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~Chapter 80~
The moment the door opened, Baron Mackie and his son Percival were already seated on the sofa, waiting.
The baron frowned at his pocket watch, while Percival looked up at the sound of the door with a smile full of anticipation.
Upon spotting Riden, Percival jumped to his feet.
“Riden! At last, you’ve come—”
But his words trailed off. His mouth hung open, frozen.
He couldn’t see half of her face.
Riden lightly touched the frame of the pinhole glasses she had put on.
The pinhole glasses were made of an opaque panel with small holes instead of lenses—ensuring that no one could ever meet the wearer’s eyes.
The view’s a bit cramped, but better a hundred times over than meeting these men’s eyes!
She quickly sized them up.
First, Percival.
Tall and lanky, with a protruding belly. At first glance, he gave the impression of a “harmless young man.”
But the dead-fish gleam in his eyes was unnervingly chilling.
Normally, this would be the moment he gushed, “You’re so beautiful.”
Instead, he struggled before blurting:
“Truly… your forehead and everything below your nose are beautiful.”
He’s determined to compliment me no matter what. Creepy bastard.
Expressionless, Riden turned her face away.
Their smiles faltered at her blatant disregard.
She addressed the baron.
“Did you send word before visiting? I don’t recall receiving any notice.”
“Notice?”
Baron Mackie snorted as he stood.
“What a strange thing to say. Since when does family need notice? Twice now you’ve refused your uncle’s visit, claiming you’re busy with your debutante preparations…”
His gaze lingered on her fine clothing.
“…Wasting the Count and Countess’s fortune on such frivolities. Thoughtless child.”
“Why, Father, I think she looks lovely.”
Percival stepped closer, but Riden smoothly took a step back, keeping her distance.
“Riden, let me tell you why we’re here today. That way, perhaps you’ll lower your guard.”
“Do you mean to keep standing? Sit. And take off those ridiculous glasses.”
“Yes, that’s right. I can’t tell you how long I’ve awaited this moment. Let’s sit and talk properly.”
Riden gave them an openly incredulous look.
“No. I don’t intend to talk long.”
“How insolent…”
The baron eyed her with surprise.
The Riden they remembered was spoiled but unable to argue logically—just a headstrong, frivolous child.
A girl who knew nothing of the world, who only pouted if things didn’t go her way, and cowered the moment someone raised their voice.
That disrespectful tone must have slipped by accident, he reassured himself, before continuing.
“Very well. I’ll keep it short since you’ll hardly understand if I go on. Lately, I’ve heard rumors. That you’ve been seeing a certain young lord of a ducal family.”
So they heard I looked close to the Duke’s heir, perhaps.
Riden delivered the line she always used.
“I only sought the Count’s advice on a legal matter. Gossip is often absurd. Surely you didn’t come here uninvited over mere hearsay?”
The baron’s face twisted as though crushed in a fist, but his son hardly noticed.
Percival beamed.
“I knew it! I never believed such nonsense. We may not have met often, but we’ve known each other since childhood—we share a special bond. Of course I wouldn’t be swayed by rumors.”
The baron studied her expressionless face—well, the lower half visible beneath the glasses.
No flicker of warmth or embarrassment—only cold displeasure.
She wasn’t like this before.
Realizing she wasn’t as easy to manipulate as expected, the baron suddenly wanted to leave quickly.
“In any case, I came to speak formally today, so listen. At your debutante ball, Percival will serve as your cavalier.”
A cavalier—the male counterpart to a chaperone.
In other words, he would attend as her official escort, controlling who she spoke to and danced with.
Riden exhaled sharply through her stuffy nose.
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
“Hmph. You’ve grown very impudent.”
The baron smirked as he rose.
“It’s rude to refuse when an elder offers something for your sake. I’ve said my piece, so I’ll take my leave.”
On his way out, he looked back at his son.
“You must have much to catch up on with Riden. Stay and finish your talk—I’ll wait in the carriage.”
The baron departed, leaving just the two of them.
Riden checked the door.
The estate servants had left it slightly ajar.
Percival approached with a genial smile.
“Riden, do you remember the last time we met?”
“No.”
It hadn’t been in the original story—she had no idea.
Nor did she care to know.
“I remember how kind you were to me. You said you were moved by my piano performance.”
“Oh—I remember now!”
“You do?” His face lit up.
“I said it out of politeness.”
“Politeness?”
His eyes gleamed strangely.
“No, no. It was more than that. I remember the warmth in your gaze. When we walked in the garden, you called it beautiful.”
“Oh, I remember that too.”
“You see—”
“I remember the Count’s garden was beautiful. But I don’t recall you being there.”
Percival tilted his head, baffled.
He had a nasty talent for twisting courtesy and manners into signs of affection.
A terrifying gift, really.
Even if Riden smiled awkwardly or frowned in discomfort, he would interpret it as proof of her love.
There are certain men one must never get entangled with—and it wasn’t the baron.
It’s the son who’s dangerous.
Percival was the sort who, with just eye contact, would imagine three generations together and spin endless fantasies.
That was why Riden’s pinhole glasses—the shield for her eyes—were her last line of defense.
Percival suddenly dropped his head.
Finally giving up?
But he crushed her hope.
“Trying not to show your feelings in order to win over the one you like—that’s such an outdated tactic, Riden.”
“…Hah.”
“You’re more than qualified to be my wife. Show some confidence.”
Please, stop attacking already!
With a satisfied smile, he handed her a teacup.
“How about some tea, to calm your nerves?”
It was tea they had poured in advance, before she entered.
Though served by the estate’s staff, something about it felt wrong.
Riden accepted the cup—only to dump it straight onto the floor.
He’ll get angry, right? Good. Let him. Then I can kick him out.
Instead, Percival clucked his tongue sympathetically.
“Oh dear… so nervous you lost all strength in your hands. Poor Riden.”
He stepped closer as he spoke, and Riden burst out without thinking:
“Stop deluding yourself!”
“Deluding myself?”
His voice trembled.
“But I remember that smile you gave me back at the Count’s estate.”
“…”
“That dark pair of glasses—you wear them because you’re shy. You don’t need to say it. I know.”
Riden shivered. There’s no way to escape this man except to cease existing.
Just then—
“Riden?”
Mari entered, her pink hair swaying as she stepped inside.
“…And who is this?”
Percival’s head snapped toward her.
Don’t meet his eyes!
One smile, and he’d fall into filthy delusions and obsession all over again.
“Mari? You don’t need to greet guests—I can handle it. You should—”
But it was too late.
From the heroine burst a radiant, sunlit smile.
“Oh, I didn’t realize we had a guest.”
She offered Percival a light nod, then quickly crossed to Riden’s side.
In a whisper only Riden could hear, Mari said:
“Riden, this is hard for you, isn’t it?”
“…What?”
“I know his type well. I’ll handle it. It’s too much for you.”
