Life is better when it’s gradual.
That’s my theory.
I admire people who have succeeded through hardships and married couples who have come together through twists and turns.
Perhaps it is because of the mountains and valleys that life shines brightly.
But to be honest, I didn’t want it to happen to me. To put it bluntly, I don’t think there is anything better than not having to go through hardship.
I want to walk on the flattest road possible, with peaceful people.
I have a somewhat withered wish for such a 17 year-old maiden, but it is not for any deep reason.
None of us have a vaudeville-like past, that we have come to desire peace after a painful breakup. If I had to give a reason, it would be my bloodline.
I, Chelsea Reed, was born into a very ordinary countess family, whose only merit is that they are old.
Like my father, the current head of the family, there are many people who have been reluctant to stand out and be seen in a negative light for generations.
The fact that he is in a position of neutrality in the factional struggle in name only, and yet is not recognized as an enemy by both sides, is probably due to his lack of presence and his shallow and broad friendships.
We sometimes help others, sometimes we are helped by others, and in this way, our family has neither prospered nor fallen, but has continued to the present day as if by inertia.
I, as the daughter of the current head of the family. I am no exception.
They live in a hazy state, establishing bland relationships.
I think I’m buried in the background nicely, thanks to being surrounded by gorgeous women at today’s soirée [fcnt header=” content=’Soirée means evening party or tea party for lady and gentleman’][/fcnt].
Unfortunately, the man I was looking for was apparently absent.
I am about to reach marriageable age and would like to find a fiancée.
Fortunately, or perhaps troublesomely, there is no concept of political marriage in my family, so I have to find one by myself.
He is moderately serious and calm. He drinks and smokes only to a moderate degree.
I am not too particular about appearance, but would be happy with a healthy range of body shape and cleanliness.
The age difference is within 20 years. Married or bereaved is acceptable.
Even if you don’t think you have high expectations, it is still difficult to find the right place.
The second son of the viscount, who was the object of today’s visit, miraculously met all the requirements.
I had heard that one of my friends was a relative and I was going to ask him to introduce me, but I didn’t realize that he was absent due to illness.
We have no choice, so let’s spend today as a non-existent wall stain, not a wallflower.
After killing a moderate amount of time inconspicuously, I decided to return home early.
“There you are…..!”
“You look great today.”
The excited voices of my friends brought me back to reality from my dazed and ponderous state of mind.
I followed their gaze, their cheeks flushed, to a man who had just entered the hall.
(Oh, the Duke’s)
Seeing them, I mutter to myself.
His gently wavy golden hair is cut short at the collar, while his bangs are long. His eyes, decorated with long eyelashes, are the color of clear amber.
The corners of his eyes are tightly lifted, but they do not give the impression of being harsh, perhaps because of his downcast look.
It reminded me of a cat sleeping in the sun in a good mood.
The bridge of the nose and thin lips. All the parts are arranged in a golden ratio within a well-shaped outline.
The dark circles around his eyes added a touch of color to his beauty, as if she were a finely crafted doll.
Solomon Beardsley, the only son of the first duke.
He is 25 years old.
Still a bachelor, he has the eyes of all the unmarried women in the hall to himself, even the eyes of the married women.
He is a man of good looks and a man of letters and martial arts.
His popularity only grew as a result of his noble royal blood, but not being conceited and having a friendly personality.
Even the fact that he is constantly rumored to be involved with glamorous women was not a flaw, as his charm was enough to make him a desirable man.
Today, they are quickly surrounded by a thick crowd.
(It’s not easy being popular.)
I feel a little pity for them, even though I am a stranger. I don’t envy them a shred of being loved.
I honestly cringe at the thought of being exposed to public scrutiny like that at all hours of the day.
Even if the feelings are based on favoritism, it is no different than surveillance.
I would have lost my mind long ago if I had to be in an environment where I could not even make a peep.
Surrounded from all directions, however, Solomon does not break his gentle smile.
She respected the Duke of Beardsley’s son, who was perfectly attuned to the wishes of those around him.
(Though I wouldn’t want to get too close)
“Hey, Chelsea, we’re going to go say hello to Mr. Solomon and you can come with us.”
At my friend’s suggestion with a big smile on my face, I inwardly sputtered, ‘Ughh…’
It’s important to make the rounds of greetings to high-ranking nobles. Moreover, my family has a distant relationship with the Duke of Beardsley.
It is no exaggeration to say that the relationship is so distant that it has already been severed.
But I don’t want to run into that crowd.
Even though the Duke of Beardsley is rumored to be a very intelligent man, I am sure he does not remember each and every one of his daughters’ faces.
And since they greeted each other in turn, as if it were a fluid process, he could not be blamed if I did not greet at least one of them.
I played it out in my head and gently pressed my mouth with a handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, I think I’m getting a little bit people-sick. I’m going to go get some air.”
“What? Are you okay? Shall I go with you?”
“Why don’t you take a break in the break room? I’ll go get them ready for you.”
I was ready to be sent off and saying, “Be careful,” but I was flustered by the reaction, which was different from what I had imagined.
The sobriety that I had felt earlier dissipated, and my friends were verbally concerned about me.
I knew they were good, caring girls, despite being the daughters of high-ranking aristocrats who were raised to be butterflies and flowers.
But I never thought they would put friendship before their own love.
I grab my friend’s hand, who is about to call out to the chamberlain to see if the common room is available, and somehow stop him.
“Wait, wait. It’s not that important.”
“Your condition is important enough.”
“Yes, Chelsea.”
“Yes, Chelsea, being modest is a virtue of yours, but you can count on us once in a while.”
‘What a group of friend-worthy kids!’
I was impressed by the purity of heart and soul of the cool beauty and the lovely beautiful girl.
(It’s not goddesses and angels anymore…. that are so good on the outside and the inside!)
BIt is not a good idea to be taken to the break room while you are in a daze.
Annabelle Alcott, an intelligent and beautiful marchioness, and Lana Kimberly, the Countess’s Fairy, are socialites.
If I had to be shut away in the break room because of my temporary illness, it would cause resentment among the single men in the hall.
“I’m really, really not feeling that bad. I just need to get some air.”
The excuses are becoming more painful.
It was too late to regret that it would have been much easier to finish the greetings quickly.
They looked at me curiously as I slurred.
Annabelle suddenly noticed something, a nasty smile on her well-dressed face.
“I’m sorry, Chelsea”
She said, “but are you expecting someone?”
“…… what?”
“Oh my!”
Unlike me, who was too stunned to immediately understand the meaning of the words, Lana’s cheeks were stained.
Chelsea can’t be left out of the corner, she said in a bouncy voice, tapping me lightly on the shoulder.
(No way, they think it’s an excuse for a meeting!)
“I almost did something tactless.”
‘Oh, God, why didn’t you just say so?’
Chi, chi.…
Without me, the story goes on.
“Well, we’ll go say hello.”
“Be careful. If you are about to do something unprofessional, call us.”
With a wave of their hands, they leave me.
Left behind, I loosely lowered my half-raised hand and pathetically muttered, ‘Not even though it’s not …….’
This is a far cry from the goal of leaving the front lines discreetly and quietly, but there’s nothing we can do about it now.
After resting for a while, I returned to the hall and changed my mind about clearing up the misunderstanding.
Gardens are gardens, but avoid areas where roses are planted.
It’s just about the best time of year and the romantic roses are popular with lovers.
One wants to avoid people, but one cannot approach in case things get too exciting.
In our country, virginity is not considered very important, even among the nobility.
Therefore, many people enter into a physical relationship during the betrothal stage, believing that physical compatibility is also important for a happy married life.
Of course, there is still a tendency to value bloodlines, but the development of magical technology has made it easier to check blood relations, so there is no problem there either.
In other words, things that normally would not be shown to others are taking place near the roses.
As I have a good ear, I know the area, so I always chose an unpopular place to rest.
Only a small gazebo is located at the far end of the garden.
The trees are freshly green, long past their flowering season, and the flowers are still small, hard buds.
Moreover, a little further on is the castle wall, making it impossible to pass through.
The gazebo, although cleaned, is old and not suitable for young lovers to talk.
I am the only one who would come to a place like this.
I entered the octagonal gazebo and sat in chairs positioned along the edge.
Twist your upper body to face outward and place your elbows on the handrail.
The cool breeze caressed my cheeks, which were burning from the crowd, and I exhaled.
(How do I clear up a misunderstanding……)
I don’t have the sensitivity to worry about what people say about me, but as a single woman without a fiancée, I can’t leave it behind.
In particular, my friend Lana was to be introduced to the second son of the viscount.
If she was mistaken, he might be so clever as to pretend that the conversation had never happened.
(But honestly, it’s a pain in the ass.)
Even though they know they should correct their mistakes, they are still too lazy to sit up and take action.
I may be offended at being in the position of being introduced to a man, but I cannot be that passionate about a man with whom I have never had a proper conversation.
When I think about the pain of making excuses while enduring the smiling gazes of Lana and her friends, resignation prevails, as if I could just leave it at that.
(And we can look for it again when things settle down.)
I’m sorry to seem like I’m disrespecting my aunt’s advice that the first man to get married wins, and that the best men sell first, but I’m not looking forward to marriage from the start.
It’s a little different than just wanting to, just because you need to.
(This kind of thinking is disrespectful to those who will eventually get married…..)
I am trying to be faithful to my future husband, but I am not sure if I can love him as a member of the opposite sex.
After all, I have never been attracted to the opposite sex in my 17 years of life.
Like the lines from the opera, I would love to ask someone, ‘What is love like?’
‘How much time has passed while I have been caught up in my ruminations?’
Suddenly, someone’s voice reached my ears. It could reach this far, so it wasn’t too far away.
And if I’m not imagining it, it’s as if I’m looking for someone.
(Is he meeting up with his girlfriend?)
A woman’s voice, sounding a bit impatient, calls out for someone.
If they meet in the garden, they are probably in the wrong place.
The rose garden is not this way, but on the other side.
The voices approaching and moving away from me make me worry.
I’d like to show you around, but if you were a fellow ninja, it would be none of my business.
As I agonize alone, I hear footsteps approaching.
Someone came tumbling into the gazebo, roughly through the trees.
“Ehh!”
I peeled my eyes and froze.
Sudden events make it hard to keep up with thinking.
A man with dark hair is lying on his knees, crumpled on the floor, looking down.
Breathing on his shoulders, he is dressed in a well-tailored, elegant navy blue frock coat.
He is probably one of the invited guests at the soiree.
(Who is he? He has dark hair, but he’s from another country?)
If there were exotic guests, they would stand out.
Many people in our country have light pigmentation.
Even if they are dark, they are only brown at best.
And the color ‘black’ is avoided because it is the color of a sorcerer who once tried to destroy the world.
I heard that there are black-haired and black-eyed clans in other countries, but I don’t recall seeing any in Japan.
(Maybe someone was rude to you……? Is that why you ran away?)
I was displeased that they would be rude to a customer, even though I had not checked the facts.
No, not even if you are not a guest.
What in the world can you tell about a person by the color of his hair and eyes? After all, they are just pigment.
It is not a way to prove a person’s character.
Exasperated, I quietly approached the kneeling person.
“Hello. Is there something wrong with you?”
“What?”
A large shoulder shook, and the person looked up reflexively.
Through his loosely wavy bangs, his wide-open black eyes peeked out.
The eyes, like polished obsidian, were so beautiful and unclouded that I forgot to say a word.
“……”
They stare at each other in silence.
His thin lips trembled, spluttering and eating the air without a sound.
I was belatedly admiring the rare eyes and am amazed at the beauty of the man’s appearance.
I was stunned by the outrageously beautiful shape and felt like I was looking at a work of art.
(……Oh? I think I’ve seen this face somewhere……)
Déjà vu, is a little different.
Something different but knowing. I twist my head, feeling like I have a small bone caught in the back of my throat.
“Miss Chelsea……”
In a pained voice, the man mutters.
Apparently you know me.
Even though I don’t know anyone in the foreign country.
(…… yeah?)
I blinked, and at the same time, something snapped into place in my head.
I’m not sure if I recognize you or not, but I saw you at the event just a few minutes ago.
“…… Duke of Beardsley?”
The color of their hair and eyes is different, but their facial features are the same.
I can’t imagine how many people have such a beautiful face.
The man’s face grew paler and paler while I thought about the possibility that he might be related to me by blood.
I got my answer from the way he was paling and shaking.
(Meh, I have a feeling it’s going to be trouble. ……)
Now I said, my face also paling.
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