Chapter 10

A few weeks after the tea party at the Duke of Heimer's residence.

"…Well, I'm off."

"Yes. Have a good day, Lord Percival."

This was a familiar morning scene that had been a part of their routine since the beginning of their marriage. Margaret, his wife, would see Percival off at the entrance hall as he headed to work. It was just a daily ritual. However, a new custom was added—starting the day after that tea party.

"…Hmm."

Margaret pressed her lips to Percival's cheek, who had lowered his head and closed his eyes slightly. The contact lasted only a few seconds, but no matter how many times they repeated it, the embarrassment never faded. When Margaret pulled away, Percival would then kiss her cheek in return. To calm her slight trembling, he would always gently stroke her chin at the end, completing the sequence.

"…Let's try to increase our physical contact from now on."

True to his declaration in the carriage, this new daily ritual was added to the days they spent together. They would always kiss each other when seeing off in the morning and saying goodnight at night. In the morning, it was on the cheek, and at night, it was on the lips. This act inevitably taught Margaret the joy of touching the person she loved.

When she opened her eyes, drawn by the lingering sensation of his lips, Percival was smiling tenderly at her from close range. Recently, he always had this expression after their kiss, and she felt that he looked very happy, surely because she wished for it in her heart.

"Ah… I don't want to go to work."

Margaret couldn't help but chuckle at his sudden complaint and squinted her eyes as she looked up at Percival.

"Will you be late today?"

"No? Even if I'm busy, I'll definitely be back by dinner. I don't like leaving you to eat alone."

"Hehe… Then I'll prepare your favorite dishes for dinner and wait for you, shall I?"

When Margaret said this, Percival smiled wryly and finally left the house, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead just before he went.

"…Really, Lord Percival has become like a disobedient child lately."

Margaret felt her cheeks turn red at Graham's exasperated voice, which had come from behind her. Of course, during the morning send-off, the servants were also present. The thought of being seen every time they had physical contact made her feel so embarrassed that she couldn't stand it.

(As a noble, I know this is normal…)

Embarrassing things are still embarrassing. To cover it up, Margaret took a breath and spoke to Graham.

"Graham, for today's dinner, I'll prepare Lord Percival's favorite—"

"I understand, my lady. However, Lord Percival might be happier with dishes that you like. I'll discuss this with the head chef, shall I?"

Margaret could only manage to say, "…I'll leave it to you," in response to Graham's confident words. After such a mentally exhausting exchange, she returned to her room and found a letter on the table that had arrived that day. She quickly opened the one that caught her eye.

The letter was from Lady Gibney.

After receiving a formal apology for the incident at the tea party, they had been regularly exchanging letters. Lady Gibney, who had become bright and positive as if a curse had been lifted, had become a valuable friend of Margaret's, who had previously only interacted with older women in society.

Reading the letter, the content was about a royal-sponsored ball to be held the following week. The main point was that she wanted to greet Margaret, as she would be attending with her family. This was, of course, not a problem. What troubled Margaret was the presence of Julia, who would also be attending the ball.

(I have to be careful not to let her and Lady Julia meet…)

While thinking this, Margaret recalled the content of the letter from her father, Lord Wordsworth, which had arrived a few days ago. He had started frequently asking about their nightly activities after hearing rumors about her and Percival's relationship. Margaret couldn't help but sigh.

She and Percival had not yet shared a bed. She had thought that it would happen around the six-month mark they had initially set. However, with that deadline approaching—

(There are less than two months left…)

Margaret pressed her hand to her chest. Lately, whenever she thought about the night they would consummate their marriage and she would switch places with Julia, she felt a sharp pain and a sense of helplessness in her heart. This was because she had become aware of her romantic feelings for Percival. The thought of him living a married life with her sister was crushing her.

Those gentle hands, those sweet eyes, that soothing voice—these were things that should have been hers. They were always meant for Julia. She knew this in her head, but it still felt unbearably painful.

(This feeling is jealousy, and I already understand that.)

(…It's already difficult to dream of working as a maid in this house.)

Being near Percival as he interacted with her sister would be too painful. She didn't have the strength to endure it. She couldn't be that strong.

(No matter what, I can't return to the Wordsworth household. It's a genuine hell.)

Just realizing this made Margaret feel fortunate.

(A six-month-long, dream-like married life… I doubt I'll ever feel happier than this.)

She loved Percival. She doubted she could ever love anyone more than him. Therefore, she could never forgive herself for standing beside him when she was not worthy. The end of this relationship, which began with a lie, was approaching.

—Pitter-patter.

Tears suddenly fell from Margaret's eyes, blurring the words on the letter. Since becoming aware of her love, she had lost control over her emotions. She hadn't cried since her mother's death, but now she had become so weak.

(Really… I'm hopeless…)

Wiping away the tears that kept flowing, Margaret covered her face with her hands for a while, as if to comfort herself.