to escape the eyes of the crowd. Eventually, she hit a cold railing in a quiet corridor, the chill of the metal finally bringing her to her senses.
She was in a hallway where soft flakes of snow drifted past the open arches. As she tried to catch her breath, a tall shadow fell over her.
Dernick was there, still wearing that infuriatingly bright smile. He rested a hand on his midsection as he spoke.
“I simply must know what goes on in that head of yours, Miss Weapons Dealer.”
It wasn’t a friendly question; it was pure teasing.
Classie felt a sudden urge to swing her bag at his jaw. “I had a perfectly logical reason for saying that,” she snapped.
“Oh? Do enlighten me.”
“The people around me were saying the Duchess was arriving. Then you walked up. Since I had no idea who you were, I put two and two together and got five. It was a mistake.”
Dernick noticed her white-knuckled grip on the railing and chuckled.
“I appreciate the explanation, but that wasn’t actually what I was referring to.”
Classie relaxed her hands, looking confused. “Then what?”
Dernick leaned casually against the stone wall, reaching out to swat at the falling snow.
“You invited me to your home, Miss Weapons Dealer. Yet here you are, at my house instead.”
He looked at her with an arched brow. “Based on your little outburst earlier, I assume you didn’t realize who I was, so I’ll rule out a deliberate prank. But why would you ask me to visit an empty house?”
Classie cursed her own cleverness from two days prior.
She had guessed he might have some noble blood, but she never dreamed this chaotic, informal man was the son of the Grand Duke.
“The house wasn’t empty. Merran was there,” she grumbled.
Then, regaining her footing, she pushed back. “Fine, I apologize for the poor timing of the invitation. But you’re one to talk! You didn’t even show up!”
Dernick didn’t look the least bit guilty.
“You turned down my proposal,” he pointed out. “Why would I feel obligated to accept your invite?”
“I told you before—I change my mind frequently, just as you do. I don’t stay fixated on one path.”
He tilted his head, his smile suggesting he found her logic amusing. Classie bit her lip, realizing she had walked right into that one.
She had been so preoccupied with using him to get to Meren that she had completely dismissed their previous encounter. She was definitely the one in the wrong here.
Furthermore, she had never viewed his ‘proposal’ as anything more than a strange business negotiation.
“To be fair,” Dernick continued, “I didn’t plan on answering you at all. But I had a change of heart and sent a messenger to formally decline.”
He checked the time mentally. “That was maybe twenty minutes ago. Imagine my surprise when I send a rejection to your house, walk downstairs, and find you standing in my ballroom.”
“…Alright. I admit it. I messed up.”
Classie offered the confession sincerely. She was frustrated, but she couldn’t argue with the facts.
She gave him a stiff bow and prepared to leave. The night was a disaster. The invitation Florence had worked so hard to get was wasted, even without Meren there to ruin it.
“Miss Classie. Wait.”
Before she could take two steps, Dernick was in her path again. He held out a tiny, crude snowman he had just rolled together from the dusting on the railing.
“Now that we’ve established I’m not a total stranger… would you consider my proposal again?”
