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Chapter 20
Although Betty had accepted the Empress’s suggestion, in truth, she had no idea what she was supposed to do as a so-called “conversation partner” by the time she stood before the Marquis’s household.
Still, the Marquisate’s residence—smaller and quieter than expected—had a certain calmness to it.
It was a completely different atmosphere from the grand and lofty ducal mansion.
Betty thought she could finally understand where the Empress’s composed and elegant aura came from.
Lost in thought as she studied the mansion’s exterior, Betty nearly missed the words of the approaching butler.
“Excuse me, may I ask which noble family you are from…?”
“Please, no need for such formality. I’m Betty, from the Ducal House of Charte. I believe Her Majesty the Empress sent word in advance.”
“Ah, so you are Lady Beatrice. Please, come inside.”
The name that flowed from his lips felt unfamiliar—like clothes that didn’t belong to her.
‘Well, I am wearing clothes that don’t belong to me.’
It wasn’t surprising the butler had initially mistaken her for a noble.
After all, Betty was dressed in Vivian’s clothes.
‘I can’t afford to be disregarded. Besides, I wasn’t hired here as a maid, so it wouldn’t make sense to wear a maid’s uniform.’
Vivian, coming from the highly esteemed Prowell family, didn’t even consider the possibility of being ignored. She acted as though even if she were disregarded, she would never be in a position where she couldn’t voice her dissatisfaction.
‘Don’t argue, just wear this tomorrow. These days, it’s not too rare for commoners to graduate from the Academy and work as aides or tutors in noble households. Just think of it like that. Honestly, with your ability, you could have graduated if you had gone.’
With no choice, Betty had selected the plainest outfit from Vivian’s wardrobe.
Vivian, who had become quite enamored with dressing Betty up, looked displeased.
But because Vivian’s taste leaned toward the extravagant, even her plainest clothes seemed excessive on Betty.
The skirt was neat enough, but the puffed sleeves and oversized brooch were almost burdensome.
“This way, please. I will take you to the Madam.”
Despite knowing exactly who she was, the grey-haired butler remained courteous as he led Betty deeper into the residence.
They passed through a lonely but well-kept back garden and entered an annex, where in the spacious drawing room sat the Marchioness Dowager of Prowell.
She was reading a newspaper at the table.
Next to her, holding a tray and looking lost, stood the same young maid from before.
“Madam, Lady Beatrice has arrived, as Her Majesty the Empress mentioned.”
But the Marchioness did not answer. She continued to stare fixedly at the newspaper on the table, as though entirely absorbed.
“Sh-shall I clear away the tea, Madam?”
“Wait a moment.”
From the way the Marchioness tilted her head and frowned at the newspaper, Betty quickly realized what was wrong.
The maid clearly misunderstood, thinking the Madam was in a bad mood.
But Betty could tell the truth: the tiny print was simply too hard for the older woman to read, and it was irritating her.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Betty thought the maid was on the verge of dropping the tray and smashing the teapot and cups. She took the silver tray from her and quietly set it on the table.
“This article says that the play Roxelon has become wildly popular and is creating a new craze in the capital.”
She had only skimmed the text, but it was enough to grasp the gist.
“I know. I was just reading that part.”
The lady pursed her lips in displeasure. Clearly, she didn’t want to admit that her eyesight had grown too poor to read comfortably.
At last, she set the paper down and looked up at Betty.
“Now that I think of it, you are…”
“Betty, Madam. We met before in the palace, and I gave you my name.”
“I may be old, but my memory is not that poor. Don’t just stand there—sit down. Don’t make me look up at you.”
Betty quickly sat across from her. Almost immediately, she met the butler’s gaze.
He looked slightly surprised, then inclined his head respectfully toward Betty before quietly gesturing to the maid to withdraw.
When the sound of their retreating footsteps faded, the only noise left was the rustling of the Marchioness turning pages.
Rather than try to speak, Betty chose to fill the empty teacup, lifting the teapot.
At that moment, the Marchioness abruptly lowered the newspaper and said,
“My eyes are weary. You read this article aloud.”
“Would you like me to read the entire paper for you?”
The Marchioness gave a noncommittal hum and turned her gaze toward the window.
Taking that as permission, Betty unfolded the paper and began reading carefully.
For a long while, only Betty’s voice filled the drawing room.
“…It is believed that the political situation in Arken is rapidly changing.”
When she finished a short piece about a northern kingdom, Betty set the newspaper down—only to find the Marchioness watching her intently.
“Did the young lady have no objection to your coming here?”
“…It’s her day off today.”
Vivian hadn’t objected at all—quite the opposite. She had found the situation more amusing than Betty herself did. But Betty kept that to herself.
“Then come again at this time next time.”
With that, Betty was dismissed.
On her way out, she asked the butler whether she had been turned away so quickly because she displeased the Marchioness.
But the butler answered kindly with a smile.
“If the Madam asked you to return, that means she was very pleased. She is the sort of person who dismisses most noble young ladies outright, so you needn’t worry.”
When Betty returned to the ducal house, she repeated every detail to Vivian without leaving out a single word.
Vivian immediately agreed with the butler’s assessment.
“The Marchioness Dowager of Prowell cuts off conversations the instant she dislikes someone.”
“Really?”
“Of course. You have a living witness right in front of you.”
Vivian shrugged, pointing to herself with the spoon she’d been using to eat pudding.
“So stop worrying and eat your pudding. It’s delicious.”
She gestured with her chin toward the untouched pudding in front of Betty, leaning lazily back in her chair as if nothing could trouble her.
Normally, Betty would never be allowed to sit side by side with a noble young lady to share dessert.
But Vivian disliked talking to people who just stood around, so she had insisted Betty sit opposite her.
“Then, when the time feels right, I’ll make sure to say something nice about you to the Madam.”
“…You actually took that seriously? That was a joke—just a joke.”
Vivian laughed, shaking her head.
“I guarantee there are far more noble girls the Madam dislikes than those she approves of. It’s not that I’m especially hated.”
“Now that you say that, I feel even more nervous.”
Which only deepened Betty’s puzzlement—why, out of all people, would a strict noblewoman like the Marchioness take a liking to a commoner like her, who didn’t even know proper noble etiquette?
“You’re kind.”
“…What?”
Vivian’s expression was unusually serious—so much so that Betty knew she wasn’t joking this time.
But that only made it harder for Betty to understand her intentions.
“You don’t put on airs to impress anyone. You’re considerate and thoughtful just as you are. The Madam must like that about you. So just keep acting according to your own heart.”
* * *
Whether Vivian’s words were true or not, Betty’s visits to the Marquisate of Prowell went smoothly afterward.
A few days later, instead of the newspaper, the Marchioness asked her to read books aloud. Soon after, she began asking Betty to draft short letters.
“Write that I regret to say I cannot attend the gathering.”
“Yes, Madam. And what shall I do with this invitation?”
“Write something similar, but different. Polite, yet firm. By now you know how to manage.”
At first, the Marchioness watched closely, often scolding her to phrase things more elegantly.
But once Betty quickly caught on and chose her words with tact, she stopped correcting her.
‘It feels like I’m learning noble etiquette…’
Indeed, the Marchioness’s instructions often seemed less like orders and more like lessons in the refined manners of high society.
Perhaps old habits of teaching still lingered, surfacing out of routine.
In any case, Betty soon grew accustomed to pleasing even the exacting Marchioness Dowager of Prowell.
