“Count Albert.”
Claisey informed him with a tone of resignation and turned away.
‘You won again today. You can have that man too, Merran.’
Florence, who had been watching the scene unfold, signaled from afar: “Hang in there. Don’t leave.”
But what was the point of holding her ground when she knew it was futile?
From the moment Merran had approached, calling out “Auntie!”, the Count hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.
It was a scenario she had experienced countless times, so Claisey knew the script by heart.
Men would show interest in Claisey at first, but the moment Merran approached—tossing her beautiful golden hair and calling out, “Auntie!”—half of them would lose interest in Claisey entirely, becoming completely enamored with Merran instead.
The other half would try to keep their focus on Claisey, ignoring Merran, but even then, if Merran called out “Auntie” a few times, the game was over.
Young men like Albert, who were around Merran’s age, would melt at the sound of the title “Auntie,” naturally pigeonholing Claisey as someone from an older generation.
Even if Claisey tried to explain, “I’m only five years older than you! I may be Merran’s aunt, but I’m of the same generation as you!”, it was useless.
If anything, the atmosphere would only grow more awkward; the young men would begin to stare at Claisey as if they were looking at an elder of the household desperately trying to cling to her youth.
Because Merran was as beautiful as an angel descended by a lakeside, that first impression of being “Merran’s aunt” was impossible to shake.
Claisey finally gave up and walked unsteadily toward Florence’s side.
“I’m going to head back.”
Florence’s husband, well aware of the situation, offered a sheepish farewell and stepped aside.
As her husband moved away, Florence jabbed Claisey with a small pudding spoon and asked bitingly, “Merran is at it again. When on earth did she get here? I specifically told you to leave that girl behind, didn’t I?”
“I didn’t bring her. She followed me on her own.”
“I told you not to let her know where you were going.”
“I didn’t tell her. She figured it out herself. I didn’t even know she had come; she must have arrived just now.”
Florence clicked her tongue and glared at Merran.
Claisey turned her head as well, only to see that Merran was already leading Count Albert away to dance.
Count Albert wore an expression that suggested he had completely forgotten Claisey existed.
Florence gnashed her teeth and cursed.
“Why is your niece like that? Why does she interfere every time you get involved with a man? She’s pretty enough; she shouldn’t have to do that, right? Doesn’t she have some kind of weird obsession?”
“She says she hates the idea of me getting married.”
“Why?”
“She says she’s basically my daughter, so she doesn’t want me marrying another man. If I really must, she says I should do it after she does.”
“Is she insane? Since when are you her mother? How many years are there between you two? She’s even older than my younger brother.”
Claisey sighed.
“I’ve acted as her guardian since she was eleven, so that’s why. At that age, a five-year difference feels quite large.”
Florence started to say something more—likely another insult aimed at Merran—but Claisey didn’t want to badmouth her niece in front of others.
Unless it was someone like Florence who knew the whole story, others would only see Claisey as malicious for speaking ill of her niece. Complaining about Merran here would be like spitting into the wind.
Feeling completely drained, Claisey shook her head.
“Thank you for today. See you later.”
Before Florence could hold her back, Claisey quickly slipped out of the mansion and headed to where her carriage was waiting.
The coachman, who had been enjoying a chat with his fellow drivers, grabbed the whip and climbed onto the driver’s seat the moment Claisey appeared.
“You’re back early, Miss?”
“It wasn’t fun.”
“Miss Merran just went in, didn’t she? Wouldn’t you like to stay and play with her?”
“That’s exactly why it stopped being fun.”
The coachman burst into laughter, assuming Claisey’s sincere remark was a joke.
As Claisey climbed into the carriage, the coachman slowly pulled away. She sighed, watching the scenery of the streets drift slowly past the window.
Claisey had originally been quite popular back in her hometown. Not only the boys and girls of her own age, but even the adults had taken a great liking to her.
That was, of course, before her eldest sister, Marie, who was much older than her, passed away, leaving her in charge of her five-year-younger niece, Merran.
Claisey was the only person by Marie’s side when she died. To be precise, she was the only survivor of the accident that took Marie’s life.
The guard and the coachman who were with them had both died in that “carriage accident,” and Marie had perished as well.
The only one who survived was Claisey.
This dramatic survival saddled Claisey with a terrible rumor. People found it suspicious that Claisey had returned home alive and alone at the tender age of sixteen.
The gossip grew even sharper when investigators contradicted Claisey’s statement that her sister died in a carriage accident.
The officials claimed that while the guard and coachman had indeed died in a carriage accident, Claisey’s sister had actually died from a fall.
To protect their sixteen-year-old daughter, her parents fabricated an excuse that Claisey had sustained injuries so severe she couldn’t move, forcing her to remain housebound for three months.
Thanks to that, Claisey wasn’t interrogated further, but she also lost the chance to suppress the rumors.
The fact that Claisey still hadn’t found a fiancé despite having capable, diplomat parents, a vast inheritance, the status of a Count’s youngest daughter, and striking beauty was all due to that rumor from nine years ago.
‘Damn the Imperial law…’
In truth, Claisey had no desire to get married or start a family, nor did she feel the need to share “true love” with anyone.
However, as an aristocrat, marriage was mandatory. The wretched Imperial law dictated that only children who were married could inherit their parents’ property and titles.
Eventually, when she turned twenty-five, Claisey decided to move to escape the rumors.
Just then, her best friend Florence’s husband found a job at the royal court and moved to the Capital, so Claisey followed them.
Florence, who detested Merran, was so excited inside the carriage that she made all sorts of promises to Claisey.
“Neither of us are natives, so we don’t know many people in the Capital. But it’s okay. Once my husband starts working at the palace, he’ll have many colleagues and superiors. I’ll have to get along with their families, too. Once I build connections with the noblewomen of the Capital, I’ll take you to parties. Let’s find a suitable person there. Since the Capital is crawling with aristocrats, there are bound to be some decent unmarried men left. Men like you who have their own circumstances and can’t get married.”
Claisey was easily swept up by Florence’s high spirits.
Breathing in the air, damp from the rain, Claisey pressed down on her pounding heart.
Claisey had never once left her hometown since her first and only trip to the Capital ten years ago.
Florence bought a white, pristine mansion.
Claisey rented the pink mansion next to Florence’s for five years.
It wasn’t as large as Florence’s new home, which required a carriage ride just to get from the gate to the front door, but it was the perfect size for Claisey and her small staff.
How excited she had been while the workers unloaded her suitcases and the maids scurried about cleaning.
The house had become neat and tidy quickly because she had started the process a month before moving.
Claisey entered the largest bedroom on the second floor, threw open the windows, and cheered.
Not too far away, the grand palace and tall spires were clearly visible.
Further out, sharp-pointed towers shrouded in legends and the pillars of temples stood in luxurious rows.
Beyond the white roof of the temple, the sun was spreading its reddish hue.
Claisey was happy that, for the first time in nine years, she would be living apart from Merran. She felt guilty for considering poor Merran a nuisance, but on the other hand, she was undeniably happy.
Merran was already twenty, wasn’t she?
After taking a leisurely bath in the large bathroom, Claisey tucked herself into bedding that smelled of laundry soap.
However, the next day, Claisey—who had woken up feeling happy—was…
I threw on my coat and walked into the living room, only to freeze.
Merran was sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, drinking coffee. Behind him, Karen, the maid who had been Merran’s nanny, was wearing an awkward smile.
“Auntie, I’ve decided to stay here too.”
Merran set down his coffee cup, shrugged, and gave a bashful smile.
“I got permission from Auntie Lize, so don’t worry. Karen came with me, too.”
This was three months ago.
Claisey shuddered.
‘My second sister just sent Merran my way because she couldn’t be bothered to take care of him herself.’
Claisey thought of her second sister, who was nine months pregnant and already had two-year-old twins.
Claisey sighed and shifted her gaze back beyond the carriage.
But at that moment, with a screeching sound, the carriage shook violently and came to a halt.
Claisey was thrown forward, slamming her forehead against the front of the carriage before bouncing backward.
“What’s going on?”
Claisey pressed her throbbing forehead and called out toward the driver’s seat. It was rare, but these things happened occasionally when one traveled by carriage often.
“…….”
But there was no answer.
“Ledon?”
Claisey looked toward the driver’s seat and raised her voice.
The carriage had jolted hard, but a person wouldn’t die from an impact like this. She knew this because she had experienced it before.
Besides, there hadn’t been a sound of the coachman being thrown to the side. So why wasn’t the coachman answering?
“Ledon?”
Claisey called out again and opened the partition window between the driver’s seat and the cabin.
Claisey almost screamed in shock.
The coachman was knocked out, his head hanging limp, and a blood-covered man was sitting in the driver’s seat, holding the whip.
Terrified, Claisey grabbed her umbrella and struck it toward the driver’s seat window.
“!”
The man, sensing her presence, glanced back, his eyes widening. He hastily ducked to avoid the umbrella and snatched it from Claisey. Even then, he didn’t let go of the whip with his other hand, continuing to drive the carriage.
He kept glancing back at Claisey as if she were an annoyance.
By then, Claisey had quickly abandoned the umbrella and was pulling a hard perfume bottle out of her handbag.
Just as she was about to hurl it, the man said urgently:
“Lady. Don’t throw it. I only took the carriage because I was in a desperate hurry. I am not a bad person.”