âNatalie? Oh, sheâs my cousin.â
Ianâs expression turned completely disgusted for a moment, as if he was sick and tired of being associated with even distant cousins.
It was not exactly a compliment, but Rogerâs face lit up with joy.
âAhahaâ¦. Iâve seen her once, years ago, when I stayed at my auntâs house, whoâs a baroness, and⦠well, here we are.â
Haha, this guyâs popularity.
Roger deliberately muttered meaningfully and shrugged his shoulders. He was nothing but a corpse if he removed vanity and arrogance as a son of Mrs Heaton.
His memories of Natalie were hazy. In the eyes of Roger, who was at the height of his popularity at the time, Natalie, a fifteen-year-old country girl, was dull. He could only vaguely recall that she looked like a handsome boy, thanks to her deeply pigmented hair.
Ianâs eyes alternated between the apricot-coloured letter envelope and Rogerâs face, and his brow furrowed.
âHow come everyone has nothing to do?â
His interest in the owner of the impressive handwriting quickly faded after a brief glance.
âIâll let Roger have his fun.â
Ian raised his gaze again and smiled brightly.
âConsidering the friendship among officer school classmates, Iâll give you a choice. Choose between losing your rank or having your pay cut.â
The look of arrogance on Rogerâs face disappeared in an instant.
***
Duan Central Railway Station was always bustling. This was even true for the private exit reserved for first-class passengers.
The mildly dysfunctional prince stopped short as soon as he stepped onto the platform. Cloudy-eyed and staring at the cluttered landscape, he soon hastened his pace.
Ianâs return was an unofficial affair. He had kept his entourage to a minimum and wore a hat to hide his face to avoid being noticed, but he couldnât help but draw attention to himself as he stood taller than everyone else. It was best to walk as quickly as possible to the carriage as they led the way.
As he turned the corner out of the relatively deserted back entrance, the chubby attendant in front of him bumped into a boy.
He wore suspenders and a flat hat. The boy, who appeared to be a newspaper vendor, bounced off with a single scream.
Whatâs unusual is that as he fell backwards, he didnât try to pick himself up off the ground, but kept the hat pressed to his head.
He sacrificed his tailbone to save the cap and managed to keep it safe. But the cap that was heavily pressed down slightly lifted, revealing his face.
A boyâs face came into Ianâs eyes, who had recognized that a head and a torso were people, and square ones were buildings. Despite his shabby clothes, the boy had a refined, aristocratic face that was quite striking.
The attendant ahead of him bowed first to Ian, then to the boy, apologised, and helped him up. The boy tugged on his hat, pressed it down, and quickly disappeared without a word of thanks.
It was a brief encounter, but Ianâs gaze lingered on the newspaper boy the entire time. It was very rare for his gaze to last more than a second on a passer-by.
âA cross-dresser.â
The boy had caught the princeâs eye because he was not a âboy.â The dark eyes and eyebrows stood out against the pale face, so yes, it was definitely a woman in costume.
Ian didnât think about whether he should stop her or not.
He had a very busy road to travel. His first priority was to get to the queen, who would be expecting her second son.
***
In the midst of the bustling city of Duan, it was hard to believe that such a place existed, but the narrow garden of Marquess Mabelâs mansion was filled with yellow primroses and purple dahlias in the spring.
As she bustled through them, she suddenly stopped and looked back. Her eyes immediately fell on the shores of the Seine, glistening white in the midday sun. It was literally a picturesque mansion.
Natalie couldnât help but be dazzled by its beauty every time she visited. Heaton Park was refined compared to her home, but not the mansion of the Marquess of Mabel, a man of real wealth.
The Marquessâs mansion is located on the west side of Duan, up on the banks of the River Shawn, which cuts through the city sideways. This area, called the âWest Sideâ, was the most expensive land in Duan.
According to one newspaper article, the Marquess of Mabel was a fabulously wealthy man, ranking in the top ten annual earners in Grand Batten. The Marquess of Mabel had a precious only daughter, Christina Dowie.
Having made her debut on the social scene the same year as Natalie, she was naturally a prime bride-to-be, but in truth, she took no notice of anyone.
Christinaâs apparent lack of interest in marriage led people to speculate that she would marry her cousin, who would inherit the title as the Marquess of Mabel, and become âthe Marquise of Mabel.â
If youâd ask her best friend Natalie if the rumours were true, she wouldnât know.
Christina didnât really talk about the important things, and neither did Natalie.
Perhaps itâs this modicum of distance that has kept them together for years despite their vastly different backgrounds.
âYou tardy idiot! What are you doing without coming up quickly!â
A booming voice startled Natalie, who had been staring at the shimmering glow in the dark. Reflexively turning to follow the sound, she looked up to see two women leaning halfway out of the wide-open window, waving.
The one with the auburn curls was Christina, and the one with the wheat-coloured hair next to her was Emily.
Just from her voice, Christina seemed like a general. The corner of the noble estate where she grew up was far from being characterized by sobriety or meekness. She was playful and unrestrained in everything she did. This was one of the reasons why Natalie liked her.
Friends who share similar tastes and hobbies with her. When she saw the two people, the corners of her mouth naturally lifted. Natalieâs footsteps quickened compared to earlier.
By the time she hurried up the spiral staircase and into the Marquiseâs private parlour, Christina and Emily were already sprawled out on the couch.
âWhy are you so late? Oh my, why do you look like that again? Whatâs with all the sweat?â
Christina asked, startled when she spotted Natalie.
âThe post office. There are so many people there today. Itâs crowded, so people are bumping into each other.â
âThatâs why it took so long?â
Emily interrupted with a sarcastic glance.
âYou looked around Derville again, didnât you? Mary said she gave up chasing you. She said the soles of her feet are going to catch fire. Are you still that fascinated by Duan?â
It came out. An insensitive comment from a city girl.
When it comes to markets in Dewan, it usually refers to the largest âDerville.â
Emily was not interested in looking around the market, not to mention Derville. She said it was dirty.
In the case of Mary, the maid of the Heatons, she followed her several times to chaperone her, and then she got completely bored. She then waited at the entrance to Derville.
Thanks to this, Natalie was able to walk around Duan relatively freely.
âSpending money for a carriage ride instead of saving it for the dress shop.â
Most of Natalieâs pocket money went to carriage fees. It was something Emily could never understand.
âPeople-watching is more fun, ouchâ¦.â
More accurately, she went for the fun of eavesdropping on peopleâs gossip, but Natalie held her tongue.
âDid you hurt your back?â
Christina asked worriedly as she stuttered and made pained noises. The Marquise was playful and affectionate at the same time.
âYou must have slept badly. By the way, Christina.â
Natalie shrugged her shoulders as if it was no big deal, then slyly changed the subject, handing Christina a translucent silk shawl.
âThis was the shawl that you left behind at the ball yesterday. You forgot it again? Youâre surprisingly forgetful.â
âOh my. No wonder I felt like Iâve seen the shawl youâre holding somewhere before. It was mine? Thereâs no one else like you.â
As playful and sweet as she was, she also dropped things all the time. It was usually up to Natalie to pick up her things.
Before Christina could take the shawl, Emily interrupted.
âBy the way, Natalie, did you send a letter to Roger again on your way back? You should stop doing that.â
Emily was being persistent today.
âPay attention, Ms Heaton. That too, but itâs time to write to Warfield. Our youngest likes me the most. I have to send him often.â
Natalie had three younger siblings down the line.
Bianca, who is now the Countess of Rutherford; Dorothy, who will make her social debut next year; and Alex, the youngest, who will one day be a baronet. Although Alex has a 13-year age difference with Natalie, but he has been following his older sister Natalie the best since he was a baby.
âAh, Emily told me before you came.â
Christina, not particularly interested in other peopleâs family history, quickly changed the subject.
âShe said that this time Mrs Heaton has decided to get serious about finding a husband because sheâs had enough.â
âWell, it turned out that way.â
âHmph. Despite your resolve, youâre still not motivated.â
Thatâs a relief, said Christina with a grin. It seems certain that the secret reading group of unmarried girls will continue for the time being.
âOkay, then shall we start the âReading Clubâ again today?â
Christina, who rose from her seat with a satisfied face, ventured the atmosphere as she headed to the bookshelf on one side of the drawing room.
âMiss Dowse, and Miss Heaton. Iâve managed to procure a very rare book of poetry for you today. How difficult it was to obtain.â
Christina said in an exaggerated tone, placing two books on the table. They had sturdy covers that looked expensive, and they were thick enough to make anyone who didnât like to read look away.
âIâve got two especially for you this time, so you donât have to wait for your turn. Of course, I stayed up all night last night to read them all.â
Indeed, Marquise! Emily did her best imitation of a follower.
âItâs worth staying up all night to read, so I canât wait to share my impressions with you. And Iâm sure it will be of great help to ladies who need to find a husband.â
Christina added, pretending to mean it. Emily, who had a quick temper, was already busily flicking through the pages.
Natalie also picked up the book with anticipation at Christinaâs confident voice. The cover read â150 Poems for Ladies.â
But whatâs inside is probably the furthest thing from ladylike.
While a normal book club would explore lyric poetry and plays⦠Theirs was no ordinary book club.
The three of them were engrossed in erotic novels, or in other words, âsmutty novels.â