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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 70
Chapter Title: The One Left Out
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But that expression didn't last long.
He took the champagne from my hand, brought it to his lips… then lowered it and muttered.
“No need to be so hasty. If we can just finalize the mana stone mine contract within a month and a half… we can somehow patch things up….”
“A mana stone mine contract? What are you….”
“Did I not mention it?”
You didn't say a single word about mana stones.
Just as I was about to say that, I saw a familiar face behind Eric’s shoulder.
Philip.
I sighed at the sight of a very dressed-up Philip.
*Right, Philip was coming too…*
Skin-tight trousers, a flamboyantly decorated jacket, and the overwhelming scent of strong cologne.
It was obvious why Philip was here.
As I stared at Philip, Eric turned around too. Philip’s eyes met Eric’s, and he smiled brightly before speaking.
“It’s been a while, Young Lord?”
“Yes.”
Eric’s reply was curt, his eyes glinting with a strange wariness.
Philip shot Eric a displeased look before, as usual, sidling up to me and nudging my side.
“My, my… Showing off now that you're the Duke's daughter-in-law? You're really dressed to the nines.”
I scanned the room for Helena, gritting my teeth as I spoke to Philip.
“And you? I'm about to faint from your cologne. Does Mother really think you'll find a wife dressed like that?”
A woman for a one-night stand, maybe.
Just then, I spotted my mother far across the room, laughing heartily at a table with the salon’s most famous socialites.
*When in the world did my mother manage to squeeze in over there?*
It was astounding. My mother had confidently produced an invitation that even the pretentious Vivian Cavendish had failed to acquire. And though she seemed to be tagging along, she was nonetheless mingling with the most renowned ladies of the art salon.
*She’s my mother, but she’s a complete enigma…*
“What's with you? The only reason I'm not married is because I haven't met the right one yet. I'll get married when I find true love.”
“At this rate, you'll have met every woman on earth before you find this so-called 'true love'.”
Just as Philip and I started bickering like usual, Eric discreetly pulled me toward him and said.
“…Didn't you say you were going to the restroom? Da… Da, darling?”
Darling?
My eyes widened as I stared at Eric.
Eric was looking down at me, his face beet red. His red eyes flickered like a candle in the wind.
*Wh-what is he saying…?*
The man who would never use a cringeworthy endearment like ‘darling’...?
“Darling?”
Philip seemed even more shocked than I was. His face scrunched up as he repeated the word under his breath.
“I think I need the restroom more than you do. Damn it all… Darling? He said darling? A man calling my sister darling right in front of my eyes… Ugh…”
As Philip mimed gagging, Eric shot him a glare.
“Are you… are you glaring at me….”
Why is the mood getting so weird?
I quickly grabbed Philip's arm and said.
“Alright, alright. I get it. Let's just go to the restroom.”
I practically shoved Philip away from Eric.
Philip protested, asking how the two of us could go to the restroom together, but he subtly followed my lead. Useless in a fight, Philip had a sixth sense for recognizing people stronger than him.
At the restrooms, I shoved Philip toward the men's and went into the ladies' room by myself.
“…See you later. Okay?”
“I’m going anyway.”
Philip grimaced. I grimaced back and entered the ladies' room.
The restroom floor was made of slick marble, making it incredibly slippery.
I stumbled once, nearly falling, before finally settling onto one of the sofas provided for ladies to touch up their makeup.
Partitions between the sofas created cozy little spaces.
*A chandelier in a restroom…?*
I scowled at my reflection in the mirror.
*Imeline, the country bumpkin from the South…*
At this rate, cobwebs will grow in my mouth before I leave this salon… Ugh, isn't there some way around this?
When I met my mother a few days ago, she had given me a few potentially useful rules for social conduct.
I tried to recall and apply them.
*This one… no… that one… no… and that one… I have no idea how to even do that one…*
Just then, I heard a group of women enter the restroom. They were chattering loudly.
One woman said.
“Young Master Merlin couldn’t take his eyes off Dorothy earlier.”
“That can’t be! I think Young Master Merlin is more interested in Olivia. Lady Olivia is so much more beautiful than I am. Olivia, what do you think of him?”
Ugh, what a bunch of fakes.
I recalled the obnoxious Young Master Merlin who had been spouting nonsense all evening. The third son of a viscount, was it?
So, this was a disingenuous conversation where they pretended to praise each other's beauty while actually trying to push the obnoxious Young Master Merlin onto one another.
I peeked my head around the partition and looked at the women, who I assumed were Olivia and Dorothy. I couldn't get a clear view of the third woman's face.
They were so engrossed in their conversation that they hadn't seemed to notice my presence.
Should I go out and try to befriend them now? By subtly joining in on dissing Young Master Merlin?
As I debated, my mother’s voice echoed in my ear.
It was from when she visited the estate to give me the love potion.
*‘Once you’re in the restroom, just listen quietly. Like a hunter waiting for its prey, aim for a sure target. Do you think nobles just pee and fix their makeup in the restroom? When no one's watching, they're at each other's throats. And when people attack, they reveal their weaknesses.’*
It sounded a bit like a con artist’s advice, but… my mother had been to more social gatherings than I had….
From beyond the partition, Olivia spoke.
“Oh, now that I think about it, perhaps the perfect match for Young Master Merlin is Vivian. I heard he used to frequent the Rose that Blooms at Night. Vivian is the same, isn’t she?”
Huh? Vivian?
My eyes went wide, and I peeked my head over the partition. There stood Olivia, Dorothy, and next to them, Vivian.
*What the! Wasn’t she unable to get an invitation?*
That day, Vivian had clearly brought a painting as a bribe but had left without receiving an invitation from Margaret.
Ugh, that brat will no doubt start rubbing salt in my wounds the moment she sees my face….
I felt Vivian’s eyes meet mine and quickly ducked back behind the partition.
Damn it. I need to get out of here.
Just then, Vivian muttered with a troubled expression.
“Th-that rumor isn’t true….”
“Oh my, why is your face so red, Vivian? Surely you don’t think we’re teasing you, do you?”
“Of course not. We’re just curious what it feels like to be a queen of the night like you. Right, Olivia?”
“That’s right, Dorothy! We chaste daughters of noble families would never know about such a world!”
I heard the women tittering.
…Something about this dynamic feels off.
*‘And you must always watch women who travel in threes. Three is an odd number, right? There's always one left out. And to that one left out….’*
I heard Vivian’s trembling voice as she anxiously tried to join the other two’s conversation.
From what I could gather, Olivia and Dorothy had wanted to come with another friend, but that friend had come down with a fever, so they brought Vivian along instead. With one seat empty, Margaret hadn't stopped an invitation from going to Vivian.
*…So that's why she's groveling, that damn brat.*
I get it. I really do.
Olivia and Dorothy continued to subtly ignore Vivian before eventually leaving without her.
Once they were gone, silence fell over the restroom.
I kept my eyes fixed on the mirror, holding my breath.
“*Sniffle.*”
I heard Vivian sniffling.
*Ah, I… really…*
*‘You have to be nice to the one left out.’*
My mother had definitely said that, but this was the last thing I wanted to do.
I licked my lips and turned to push aside the partition.
But Vivian had her face buried in her palms, crying, and didn't seem to notice I was there.
With no other choice, I cleared my throat.
“…Ahem.”
Vivian’s head shot up.
Her eyes met mine, and they widened in surprise.
“…You!”
Yeah. It’s me, you brat.
“How did you invade this place?!”
Invaded? Ah, right. She left before she could see me get my invitation that day. Still, for ‘invaded’ to be the first word that comes to her mind….
*She knows me too well… You have to die too, Vivian.*
I ground my teeth and forced a smile.
“I was invited by Madam Margaret. Unlike someone who had to beg for an invitation.”
Vivian’s face flushed crimson.
“You! Did you hear everything?!”
“I heard everything, so what.”
Vivian's face went from red to white, then finally turned a deathly pale.
*Jeez, is she going to faint?*
“Don't pass out. If you do, I'll just leave you here. I won't call a doctor or some handsome young noble for you.”
“…I wasn’t expecting you to!”
Vivian shrieked, then started sniffling again.
*As if you weren't.*
She blew her nose loudly into the handkerchief she was holding, then waved it at me.
“Get out! Get out! Go tell everyone what a humiliation this Vivian Cavendish is suffering! This is all because I tried to mess with you, so you must be thrilled, right?”
Ugh, gross….
“Hey, hey. Stop waving that thing around and use this.”
I scrunched my face in disgust and offered her a silk handkerchief from my pocket.
Vivian stared at the handkerchief I offered, then looked up at me with a wary expression, as if I had laced it with sleeping powder.
“…What?”
“Blow your nose on this. Why do you always make me say things twice? The skin under your nose is red. That's what happens when you blow your nose with something so coarse.”
“…”
Vivian stared at the handkerchief for a moment before snatching it. Without letting her guard down, she asked.
“What are you doing? Is this… com… com… comfort?”
Think what you want. I turned my head away. Vivian shouted.
“Are you trying to make me beg for your forgiveness?”
“Does forgiveness have to be begged for? You've never considered apologizing normally?”
Well, at least she knows she did something that requires begging for forgiveness. The ones who know what they're doing are the worst.
I scowled as I watched Vivian furiously wipe her nose with the handkerchief I’d given her. Her eyes were bloodshot, like a rabbit’s.
“Honestly… why would you want to come to the art salon so badly if it means suffering this kind of humiliation?”
I just couldn't understand it.
If I had been born into a ‘normal’ noble family like Vivian, I’d be living it up. Spending money freely. Eating lots of delicious food.
“…You really don't know why young noble ladies come to these social events?”
Vivian said snappishly. It seemed like speaking nicely made her itch somewhere.
“I’m twenty-two now. I can't just fool around with my lovers anymore!”
So she’s aware she was fooling around….
“I rejected all my suitors last season, and this season, I haven’t received a single proposal yet!”
She seemed to like the silk handkerchief, practically burying her nose in it as she muttered.
“I should have just said yes when Baron Anthony proposed last season….”
When you thought about it, the primary purpose of this flurry of social events during the season was, from the very beginning, just one thing.
Marriage.
Just as animals mated when the season came, so too did the nobility have their season for pairing up.
*Honestly, acting like animals…*
Of course, these days, there were many gatherings that served the true purpose of ‘socializing’—laying the groundwork for business.
The women who secured the most proposals became victors, able to choose the most suitable husband from their pool of suitors. Those who failed had to endure being called ‘spinsters’ and hope for the next season.
And it seemed Vivian had bravely chosen to enjoy secret trysts with her lovers last season….
But now that no proposals were coming in this season, she was getting anxious.
I didn't know what to say to comfort her, so I just watched her quietly.
“Why are you looking at me with that pathetic look again?”
“Am I?”
Pathetic? Isn’t that how you always look at me, you damn brat?
“You always acted like you had no interest in men, but in the end, you snagged someone like Eric and got married! It started at Madam Margaret’s sixtieth birthday, didn't it? You acted all high and mighty, sitting there all alone, but behind the scenes…”
“Huh? How do you know about that?”
Of course, the two of us hadn’t become *that* kind of couple at Madam Margaret’s party, and we still weren’t, but….
At my question, Vivian suddenly clamped her mouth shut. I gave her a baffled look and asked again.
“You were there too?”
Well, I’ll be….
So, Vivian had seen Eric and me go out onto the balcony together at that birthday party.
Then, could it be….
“…So that’s why you picked a fight at the dress shop…”
I clenched my fist. Vivian shrieked and grabbed her hair.
“Aah! Don't! The hair on top of my head has been a wig ever since you tore it out that day!”
I stared at the scene, dumbfounded, until I caught something strange in Vivian’s words and tilted my head.
“Wait a minute. Did you just say Baron Anthony…?”
Vivian eyed me warily.
“Yes, Baron Anthony. The Neo-corporealist painter you called a nudist. He’s a baron. He’s here with his new fiancée now, though.”
Vivian gestured outside the restroom. Beyond the corridor, a man in ragged clothes that screamed ‘I am an artist’ stood with a woman whose hair was styled in an elaborate updo.
So that man is Anthony… Margaret Beaufort’s prized painter.
I quietly sat down next to Vivian.
“Vivian, you must be having a really hard time.”
“Wh-what’s with you all of a sudden?”
Well… for some reason, I suddenly feel like listening to my mother's advice.
But as I offered an awkward smile, Vivian screamed.
“Aah! Don't come near me!”
“…This girl, really.”
