Chapter 121
“Hmm… if you ask me, honestly, I’m not sure. I’m not exactly someone who understands those matters very well.”
He said as he uncorked another bottle of wine.
“But still…”
He cast a glance at Claude.
“From the Wigar faction’s perspective, this is quite favorable. Haven’t the evaluations of Viscount Barott been rather poor lately? He even served as Prime Minister, yet those articles about his dealings with Her Majesty—well, they weren’t flattering. This time, though, public attention has completely shifted elsewhere.”
“……”
“The Roberts family must be sweating now.”
Claude merely nodded, signaling that he was listening.
“At this rate, the Roberts side might start eyeing you rather seriously, Baron. So tell me—between the two ladies, which one is it?”
Claude let out a quiet chuckle and took a sip of his drink.
“Wouldn’t it be boring if I told you?”
“Haha! Fair enough.”
* * *
A letter arrived from Marchioness Depende. With all the public chatter surrounding her former pupil, she must have been worried.
However, the letter addressed to Baron Racliffe was brief and formal—simply stating that she wished to see Annie and her tutor, Felice, at least once.
Claude told Felice that he could politely decline on her behalf if she felt uncomfortable, but she accepted the invitation gladly. She had been wanting to see her mentor as well.
“Marchioness Depende, thank you for coming all this way.”
Claude said as he personally escorted her down from the carriage. Yet the Marchioness’s gaze did not linger on Claude.
“So you’re Annie, the gardener’s daughter, was it?”
The woman greeted Annie as she passed him by.
“Oh, hello, Marchioness. Yes, my father is the gardener.”
Annie replied nervously. The Marchioness answered with a kindly smile, then turned her eyes briefly toward Felice standing behind her.
“You must be having a difficult time, Miss Felice.”
“…Not at all.”
“You seem to have lost weight since I last saw you…”
“It’s nothing. The Baron has been very considerate—I’m doing quite well.”
The Marchioness did not respond to Felice’s words. Instead, she shifted her gaze toward Claude, her eyes carrying a sharp, wordless rebuke.
“I’ll escort you to the sitting room.”
Claude said, but once again, the Marchioness walked ahead without answering.
Inside the sitting room, a visibly tense Annie and Felice sat together. Claude took the seat of honor, with the Marchioness beside him.
Her eyes followed Felice closely—Felice sipping her tea, Felice speaking, Felice attentively looking after Annie.
Annie, still nervous, glanced between the Marchioness and Felice, then broke into a bright smile and whispered near Felice’s ear,
“I think the Marchioness really likes you, Teacher!”
The child’s voice was loud enough for everyone to hear, but Claude and the Marchioness pretended not to notice.
Felice smiled gently and steered the moment elsewhere.
“Why don’t you try this too, Annie?”
As Felice reached for the pastries at the center of the table, the Marchioness picked one from her own plate and placed it onto Felice’s and Annie’s.
“You should have some as well, Miss Felice.”
Watching this, Claude glanced subtly toward his aunt. It seemed that, since the patron event, she had become quite taken with Felice. Something Claude had never seen before. Puzzled, he nevertheless remained silent.
After chatting briefly with Annie, the Marchioness signaled that it was time to leave.
As Annie stood and Felice rose with her, the Marchioness’s lingering gaze followed Felice, filled with quiet reluctance.
Annie looked up at Felice, then called out to the Marchioness in her clear, cheerful voice.
“Marchioness, please come again! Next time, I’ll draw a portrait just for you!”
At the promise of a portrait, the Marchioness’s face lit up.
“Thank you, dear. I’ll look forward to it.”
Hand in hand, Annie and Felice left the room.
For a moment, the Marchioness stared at the closed door, recalling a long-ago memory of the admiral tightly holding his granddaughter’s hand.
“Whenever we come ashore, the little one refuses to let go of me… Haha!”
The admiral’s face in that memory was blooming with pride and joy.
“Marchioness.”
At that moment, Claude’s voice called out to her.
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