“Even if it comes to that, I will throw myself in front of him to stop it,” she declared with firm resolve. “That is the very reason I came here.”
The head butler and the head maid exchanged looks, glancing between Anasta and Ryan.
“…I shall confer with the Duchess.”
In the end, it was the head maid who yielded first.
“Please wait until then. We will prepare an unoccupied chamber in the annex.”
“Why do that when our room on the third floor is perfectly intact?”
“That requires the Duchess’s permission. Besides, the belongings there have yet to be arranged, leaving it entirely in disarray. Please bear with this for just one day.”
· · ·
“Furthermore, we will increase the guard. The moment the room is prepared, we will escort you there, so please remain in the dining hall until then. I shall bring your meal.”
Having had her final say, the head maid left the dining hall with Paul.
“You protected me.”
Anasta broke the silence.
“Your leg.”
Ryan parted his lips to answer. “The day your leg heals is the day you leave this estate. And it is not healed yet.”
· · ·
“Besides, I wanted to spite the Duchess a little. As you know, I harbor no small amount of resentment toward her.”
“…I see. I only hope we may return to the third floor.”
“If they have any sense left, they’ll put us back there.”
The crisp winter wind, the snow drifting down like powdered sugar, and Anasta’s smile.
Were it not for those things, Ryan might have pictured himself writhing in fury and succumbing to utter helplessness in that first-floor room.
He had lied to settle a sliver of that debt—or rather, because he could not bear leaving even the slightest obligation owed to her.
That was all it was.
The chamber was prepared.
Before long, none remained in the spacious room save for Anasta and Ryan.
Earlier, the cold winter wind had veiled their silence, but now the desolate night laid their awkward tension entirely bare.
Ryan stole a glance at Anasta, who sat upon a chair.
‘I just need to endure this one night.’
The matter of the room was settled. Once her leg healed and she departed from the ducal estate, his life would return to what it had been before.
“Still, it is a relief that we will be able to return to our original quarters tomorrow.”
Creak.
Anasta rose from the chair, slipped off her coat, and walked toward the bed.
“Why are you coming closer?”
Ryan, who had already staked his claim on the bed first, grew flustered.
“Pardon? It is time to sleep, so…”
“Do you intend to sleep in the bed?”
Ryan asked in a panic, and Anasta shook her head.
“No, I shall sleep on the sofa.”
She pointed to the sofa opposite the bed and sat down upon it.
Setting her heavy coat aside, she was left clad only in her nightgown.
The sight of that white garment instantly brought back the angel who had visited his thoughts the night before.
‘Damn it.’
He clenched his teeth and pulled the duvet completely over his head, trying to banish the lingering image.
Rustle.
The sound of fabric brushing against her body drifted over. After a few soft thumps of her crutch against the floor, darkness enveloped the room entirely.
“Good night.”
Anasta spoke in her ordinary tone and lay down on the sofa.
Not a single rustle of tossing and turning came from her, as though she felt not the slightest discomfort.
Before long, the soft rhythm of her youthful breathing reached him. Ryan threw off the suffocating duvet and lay staring silently up at the darkened ceiling.
Perhaps because of the unfamiliar room, or the reality that he was sharing a chamber with someone for the very first time, his mind and eyes remained wide awake.
Clatter!
At that moment, the crutch propped beside the sofa slipped and struck the floor.
Startled, Ryan sat upright and looked toward where Anasta lay sleeping so peacefully.
Despite the sharp noise, curled like a small child upon the narrow sofa, the woman did not stir in the slightest.
‘Is this truly the same woman who slept in the hallway out of fear that I might do something to her?’
Ryan marveled at the sight, yet seeing her sleep so miserably, he clicked his tongue in pity.
After a moment, he rose cautiously so as not to wake her, taking up a thick blanket nearby.
· · ·
Suddenly, he wondered why he was even doing this.
She was a woman who had come to ruin his life.
Everything she did was for money, not for his sake.
Stepping outside with him today, relinquishing the bed to him.
It was all merely because he was a son of the Soltaire house, a sick man plagued by fits. There was no other reason.
The proof was that she did not care in the least about sharing the same room with him.
Even when she caught him looking at her by mistake, she had only been startled for a heartbeat before returning to her usual indifference.
Indeed. To her, he was nothing more than that, so he ought to treat her the same way.
With a brisk motion, Ryan tossed the blanket over Anasta and returned to the bed. The fleeting rebellion of that afternoon faded, replaced by an uneasy tangle of emotions stirring within him.
Slap!
Anasta’s head tilted aside, as it always did.
“I am utterly disappointed in you. I was told you did not stop Ryan from shattering the windows? And in the end, you colluded with him to change chambers.”
“I deemed the first-floor chamber unsuitable for the Young Master.”
“I brought you here because your sole merits were stubbornness and endurance, yet all you possess is a glib tongue, Anasta.”
‘My name is Anasta.’
Looking at the Duchess, who had not even bothered to learn her name properly, Anasta deliberately refrained from drawing out the conversation.
“In any event, forget the first floor. It matters not to me whether it is on the first or the third. However, if Ryan attempts to throw himself from a window once more, know that you will be expelled from this estate.”
“That will not happen.”
“It had better not.”
With that, the Duchess let out a deep, weary sigh.
“Do you know what rumors are circulating outside? Whispers that the dying second son of Soltaire has taken a fiancée.”
‘How could I possibly know? All I have seen are the annex and the greenhouse.’
Anasta swallowed the words down.
“It seems everyone is consumed with curiosity. A social gathering will soon be held at the ducal manor, and all eyes are waiting to behold you.”
· · ·
“Were I to hide you from them, talk would spread that the Soltaire family brought in an insignificant, vulgar creature. Would that not wound your pride as well?”
The Duchess inquired, though Anasta could not have cared less.
“Answer me.”
“I imagine it would wound my pride, yes.”
“Indeed. Even if you are truly insignificant, you must present an entirely different facade. And you must conceal that injured leg as well.”
“Do you mean that I am to participate in high society?”
“Yes, much as it displeases me.”
That explained the weight of her sigh.
“It is set for a week from now. Your leg must be healed by then. Even if it is not, act as though it is. Receive your etiquette lessons. You will commit the entire guest list to memory. Before them all, you must appear the flawless fiancée to the Duke’s son.”
Anasta held her breath.
Becoming a flawless fiancée posed no difficulty; the true trouble lay with her leg.
Far from having to feign wellness, her leg was already completely healed.
And should Ryan discover that, he would cast her out at once.
“If you ruin this, do you know what will happen the very next day?”
Caught at a treacherous crossroads, Anasta felt a cold sweat prickle her skin.
“Will Young Master Ryan also attend the banquet?”
“What purpose would there be in having that helpless invalid attend? Ah, even if I said nothing, he would refuse to go on his own. Ever since his illness took hold, he has not shown himself in public once.”
Anasta’s expression tightened slightly at the sight of the Duchess’s mocking sneer.
“Leave now.”
“Forgive the intrusion.”
“And tomorrow, discard that wretched crutch. Endure the pain and walk.”
From that moment on, Anasta’s rigorous training in high-society etiquette began.
“Straighten your waist a little more. Your gaze… yes, that is better.”
· · ·
“Read what is written upon the parchment. You must not err by a single letter.”
Though termed an etiquette lesson on the surface, in truth it was closer to an unrelenting regime of rote memorization.
Yet Anasta followed every instruction without a flaw.
While other noble ladies might take two or three strikes of the rod within a single hour, she was scarcely struck once throughout the entire day.
“Do not go easy on her; instruct her with the utmost severity. The Duchess wishes for the young lady to make not the slightest misstep in society.”
Seeing Anasta’s immaculate hands, Paul had misunderstood and called the tutor aside.
“I understand your concerns and the Duchess’s wishes, Mr. Paul, but I am not indulging her. Quite simply, there is nothing to strike her for.”
“Truly? Not a single thing?”
“This is the first time I have encountered such an aptitude. She hails from Count Winterlit’s household, does she not? Obscure as they may be, they must have instructed her with immense severity. And the young lady is remarkable for having retained it all.”
Paul cast a glance toward Anasta, who had remained standing motionless for an hour with a book balanced upon her head.
Her posture was so perfectly upright that it was difficult to believe her leg was injured at all, and her usual gentle smile never once wavered from her face.
Come to think of it, nearly a month had passed since she first entered the Soltaire ducal estate.
Considering that newly hired maidservants could barely endure a single month before fleeing, Anasta was adapting remarkably well.
END
