~Tpmma 04~

Chapter 4

Tristan bit the edge of his glass, recalling the first drinking gathering of January.

At the tedious royal New Year event, he had escaped to meet friends, raised his glass, and shouted:

“This year, I’ll finally get away from Dory Redfield!”

It didn’t seem difficult. The engagement had long been neglected. If he involved some suitable noble lady and pushed it with her family, he expected the royal house and the Redfields would give up on the match before it became a bigger nuisance.

But by the time the social season began…

Something started going wrong.

Something he couldn’t even tell his oldest friends.

Alex refilled his brandy and asked,

“Why that expression? Is breaking the engagement going to be difficult?”

“…….”

“They say Maria Meyer finally accepted a dance. That woman doesn’t have the courage to accept a prince, but she’s so beautiful that a scandal could be made to intimidate your fiancée—”

“No, that’s not it.”

The brandy glass clinked sharply against the table. Only then did Tristan continue,

“More importantly, why ask me this so early in the season? Could it be that my business is being discussed as gossip in the salon?”

“I can’t say it isn’t. Everyone knows you’re not fond of your fiancée.”

“Ha, now even my friends betray me.”

“Remember how many times you betrayed me to Her Majesty the Queen back when you were roaming over the walls?”

“…….”

Tristan let out a small laugh.

Yes, the beautiful life of the royal family exists to be admired and gossiped about. He could let them nibble at this much.

“Maria will give in soon. Bet on me succeeding.”

“Yes, I trust you.”

“But do those salons allow rigged bets?”

“If Madame Abigale catches you conspiring, you’ll be expelled. But love isn’t decided by conspiracy, right? Even with your status, the only thing you could do was dance once with Maria.”

“…….”

Apparently, this fellow didn’t believe Tristan would succeed in seducing Maria.

Tristan smiled wolfishly.

“Forget the salon bets. Next spring, if I don’t marry the most beautiful woman, I’ll give you half my fortune and crawl naked to the Redfield estate.”

“Won’t you get shot at the Redfield estate then?”

“I’d rather die naked than choose the worst marriage.”

Their meaningless conversation ended soon after, as a group of other guests entered the club. Alex, already bored of card games, cleared his things and left.

A servant set a cigar and ashtray before Tristan, then stepped back. Tristan only clicked the cigar cutter—he couldn’t bring himself to smoke.

A question he couldn’t voice to Alex circled in his mind:

“Nothing happened for five years. So why has Dory Redfield’s attitude suddenly changed?”

Regarding this engagement, the parties’ behavior had always been consistent, but in opposite directions.

Tristan had always ridiculed and loathed it.

He had reason to. The engagement was essentially the leftover of five years ago, when the Redfield family tried to marry their second daughter to the First Prince and failed.

A union of surplus assets from each family.

Every time it was mentioned, Tristan felt as though he was being told, “You’re expendable to the royal family.”

Was it unreasonable anger? Perhaps, but the engagement itself, made without the consent of the involved parties, was unreasonable from the start.

At 18, Tristan had resolved during the first engagement dinner to break it—if necessary, humiliating the lady.

But when he faced the 16-year-old Dory Redfield, he couldn’t insult her; he couldn’t say anything. She trembled like a newborn chick—so small, fragile, and delicate that any sneeze might knock her over.

So he swallowed his harsh words and offered only a perfunctory greeting—but she was not as weak as he had imagined.

For five years, Dory stayed by Tristan’s side.

Even if he acted rudely, ignored her at parties, skipped her tea parties, or didn’t give a single bird during hunting season…

She was like a lily standing tall and straight, repeating, “Engagements are sacred,” always looking his way.

“Does she think she’s a nun or something?”

But playing hide-and-seek with a “nun” was not his style.

That New Year, determined to end the engagement this year, Tristan deliberately brought up the topic among friends, preparing for a decisive move. His first step was firmly telling his fiancée not to expect any dance invitations.

“Live freely?”

How ridiculous.

Tristan expected Dory to respond like a court priest with white hair, “Do not speak lightly of engagements; Heaven is watching.”

“Then I would say, ‘What a nun-like speech, I cannot marry a nun,’ to make her lose interest!”

Why had her attitude suddenly changed?

He didn’t know.

When did it change…?

“There’s a clue.”

At the Redfield family’s spring tea in March, Tristan noticed that Dory seemed nervous, like a stray cat dragged to a tea party. She even made minor mistakes that caused the Countess to sigh openly.

That day, the Countess and Dory’s mother left to look at the garden. Bored, Tristan played with the Count’s pet dog while the maids chased flying tablecloths.

Dory Redfield—the lady regarded as the most elegant in the capital—

…desperately reached out to catch a falling meringue cookie as if rescuing a baby bird, then popped it directly into her mouth.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

Reaching for falling food? Eating it before it touched the ground?

A napkin soon covered the scene, so Dory probably didn’t even realize Tristan had seen it.

When the napkin storm cleared, she sat across the table, unconcerned, with crumbs on her lips.

Even thinking back now, it was absurd.

A lady of the Count’s house—and the prince’s fiancée—doing this?

“She pretended to be the very embodiment of etiquette. But somehow, it was cute…”

“Cough, cough, cough!”

Tristan’s thoughts startled him, and the brandy went down the wrong way.

A servant rushed over.

“Are you all right, Your Highness?”

“Cough—cough!”

His throat burned. Tristan couldn’t drink the water the servant brought. If he did, he might choke again.

“What’s wrong with me? Am I crazy?”

Finding her behavior cute despite it being flagrantly improper—what a terrible thought.

“She’s hardly a cute type.”

Her dull, washed-out carrot-colored hair had looked passable in sunlight that day. And when her normally stubborn green eyes sparkled proudly as she grabbed the cookie—sure, it caught his attention. He even thought about touching her peachy cheeks.

Imagining her face made his heart beat faster, like recalling a scary story.

Tristan came to a quick conclusion.

“The engagement lasted too long. No wonder just thinking about her makes me squirm.”

At the last party, every glance from Dory made his heart pound. He certainly hadn’t been excited; he had tried to avert his eyes quickly to hide that he didn’t want to face her.

“Five years bound. Being teased by Alex for getting attached… that ends now!”

For a better future.

Muttering this, Tristan downed the rest of his brandy.

Early April. The debutantes marked the start of the social season. Wealthy people competed to host parties and expand their networks. It was both duty and right for ladies to attend.

But for someone introverted like me, it was simply exhausting.

I spoke to my aunt, the chaperone, as usual:

“Aunt, the Prince won’t be at this party, right? Is it okay for me to come alone with a fiancée?”

“Of course. Accept a dance if anyone asks. The Prince should hear that you’re not unpopular!”

He doesn’t care about that!

And if no one asks me to dance?

Before I could voice that self-esteem–crushing question, my aunt sighed.

“And… in case the Prince eventually abandons you, shouldn’t you at least find one good man?”

“…….”

“Good luck.”

Her words made me a little emotional, but she then slipped back into her friends’ group. She came to help me, right? Not just to use me as an excuse to attend.

Well, it’s comforting.

I headed straight for the dessert table.

Of course, I wasn’t just eating.

“I can’t escape the social scene, so I should adapt first.”

I recalled some passages from modern European history books. Initially, I memorized faces.

At the entrance, servants announced each guest. Those familiar with the newcomer advanced; those on bad terms hid in the crowd.

Observing human relationships was amusing.

The music had changed twice, and some ladies who just finished dancing ran giggling to the next table.

Soon, gossip started.

“An unpopular man is really troublesome! Even after accepting one dance, he asks if we can dance next?”

“Oh, the nerve! That’s basically asking a lady, ‘You’re unpopular enough to have your next dance unclaimed, right?’”

“Exactly! He’s really unpopular, but not unapproachable.”