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Chapter 26
On a bright, sunny day, Count Lockhart, riding in a carriage, grumbled.
“My arm already feels like it’s going to fall off.”
Watching him rub his arm, Britia, seated across from him, scoffed.
“You haven’t even rowed yet.”
“I’m already tired just imagining it.”
Britia found it absurd. Wasn’t he the one who suddenly brought up the idea of a boat ride last night?
“You’re the one who suggested it, and now you’re whining?”
“That’s only because someone never leaves the house and stays cooped up inside all the time.”
The count insisted he didn’t actually want to go and looked exhausted.
“That ‘someone’ never asked you to take them out.”
Britia shot him a sharp glare. The count met her eyes, then smirked.
“Oh, Britia Turas. Does that mean you don’t want to go out unless it’s to see Sig?”
“Who said that?!”
Britia’s eyes widened at his teasing expression.
“When did I ever say that?”
“You didn’t.”
The count tilted his chin as he looked down at his younger sister.
“But I’m your brother. I can tell without you saying it.”
“Unbelievable.”
Annoyed by his smug face, Britia turned her head away.
“Ever since that tea party, you haven’t gone out even once.”
“That’s because no one has invited me since then.”
“The Duchess of Robelli invited you.”
“That duchess is…”
Britia trailed off, frowning.
“She’s fine. But that man named Marcus isn’t.”
“Oh really? So the duchess is fine, but you declined because her nephew might be there?”
“Stop being sarcastic. Do you want me to go there and meet him?”
“Hey! ‘You want me’?”
“Do you want me to marry that man or not?”
“Absolutely not.”
The count snorted, crossing his arms.
“I would never give our girl to trash like that.”
“Then why are you acting like this?”
“Because I’m not stupid enough to miss such a fun chance to tease you.”
“So annoying.”
As Britia snapped, the count burst into laughter.
“If the day ever comes when you say you’ll marry that man…”
He stroked his mustache, then shuddered.
“Just imagining it is horrifying.”
“That will never happen.”
“If it does, you’re definitely possessed. I’ll call a priest immediately.”
“Both of you, stop saying such ominous things,” the countess scolded from beside him. “What if it really happens?”
“Milady, that sounds even more ominous.”
“That’s enough. Don’t tease her about it anymore. Britia will never marry him.”
“That’s right. He doesn’t even like me. He said I’m ugly and too old.”
Britia laughed stiffly.
“Does he have eyes on his backside or something?”
“How dare he!” the countess fumed.
“Exactly!” the count agreed. “What kind of eyes does he have to call our girl ugly?!”
“Let’s stop talking about that man. It feels like bad luck.”
The countess raised a finger to her lips, silencing them.
They all fell quiet, but the image of Britia marrying Marcus lingered unpleasantly in their minds.
“To the Duke of Turas,” Britia suddenly said, trying to change the subject.
“I keep receiving things from him. I should give something in return.”
“What will you give?” the count asked, still frowning at his earlier thoughts.
“A return gift.”
“Ah, good idea.”
“What should I give? What would someone from the north need?”
“The north?”
The count chuckled.
“Oh, Tia. That’s exactly your problem.”
Britia narrowed her eyes.
“Why are you thinking about something he’ll use after he returns north?”
“Well, since he’ll go back soon, it should be useful there.”
“Useful, sure. But what’s the point if he only remembers you after he leaves?”
He sighed.
“You should make your move before he leaves.”
“Make my move?”
“Britia Lockhart, you’re so dense!”
He shook his head.
“Don’t you want to be proposed to?”
Her mouth fell open.
“A proposal? What are you talking about?”
“What’s with that reaction? Like you’ve never even thought about it?”
“Of course I haven’t!”
The count laughed.
“You said Sig was cute.”
“That was just because I was drunk!”
“Oh? So you’ll call a man cute even if you don’t like him?”
“That’s…”
“You flirt!”
“If you saw his tail, you’d understand.”
“So you do think he’s cute.”
The more she spoke, the worse it got. Britia clamped her mouth shut.
The count tried coaxing her, but she stayed silent.
There was no way she was expecting a proposal.
He was a northern duke who tore monsters apart, intimidating and unreadable.
…Though his wagging tail and handmade handkerchief were a little cute.
Still—absolutely not marriage.
Yet the image of a wedding with him kept popping into her mind.
“What are you thinking about? Your face is all red,” the count grinned.
“Maybe I should give him a hairpin… no, that won’t work.”
She changed the subject.
“What about cufflinks? Should we stop by the shops?”
“He gave you a handmade handkerchief, and you’re just going to buy something?”
“My sewing is embarrassing.”
“Since when did you lack confidence?”
“You saw that handkerchief.”
“Well, he’s obviously better than you.”
He shut his eyes.
“Your skills are terrible. I thought I saw flowers from hell.”
The countess nudged him.
“Don’t upset her.”
Too late.
“Then what should I do?!”
Britia snapped.
“Think about it. You can’t do it, but he can.”
He raised a finger.
“Then learn from him.”
“Ask him to teach me sewing?!”
“That’s not troublesome for him.”
“How are you so sure?”
He shrugged, hiding a smile.
“Wouldn’t he be happy receiving something made by someone he taught?”
“…Maybe, but…”
She shook her head.
“That’s too much trouble.”
“Why don’t you trust your brother?”
He crossed his arms.
“Cufflinks sound fine,” the countess intervened gently.
“Give what you want to give.”
In the end, Britia couldn’t decide before they reached the riverside.
“The weather is lovely.”
The count and countess walked arm in arm, with Britia following behind.
They looked unexpectedly sweet together.
“Tia.”
They called her.
She felt a bit guilty—like she was intruding.
“Give me your hand.”
After helping his wife onto the boat, the count reached for Britia.
“I’ve got a great idea.”
She grinned—and untied the rope.
“What are you doing?!”
“Britia!”
“I’m giving you two some private time.”
She pushed the boat away.
As they drifted off, she waved cheerfully.
Satisfied, she walked along the river alone, enjoying the sunshine.
Watching other people boating, she spotted familiar faces.
“Kyra…”
She stopped.
“…Ugh.”
It was that group from the Slanford Marquis’s tea party.
She turned to leave—
“Miss over there.”
The marquis called out.
She tried to ignore it—
“Britia, right?”
Too late.
“Indeed, it is you.”
Her mood plummeted instantly.
Why hadn’t she just stayed on the boat?
