20.
Returning to the mansion, I found two sealed letters on the bedroom table. One was a reply from my father, suggesting we meet at the Jockey Club this Saturday, and the other was not a letter, but a sheet of paper with a list of names.
It was the registry of salon attendees I had requested from the butler.
As I scanned the names, my eyes snagged on one that was hardly welcome, and the corner of my lips curled up.
“Milla, I need to go to the bank tomorrow.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“I’m looking for a book. Could you help me?”
The next day, having visited the bank early in the morning, I stopped by an old bookstore in the heart of Luthes before heading to Max’s office.
“What is the title?”
“*The Black Cat*.”
It was a weekday morning, too early for customers. The shop owner was a man as weathered as his wares. At my answer, the man—who had a jagged scar tracing his right eye—looked up from his newspaper and stared at me.
“I didn’t think I’d see you again…. Follow me.”
The man chuckled, rising from his narrow counter, and shuffled into the depths of the store. Tucked away in a corner was a small door that barely reached my shoulder.
I followed him inside to a cramped space furnished with two crude wooden chairs and a table.
The man plopped into one of the chairs and asked, “So, what brings you on such a precious visit today, Your Grace?”
“There’s someone I need you to identify.”
I pulled a small piece of paper and five 200-grang notes from my handbag, placing them on the table.
A smirk spread across the man’s lips as he unfolded the paper and checked the name written inside.
“It seems you still haven’t broken your old habits.”
“Find out everything he’s been doing for the past six months, as detailed as possible.”
Ignoring his sarcasm, I spoke only what I came to say. The man clicked his tongue, snatching up the paper and the money.
“Six months will take at least ten days.”
“It must be in my hands before the Saturday after next, no matter what.”
“As you command.”
As the man bowed playfully, I added, “Joseph, don’t tell my father about this. Not this time.”
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
I walked past him as he replied half-heartedly and exited the small room.
The space outside the bookstore was still quiet. Across the street, the Yonne River, which bisected the center of Luthes, shimmered in the light.
Looking back, the man had already returned to his counter, his nose buried in his newspaper once more.
In the winter of my twenty-first year, not long after Madam Rossignol’s article broke and the interviews with the women I had sought out began to surface, the first thing that had flashed through my mind was the face of that man.
It had been his handiwork—trailing Max, investigating the women. The simplest deduction was that the man had sold my information to the newspaper. But I had no choice then but to push that suspicion aside. It was impossible for him to have sold me out. At least, that’s what I had told myself.
Joseph, the owner of a run-down bookstore that could go bust any day, was the head of an intelligence network created by my father under the Emperor’s tacit approval.
The twenty-one-year-old Freya had been foolish, but she had been right about at least one thing.
The man had never sold me out. He had simply followed orders.
*Please, just follow orders this time as well.*
I turned away, sneering at the man hidden behind his newspaper.
If they had used the information I provided to hold me back, it was now my turn to hold them back.
✦ ✦ ✦
*Do not even speak to a man in Luthes who does not frequent the clubs.*
The club occupied such a significant place for the gentlemen of Luthes that such a maxim circulated. The clubs of Luthes were men’s exclusive spaces for relaxation, entertainment, and, most importantly, socializing.
Money, honor, influence… if you wanted to gain anything in the Empire, you had to start by joining a club.
The Jockey Club, along with the Yacht Club and the Travelers’ Club, was one of the most prominent in the city.
Becoming a member was as difficult as plucking the moon from the sky. It was no wonder, then, that the members of the Jockey Club held such overwhelming pride and sense of belonging.
It was a Saturday afternoon with particularly fine weather.
Several senior deputies of the Royalist faction, pro-Royalist businessmen, and gentlemen obsessed with horse racing were gathered at the club.
Inside, a card game balancing on the edge of legality was in full swing. On the terrace, well-dressed gentlemen occupied their own sofas, debating the winner of the next horse race under a cloudless sky.
Perhaps it was a gust of wind that drifted in when the main door opened, but everyone inside and on the terrace—as if by prior agreement—fixed their gaze upon the person who had just stepped in.
“……Huh?”
Someone let out a breathy, foolish sound, and another, who had been about to point a finger, recoiled in surprise.
Into this club—one of the top five in Luthes, an oasis meant solely for the chosen men—a woman was walking in.
Which idiot’s family had brought a woman into this sacred space without knowing the rules?
Hostile glares from the gentlemen poured onto the man escorting her. And then, their eyes filled with utter bewilderment.
Lustrous blond hair beneath a black silk hat, bright blue eyes, features that looked as if they had been crafted by a master sculptor, and a tall, sturdy frame that wore his clothes like a second skin.
There was only one man in this Empire who could command such admiration even from his own peers.
The Duke of Blanc’s son-in-law, Max Russell.
That Max Russell had brought a woman to the Jockey Club.
*Is Russell finally planning to finish it all?*
The question surfaced in everyone’s mind. There was no one in the Empire who didn’t know about the discord between the Blanc family’s only daughter and her husband. Especially after that incident last year.
Thus, a man like Russell, who wasn’t even a member, bringing a woman here could have no other intention than to flaunt an affair in front of the Duke of Blanc, one of the club’s founding members.
*But with whom?*
Everyone’s curiosity turned back to the woman.
Perhaps because the intent was to provoke the Duke, the woman had a subtle resemblance to his daughter.
Dark brown hair like melted chocolate, milk-white skin, turquoise eyes like embedded emeralds, and vermilion lips….
“Wait, is that woman perhaps the Duke’s….”
That couldn’t be right. Those who knew of Freya Russell’s usual conduct shook their heads internally.
The Freya Russell, or rather, the Freya Blanc they knew, was not such an adorable woman.
With a face slathered in heavy makeup, she had looked somewhat unstable, a paranoiac in the making. She wore dresses that inappropriately emphasized her figure regardless of time or place—wasn’t that the Freya Blanc they knew, the one who made every decent gentleman avert his gaze?
But the woman standing there now was different.
The lavender dress with white accents, suited for the sunny weather, might have been of lower status for a high-ranking noble, but it harmonized perfectly with her bright and lovely atmosphere.
Eyes that traced the beautiful silhouette—which even a modest dress couldn’t easily hide—finally settled on her graceful face.
Then, the woman smiled while saying something to Max Russell. As Max responded with a curve of his own lips, the illusion arose that the area surrounding the pair was uniquely illuminated.
…Ah, did he bring such a woman on purpose?
An appearance resembling the Duchess, yet an atmosphere in direct contrast. At this point, one had to view it as a deliberate insult to the Duke.
The gazes of the men, who were trying to act composed, were filled with unconcealable interest and anticipation.
And as if responding to their expectations, like a scene from a comedy, the Duke of Blanc descended the red-carpeted stairs.
His gaze immediately locked onto the man and woman walking into the building.
Every eye turned to the Duke’s lips. And at that moment, the Duke’s mouth naturally curled into a line.
“Freya, you’ve come.”
No privilege, no sense of pride could keep the men’s mouths from dropping open in stupidity.
……That woman is *that* Freya?
Leaving the stunned crowd behind, the three of them vanished up the staircase leading to the upper floor.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Max, everyone is staring. Smile a little.”
I leaned in close to Max and whispered quietly, lifting the corners of my lips.
“Why should I have to?”
Even as he replied, Max smiled without realizing it.
“Because we aren’t here to declare war today.”
Yes, that was true. However, from the moment he entered the building, Max clenched his molars against the rising unpleasantness, forcing his lips to stay fixed in that artificial expression.
Dozens of pairs of eyes were scanning his wife from head to toe, not even bothering to acknowledge his presence.
The fact that they were to divorce within two years didn’t comfort him; it only made his mood filthier.
Fortunately for Max, the Duke appeared before he lost his patience and took action.
The Duke of Blanc approached, smiling at me as if the past six months had been erased.
“Freya, you’ve come.”