Chapter 11
As soon as the dance with the earl concluded, Olga promptly handed her niece over to the gentlemen with whom she had prearranged appointments. Regardless of her own wishes, Alexa found herself exchanging greetings and dancing with men she had never met before.
She felt like a popular novel in a lending library, claimed by a new owner the moment the previous one returned it. Dragged along without the chance to voice her own opinions, her patience wore thin over time, fraying like the cover of a well-handled book.
Eventually, Alexa decided to take a break for the sake of her aching right foot, which was nearing its limit. Slipping out into the wide corridor connected to the main entrance, she found the jarring clamor of the music softened into a muffled hum.
Spotting a single chair tucked beneath the spiral staircase leading to the second floor, Alexa made her way over and sat down.
The cool outside air mingled with the stuffy warmth of the interior, laced with various perfumes, creating a pleasantly neutralized atmosphere. Alexa stretched out her legs.
I want to go home. Should I ask Dominic?
But the last time she saw Dominic, he had looked terribly busy. Women had surrounded him in a tight circle, refusing to let him go. She hadn’t realized how popular Dominic was in high society. Even the haughty noble ladies employed every classic tactic to secure a dance with him.
Who would’ve thought I’d witness the fan-dropping trick in person?
Recalling Dominic’s bewildered expression as three fans fell at his feet simultaneously, a silly laugh escaped her lips.
Just then, the sound of a group of men talking loudly drifted down from the second floor. Alexa paid no attention to their conversation, instead admiring the indoor decorations. Lately, her interest had been focused on the interior design for Everhart’s new store.
“I can’t fathom what confidence that woman has to return to high society.”
“She’s banking on her adoptive father’s fortune, of course. Isn’t she Harrison Winterborn’s daughter?”
It didn’t take long for Alexa to realize that she was the subject of their conversation.
“It’s surprising enough that a woman from such a family can walk into Silverbell with her head held high.”
“It’s not strange that she’s here at Silverbell. Have you forgotten Countess Bonis’s background? She spent a fortune to become nobility herself. All with her brother’s money, mind you.”
“So the countess is helping her niece out, is she? By the way, hasn’t Miss Winterborn become even more beautiful since her days at the ducal estate?”
“She’s ripened nicely.”
The men, standing directly above Alexa, began to speak more freely. Positioned in their blind spot, she went unnoticed, and they were oblivious to the fact that the person they were discussing was overhearing every word.
“And that dowry of hers—does anyone not know that Belsmeyer renovated the estate entirely with the former duchess’s dowry?”
“There’s no guarantee Alexa Winterborn will bring a dowry as substantial as the former duchess’s.”
“Oh, I’m sure Harrison Winterborn will see to that.”
Their conversation, cloaked in curiosity but dripping with arrogant judgment, laid bare their condescending perspective. Even the men who had been kind to her—might they, too, be disparaging her on that staircase? Alexa’s eyes wavered.
“So who will be the next target of her shopping spree? What about you, Lord Mordway? Are you up for joining this vulgar marriage market?”
“I’ll politely decline. I can’t stand empty-headed women.”
“But she’s clearly been trained to dance properly. And she’s pretty enough not to embarrass you in public.”
“No matter how beautiful the exterior, it doesn’t change the fact that her background and mindset are vulgar. You wouldn’t say you don’t know how many fathers she’s had, would you? Three. Three. Her origins are far from ordinary.”
“It’s not the daughter’s fault that Isabella had so many husbands.”
“But daughters grow up watching their mothers. I’d bet Miss Winterborn takes family values lightly. I guarantee it.”
The mocking tone carried a rigid certainty.
“And Isabella’s third husband was Harrison Winterborn. What could that man have taught her? To drape herself in expensive jewels and pick up scrap metal? To sell smiles cheaply to boost department store sales?”
The men burst into laughter, the sound ringing out loudly, echoing down to the first floor. Alexa suddenly felt as though the temperature around her had plummeted.
There was no reason to endure this humiliation any longer. Yet, it was as if invisible chains bound her ankles, and her legs refused to move.
Another door opened upstairs. Someone approached the men.
“Ah, Duke Belsmeyer.”
A slightly embarrassed voice greeted the duke. The moment Alexa realized the newcomer was Raymond, she shot up from the chair. Her heart pounded fiercely as soon as it registered his presence.
“They’re looking for you inside,” the duke said.
“Is that so? I’ll head in, then.”
The sound of someone leaving. Yet Raymond remained upstairs.
“I’m curious what you were all discussing so merrily. Did I interrupt something?” Raymond asked the remaining gentlemen.
“Not at all! You’re always welcome to join us, Duke.”
“We were talking about Miss Winterborn.”
She shouldn’t listen any further. But curiosity about how Raymond would judge her kept her rooted to the spot, even though she knew he’d likely say something cruel. Alexa pressed her clenched fist to her chest, as if to steady herself.
“You must have seen her up close, living in the same house. You’d have a better judgment than we do. Do you think Miss Winterborn would make a good bride?”
“Is your family’s situation so dire that you’re interested in her kind?” Raymond replied.
“What?”
“Her dowry must seem quite appealing. If you need help, you know you can always come to me, Whitmore.”
His tone carried a mocking edge, disguised as concern. The man who had posed the question to Raymond stammered out excuses, insisting his family was still thriving. But the details didn’t reach Alexa’s ears.
The way he described her was brief and hollow.
Her kind. A woman only useful for attacking or exploiting. Someone who came to seize what he rightfully deserved with money.
There was no need to hear more.
With her legs feeling weak, Alexa dragged herself away from the spot.
For the price of his presumptuous question, Viscount Whitmore broke into a cold sweat and fled to the lounge. The remaining nobles, sensing Raymond might press further, nodded as if to invite more questions before hurriedly dispersing. Raymond watched their pathetic retreat, then turned his head.
Simple, predictable fools.
The intentions of the men who had come all the way out here to gossip about Alexa Winterborn, avoiding him in the lounge, were transparent. They wanted her. They longed more than anything to bask in her beauty, to be saved by the wealth she would bring.
But openly coveting the daughter of Isabella, who had brazenly divorced and remarried, broke the unwritten rules of high society. So they convinced themselves the fruit they couldn’t taste wasn’t sweet.
Was it worth coming back to face this?
Just before the men scattered, Raymond had noticed the hem of a pale purple dress moving in a corner of the first floor. It was clear Alexa had overheard their conversation.
He could picture her wounded expression, her eyes clouded with self-doubt.
The main topic at Silverbell was the audacious return of the former duchess’s daughter. Everywhere, people talked about her. In their stories, Alexa was an impudent upstart who looked down on royalty.
If she’d stayed in her place, she wouldn’t have to hear such things.
Alexa Winterborn had likely had an unpleasant experience from her very first ball. Raymond’s eyes glinted coldly. He descended the staircase with a leisurely stride, heading in the direction where the pale purple hem had vanished.
Not wanting to return to the dance hall and force herself to dance, Alexa slipped into the only empty lounge among several. It happened to have an outdoor balcony. Desperate for fresh air, she stepped out onto the balcony and closed the door behind her.
The breeze brushing her cheeks was cool. Alexa let it soothe the heat that had risen in her face from overhearing the gossip. Next, she removed the painful right shoe.
Lifting her skirt to check, she saw, as expected, that the skin on her pinky toe was scraped raw. She placed her foot on top of the shoe, giving her injured toe a brief respite. The decorative pearls got crushed underfoot, but at least she felt some relief.
Relying on her adoptive father’s bank account, an empty-headed heiress, a vulgar marriage market.
The careless words the men had flung about left scratches on her heart. She was angry that people she’d never even spoken to properly were mocking her and Winterborn. And she felt pathetic for not being able to march up the stairs and confront them.
Below the balcony, the garden, lit by gas lamps, looked desolate. As she gazed down, trying to calm her emotions, Alexa was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the door opening.
It wasn’t until she heard footsteps and the faint strains of the orchestra’s music that she startled and turned around. At that moment, the shoe she hadn’t properly put back on slipped off and fell over the balcony.
She heard it land in the bushes below. Fumbling with her bare foot under the long hem of her skirt, she had to accept that the shoe was gone.
Her face paling, Alexa’s eyes caught a man standing against the light. As he stepped forward from the shadows, his striking green eyes glimmered faintly in the dim light.
“I didn’t know anyone was here. My apologies.”
Raymond Belsmeyer apologized with the formality of someone addressing a stranger. Dressed in a tailcoat with his hair neatly combed back, he looked strikingly like he had when he first arrived at Blainefield House.
Flustered, Alexa stammered, her face betraying her panic.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll leave now. I’ve rested enough.”
I need to retrieve my shoe. Alexa moved toward the door, conscious of whether her skirt was covering her bare foot properly. But Raymond, standing with his back to the door, blocked her path out.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
