Chapter 23
“Snowball”:
Liri found him without much difficulty. He shone wherever he went, and she followed him like a sunflower turning toward the sun.
The elegantly dressed man, whose suit always reached the neck, didn’t look out of place even in a medieval noble costume.
―“You have your duty, and I have my goal. Return. Go back to your homeland.”
―“If you return to me what you took away, I will go back to Hagen as you wish.”
―“H-How can you ask me to return a heart I never accepted?”
Liri realized that watching a play in which a pitiable young lady barely speaks her lines while trembling, alongside a male actor with rich projection and precise diction, was far more grueling than she’d expected.
She covered her mouth as she looked at the fragile heroine who barely managed to speak her lines beside the man who delivered his lines effortlessly.
It was impossible to say who was worse—the relaxed, commanding male actor or the stiff, petrified young lady on stage.
Timothy whispered into Liri’s ear as he watched her recite the lines carefully under her breath.
Had Liri been a noblewoman, she might have used a fan to hide the scene, but she neither had the means nor the reason. Consequently, their whispered conversation seemed utterly conspicuous. A nearby noble frowned as he alternated his gaze between them.
“Liri, why are you so restless? If you roll off your seat like this, tomorrow’s paper won’t report on the orphanage fundraiser play—it’ll report on you.”
Timothy observed Liri’s excited face. Even in the dim light, her skin was whiter than a dove, and her blush redder than a rose.
Since when had Liri become so invested in theater?
Timothy thought it an unexpected taste, and simply watched the stage.
The man on stage was excessively graceful. Tall like an actor with a striking jawline, his arrogant gaze didn’t resemble a betrayed Asceled in love—it seemed closer to his powerful father.
―“My witch, I will go to hell with you.”
“My witch, I will go to hell with you. Wow! He didn’t mess up his line! Timothy, did you see that?”
“Why would you think a noble would flub his lines?”
Until now, Timothy had assumed Liri’s fascination with theater came from a naive fantasy born of never having seen one. Tragic romances could captivate a young woman’s imagination.
Yet Liri’s gaze was fully fixed on the man who drank the poisoned cup.
“Well… he messed up every time we practiced, though?”
As Asceled’s role exited the stage, Liri turned to Timothy with an elated expression. Her eyes sparkled like sapphires in the dark.
“You practiced with this man who played Asceled?”
Liri straightened herself proudly.
“It’s thanks to me that he recites his lines so well. I even feel a little awe.”
While Liri placed her hand over her chest, overcome with emotion, Timothy’s mood gradually sank.
He tried to recall the man who had already disappeared from the stage. He seemed familiar, yet he couldn’t quite place him.
It wasn’t surprising that Timothy didn’t know him. Christopher Archibald Belmore avoided public appearances in the media. He hated having his face printed in news articles, and Timothy was still a rookie journalist.
―“Thank you all. I hope you enjoyed your time.”
During the final curtain call, the man on stage smiled with a neatly shaved face and scanned the audience. Timothy had the sense that his gaze lingered briefly in their direction.
“Liri, shall we go outside?”
More than anything, Timothy had something urgent to do. He needed to contact one of the members of the House of Nobles.
“Why? Is it time to go now?”
The large, antique clock above the stage already pointed to eight. Liri nodded at Timothy’s awkward smile.
“We probably won’t see the next act. We’ll have to leave halfway. If we skip dinner, the question of life or death won’t be Hamlet’s dilemma—it’ll be mine.”
“Sorry, Timothy, I didn’t realize it would get this late.”
It was Christmas Eve. Timothy had a family to return to, and Liri had a place to stay.
“Timothy, I didn’t know plays could be this fun.”
“I’ll show you a real play next time, Liri.”
“Please say it’s a different play. This one felt fake.”
“It’s a play to support the orphanage. It’s really just a social gathering for the nobles. Not professional actors.”
Liri’s delight at such a mediocre play moved Timothy, and he unfairly blamed the stage itself.
“But it was fun. Helping those in need… not all nobles are as cold-blooded as Lord Belmore.”
Timothy hesitated to respond to her innocent comment. A gentleman nearby nodded toward him.
“Stay right here. Don’t wander. Wait exactly here.”
After giving her a caution as if watching a child by the water, Timothy disappeared.
Through the beautiful stained-glass windows, white snow poured endlessly—a magnificent view.
Rufus sighed as if speaking to himself. He was organizing flower baskets delivered in front of Lord Belmore’s private lounge.
“Rufus Ollivander.”
Christopher called in a low voice. Startled, Rufus instinctively shielded the bouquets with his body. If faces were hidden, young ladies often took bold liberties.
Priscilla, Laura, Jane… the bouquets, adorned with faithful names, were lavish displays of affection toward Belmore.
“I won.”
Rufus paused his work and looked up. The Prime Minister had successfully been reelected. Though there had been opposition within the Galliard faction, Belmore’s lobbying had evidently worked, and John Hobart won by a large margin.
Luck always followed Lord Belmore; prosperity came easily to him.
Though there was reason to be pleased, the cigar in his mouth revealed no emotion.
“Congratulations, sir. Now the world is yours. Miss Cecil is here too, so you can congratulate her immediately. Why didn’t you invite her to the box?”
“It was too close to call. Many thought Phil Gordon looked pitiable.”
Calm, but with a slight furrow of his brows, he treated the matter as if dealing with something distasteful.
“You’ll attend the party, won’t you? The Evans couple will surely want to speak, at least because of their daughter.”
Christopher shook his head. Superficial conversations were meaningless. What did it matter how much money the orphanage collected this year? He had already sent unfortunate orphans to the countryside without a second thought.
“It’ll just be noisy. Gossip about when Cecil Hobart will marry, nothing more. I’m too tired for business talk tonight.”
Even for an arranged marriage, his words were coldly blunt.
Rufus wanted to advise him, risking some impertinence, but someone knocked sharply on the door.
Knock. Knock.
“Lord Belmore, may I come in?”
It was Cecil.
Hearing her bright voice outside the door, Rufus was startled. He tensed, worried she might have overheard everything, but his master seemed unfazed.
“Tell her to enter.”
Rufus opened the door politely. Cecil stepped in, wearing a yellow dress embroidered with daffodils, as if spring had come early.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you? Will the orphanage at least get butter on their bread this year?”
“Thanks to your generous contribution, miss.”
After Cecil’s small planned party failed, she had been obsessed with a story worthy of the newspaper.
“No one has ever donated so much to the orphanage.”
Cecil shook her head modestly at Christopher’s words.
“I must set an example. But I didn’t come here just to say such obvious things.”
She nodded and held up a small note. Though Christopher already knew the result, he showed no reaction.
“I wanted to deliver this myself, so I took the liberty of coming.”
Cecil unfolded a hastily written note “In the Queen’s Name.”
It was a telegram confirming the Prime Minister’s successful reelection.
“Congratulations, miss.”
“It’s a celebration for all of us,” Cecil corrected herself. She glanced over the flower bouquets and baskets in the room—young ladies from families whose names and faces she knew.
‘Quite a lot of effort for an amateur actor.’
These were from proper noble families, not crumbling ones. Handsome, accomplished, and without flaw—many women would line up to marry him.
Even Priscilla, famed for her beauty, or the Evans family, with their vast foreign mines, would be passed over. He was marrying Cecil for one reason: her father.
‘But once he knows about me, none of that will matter.’
Cecil had worked tirelessly to become the perfect wife. She didn’t neglect charitable deeds and even bought expensive horses to attract his attention.
Though her efforts had never been rewarded, she no longer cared.
Her father’s reelection meant her marriage to Belmore was imminent.
