Chapter 8
The Day Summer Ends
When morning came, Leopold, already dressed, once again did what he used to do long ago — he prepared a tray with tea and breakfast and carried it to Rene, who was still lying in bed.
The last time he had tried that, Rene had been so angry that he’d never dared to bring breakfast to her in bed again.
But today was the day he was leaving. So, he thought, it didn’t matter anymore.
Rene quietly lifted the teacup and sipped her tea. Then, right before her eyes, a lovely pink rose appeared — clearly something Leopold had hidden behind his back.
Smiling, Rene accepted the rose from him. When their fingertips brushed, both froze in place, unable to say anything.
While Rene ate, Leopold showered and changed into new clothes.
All summer he’d gone barefoot, so when he fastened his sock garters around his calves for the first time in months, he chuckled at how strange it felt.
After pulling on his socks, trousers, and shirt, he straightened his outfit, put on his vest, then his jacket, pocketed his watch, and grabbed his hat before heading downstairs.
Rene was already in the front hall, modestly dressed, speaking with the coachman.
When she offered her hand, Leopold took it — and pressed a soft kiss on the back of it.
Rene winked and smiled playfully. He liked that look so much that he kissed her hand again. But this time, she only smiled faintly without her eyes lighting up.
“Well then, travel safely. Do well at the academy.”
“Why don’t you come with me?”
“What?”
“At least to the train station. Come with me.”
At his words, Rene shook her head.
“No. Boarding house farewells happen at the front door.”
She answered calmly, pretending it was nothing. But when Leopold took her hand and gently pulled, she understood too well the look in his eyes.
Sighing, she finally draped a thin lace shawl over her shoulders and followed him out.
They sat side by side in the swaying carriage, saying nothing.
Rene lifted her gaze to the trees. The leaves that had shimmered bright green through the summer were now a deeper shade, and the sky above them seemed bluer than before.
Leopold gently took her hand resting on her lap.
Rene turned to look at him, a small laugh almost escaping her lips. She smiled instead. Leopold closed his eyes briefly, smiling softly in return.
Their fingers intertwined, and Rene turned her eyes forward again. But her cheeks trembled slightly — and her vision blurred.
When they arrived at the station, Leopold hopped lightly out of the carriage and turned, offering his hand to help Rene down. She smiled faintly, hesitating whether to open her parasol or not. But it was late August now — the sunlight was warm and pleasant, no longer harsh — so she simply smiled and said,
“Take care, then.”
But Leopold shook his head.
“Come with me to the platform.”
When Rene hesitated, he pleaded again.
“Just a little longer… I want to stay with you a bit more.”
Knowing they would likely never meet again, Rene nodded.
A few minutes later, the train arrived, hissing steam. Passengers disembarked, luggage was unloaded, and new travelers began boarding. A porter carried Leopold’s bags onto the train.
Leopold was one of the last people remaining on the platform. For a long while, he stood facing Rene, and then — just before boarding — he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips.
The moment his warm, full lips parted from hers, Rene burst out laughing.
Leopold saw the tears glimmering on her smiling face, and his own eyes reddened. He quickly bent again and kissed her forehead.
Before anyone could notice, he turned and hurried onto the train. Rene, too, turned at once and began walking away.
She didn’t need to look back to know.
That he was standing at the train door, watching her go.
That his eyes were red — that he was crying.
That he was gripping the door frame, fighting the urge to jump off and run back to her.
The moment she climbed into the carriage that had brought her, she sank into the seat — and the tears she’d held back came pouring out.
And just like that, their summer love was over.
Mr. Jerome, the valet of House Lonaile, was waiting for Leopold on the central station platform.
Only Leopold had occupied the first-class compartment, so he should have disembarked already — yet he hadn’t appeared.
Eventually, Jerome boarded the train and found Leopold sitting in his seat, hunched forward, shoulders shaking as he cried.
“Young master?”
Startled by the servant’s voice, Leopold hastily covered his face with a handkerchief, straightened his back, and composed himself. Then he gave a slight nod and greeted the valet — not forgetting to add his gentle, polite smile.
“It’s been a while, Mr. Jerome.”
The valet, his light brown hair neatly parted, acted as if nothing were amiss and guided Leopold off the train.
Outside, another servant was already loading his luggage into a carriage — a grand black coach bearing a crest adorned with golden leaves, the mark of an imperial family member. People whispered among themselves as they passed.
Today’s train had pulled into Platform No. 1, which was normally closed to the public — reserved only for members of the imperial household. It connected directly to the road so that distinguished passengers could enter their carriages without encountering anyone else.
“It can’t be His Majesty the Emperor, can it? Then perhaps the Crown Prince?”
People murmured curiously, wondering who the special passenger might be. Then someone pointed.
A tall, strikingly handsome young man was walking out, guided by his valet. His elegance drew stares from every direction — and someone whispered:
“Could that be the Grand Duke’s son… the Crown Prince’s heir?”
Under the crowd’s watchful gaze, Leopold walked with poise, not a trace of nervousness or hesitation, following his valet to the carriage. Jerome stepped ahead and opened the door. Leopold climbed in quietly and sat down.
With a long, heavy sigh, he covered his face with both hands.
It was time to return — to where he belonged.
Just as that sweltering summer had passed, a cool autumn followed.
The garden around Rene’s house was now filled with red and golden leaves.
Ordinarily, she would have taken in a new boarder in autumn.
But she had written a letter saying she was not well and couldn’t host anyone this year. Her heartfelt apology had been accepted — though the parents of the young men who’d hoped to stay there were disappointed.
Setting down the book she’d been reading, Rene walked past the bathroom and stopped in front of Leopold’s old room. She opened the door quietly.
The bed he’d slept in was still there. The desk he’d studied at remained untouched.
Inside the drawer was a half-finished letter he had left behind.
Rene closed the door softly and stepped into the bathroom.
In one corner lay the bar of soap Leopold had used — still carrying his scent.
Unable to bear it, she went downstairs and stared at the front door.
There, hanging on the coat rack, was the straw hat with a red-and-white ribbon he had forgotten to take.
She knew she should clear everything away — tidy the house, erase all traces of him, and return to her own life.
But the thought of letting someone else stay in Leopold’s room made her chest tighten, as if a piece of apple had stuck in her throat. She just couldn’t do it.
Only then did Rene realize — she wasn’t ready to let him go.
She still remembered too vividly:
His lips brushing hers again and again.
The way he always found an excuse to walk beside her and take her hand.
His soft gray eyes looking at her with such warmth.
And when she smiled, the way he’d close his eyes just a little and return a bright, boyish smile — so fresh, so beautiful.
Rene wasn’t ready to erase any of that.
Slowly, she returned to her own room upstairs and lay back on the chaise. She picked up her book, but the words wouldn’t sink in. She wiggled her bare toes absently. Then she turned her head — and saw the pile of letters stacked on her desk.
Each envelope bore the postmark of the military academy — and each was addressed in Leopold’s handwriting.
Leopold wrote to her every week.
At first, she ignored them.
But when she didn’t reply, he began sending two letters a week.
The last one she’d read ended with a desperate postscript:
“With all my love, always — Leopold.”
He always ended them the same way.
Rene no longer opened them. She simply stacked them on the desk, one atop another.
The postman now came almost every day, giving her a knowing smile as he handed over the letters. Rene only shrugged.
Everyone in the neighborhood knew about the young lady who ran a boarding house — and how her young tenants sometimes left behind love letters.
But to the postman, who had been delivering to Rene’s home for three years, this young man’s affection seemed unusually intense.
“Would you please return them to the sender from now on?”
At her quiet request, the postman nodded.
