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1. The Prince Does Not Come
I had long since passed the age where I might dream of a prince on a white horse. I was an adult now. I had to live in reality.
After all, this body of mine had endured a complicated surgery that a child would never have survived.
At last, I had obtained something like ordinary health.
No longer would I spend more than half the year confined to bed. No longer would a simple walk in the garden leave me bedridden for a week.
Those days of enduring pain, of simply bearing it day after day, were finally over.
I had survived what people called God’s trial. Surely, there was supposed to be a reward waiting for me at the end of it.
And yet, shortly after my nineteenth birthday—
My mother was crying. My father sat with his hand pressed to his brow, head bowed.
“Florence… listen carefully. You… you cannot bear children.”
A few days earlier, I had undergone a series of thorough examinations without being told the reason. And now, summoned by my parents, I was given the answer.
A fatal defect for a noble daughter.
All the marriage proposals from the capital were, of course, immediately broken off.
The peaceful, ordinary future that should have been waiting for me shattered and dissolved like mist in an instant.
Since that day, I had lost all motivation to do anything at all.
I spent my days leaning back on the bench in the conservatory, staring at the dull, overcast sky—like it was reflecting my own heart.
“So this is what they mean by dark clouds gathering…”
I murmured it aloud, and immediately, a troubled laugh came from just behind me.
I turned my head, looking up at the voice as if to scold it.
Standing there with his hands folded behind his back was Stanley. There was more worry in his eyes than I had expected. Feeling a little guilty, I turned forward again.
He had been given a rare day off, yet he had stayed by my side since morning.
“Miss, please be careful with the needle.”
A hand reached in from behind and gently returned the threaded needle I had absentmindedly left on my lap to the pin cushion.
I placed the pin I had been holding beside it as well, then sank back fully into the bench.
“I just… can’t bring myself to do it. Even if I work hard, no one’s going to wear it anyway.”
On my lap lay a piece of white fabric—a dress shirt I had been making for the man who had nearly become my fiancé.
It was no longer needed, but my tutor had insisted I finish it anyway, for practice.
I lifted the fabric, still missing its sleeves.
“My father is too broad-shouldered to alter it now. And if I make one for my brother, I’ll be told to make one for everyone.”
As for the butler, the fabric was a little too youthful for him. If I gave it to some young footman instead, it might lead to awkward rumors.
So it had to be someone young, of reasonable status within the household—someone I could safely give a gift to.
I thought it over… and then looked back.
How foolish. The answer had been right behind me all along.
“You. I’ll give it to you.”
I stood up and held the half-finished bodice in front of Stanley.
From what I could see, our sizes weren’t too different.
Only the collar was a bit… fashionable. A style apparently popularized by the current king, known for his flamboyance. It probably wasn’t to Stanley’s taste.
“I’ll simplify the collar. Please take it.”
I pressed the bodice lightly against his chest. The carefully bleached fabric would make his always faintly shadowed face look a little brighter.
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
“Then… I will gratefully accept it.”
I blinked at him.
With his rigid personality, I had expected him to refuse—something about it being inappropriate for a servant to accept a gift from the master’s daughter.
I had even prepared to force it on him if necessary.
But he had accepted it.
“Good. Then I’ll finish it before the next official engagement is decided.”
I immediately began unpicking the collar I had just sewn, cutting the threads with small scissors.
After a brief silence, Stanley asked quietly,
“…Official engagement?”
“There are proposals, aren’t there? From men older than my father?”
“…And who told you that?”
“It’s been all over the house.”
Apparently, several men had personally come all the way here to passionately make their case. Not just one or two.
I had always been prepared to marry the man my father chose. I had been raised to believe that was simply how things were.
As a noble daughter, it was my duty. My sisters had all married that way.
Even the surgery I underwent… a commoner would never have been given such a chance.
I had not lived my life for political marriage.
And yet, being the only reason my parents had managed to raise me through illness, marrying into a family they chose had become one of the meanings of my life.
If my parents—who had given me this comfortable life—told me to marry some fifty-year-old nobleman, and if that was the only way I could repay them, then I had to accept it.
I sighed deeply.
“…I wonder if a prince on a white horse might come and take me away.”
I wasn’t a child anymore, yet I still said such foolish things.
And yet Stanley did not laugh.
“If you were taken away, I believe your father would send the army to retrieve you.”
I could almost see it.
I shrugged dramatically.
“So noble daughters can’t even be kidnapped in peace.”
It must have been a joke too far. Stanley narrowed his eyes slightly in mild reprimand, so I tilted my gaze upward toward the sky instead.
Beyond the polished glass ceiling was the early spring sky that refused to clear.
“Well, it can’t be helped. Life will be what it will be.”
“That is your catchphrase,” he said.
Only then did I realize—it really was something I often said.
“What an optimistic personality,” he added.
“I think it’s one of your good qualities, Miss.”
I laughed, even though I had meant it self-deprecatingly.
Well, if he said so, perhaps I would accept it.
“Life will be what it will be.”
“It will be what it will be.”
“Yes, it will.”
Because Stanley had stayed by my side all day, I had not fallen too deeply into despair.
I was just thinking of inviting him for tea when a voice called from behind me.
“Lady Florence.”
It was Aisha, the maid who looked after me, standing at the conservatory door.
“The master requests your presence in his study.”
I tilted my head slightly.
It was rare for my father to call me during work.
I glanced at Stanley, and he smiled faintly, tilting his head.
“What could it be…”
I returned the sewing basket, and together we made our way to the study.
The closer we got, the heavier the unease became.
In fact, it was only getting worse.
Standing before the door, I hesitated for a moment, then finally knocked softly.
“It’s Florence.”
“Come in.”
The reply came immediately—slightly stiff.
I exhaled quietly.
At the very least, it was not going to be a pleasant conversation.
I looked up at Stanley.
“Stanley, when I’m done speaking with my father, let’s have tea. Stay with me.”
“As you wish. I will be here.”
I nodded, then pushed open the door—heavier than it felt before—with both hands.
