Maylily - Chapter 28

“…Yes, Count.”

Answering softly, Maylily lowered her arms with a tense face and straightened her posture.

The fabric pressing against her full chest was pulled tight several times by his unrestrained hands. Each time, the shameful expression of Maylily in the mirror, biting her lips to stifle her moans, was calmly admired by Hugh.

At last, the final hook was fastened.

“Thank—”

“Wait.”

Just as Maylily, who had been waiting for this moment, hurried to turn around, the Count held her shoulders and took a purple velvet case from his coat pocket. Inside was a necklace made of several strands of small pearls, its center adorned with a sapphire pendant encircled by diamonds.

When the Count fastened it around her neck, Maylily’s eyes widened as she turned toward him.

“This is… far too much for me, Count.”

“Is it not time you grew accustomed to such excess?”

Lightly brushing the edge of the necklace, the Count lowered his lips askew toward Maylily’s white shoulder. His words and actions urged her to acknowledge and accept the changes happening in their relationship.

No, I cannot. I must not!

Maylily shook her head slightly and stepped back. But already, from the place the Count’s lips had grazed, a flush of heat had bloomed and spread across her face, and there was nothing she could do about it. As she opened and closed her mouth soundlessly in confusion, the man quietly looking down at her gave a small laugh.

“I’ll wait in the sitting room. Finish and come.”

***

The evening sky, leaving behind only a faint trace of light in the west, was deep blue without a single cloud. Below it, Maylily’s eyes glittered brightly, filled with the countless streetlamps stretching at regular intervals from the Fez River to the city center.

“Wow…. It feels like the whole city has become one enormous stage.”

The place with a view of Aberque’s splendid nightscape was a suite on the seventh floor of the Skaard Hotel, remodeled into a private space for Hugh to spend his leisure or rest during work.

Choosing this as the dining place instead of the restaurant on the hotel’s first floor was to avoid the attention of the press, who were feverishly competing to uncover the future Countess of Everscourt. It would be troublesome if Maylily’s identity were to appear in the newspapers at this time, leaving a clue for Victor Heywood.

In the sitting room, with a table brought in, covered with a white cloth, and surrounded by flowers and lights, the atmosphere was that of a fine restaurant. When the staff had served the head chef’s special dishes and quietly withdrawn, the meal began.

Unfolding her napkin quietly and placing it on her lap, Maylily studied the utensils before her as if searching for the right answer on an exam paper, then carefully picked up the outer fork and knife. Hugh, savoring his wine leisurely, observed her.

Her motions of changing utensils with each course, the way she held her wineglass—everything was clumsy, yet unmistakable. It overlapped with the image of Maylily herself, transparent to the point of awkwardness, in contrast to her body, which moved as though properly trained in etiquette.

An innocence like a natural disposition not easily changed by education. As always, it was refreshing. Every woman Hugh had seen until now had been practiced in hiding and embellishing themselves.

“Where did you learn table manners?”

At Hugh’s question, asked as he set down his wineglass, Maylily stopped with her fork midair and looked up. She quickly swallowed the food puffing her cheeks and answered.

“I took etiquette lessons when I was in music school. But that was already several years ago, so I reviewed with a book… Did I make a mistake?”

Hugh shook his head lightly with a faint smile. “You are doing well. It’s pleasant to see.”

“Thank you for saying so.”

At Hugh’s cool compliment, Maylily smiled shyly, her cheeks tinged with pink. Gazing at her quietly, Hugh wetted his lips with wine and shifted the topic.

“Did your relatives leave well?”

“Yes, thanks to your consideration, Count. They were so delighted, saying it was the first time they had ever seen such a fine house.”

Maylily chattered on about her time with her family. Unlike her usual manner of speaking simply and briefly, she chirped like a small bird, which was quite endearing but gave the impression of her forcing herself unnaturally. As though trying at all costs to deny what had happened in the bedroom before coming here.

If it were not that, if she were instead deliberately trying to win his favor for some purpose, then Hugh might well have been willing to indulge such a sly attempt. For the moment, he chose to watch where this conversation would lead.

“Do your relatives visit often?”

“No, this was the first time.”

“Other family?”

“…None. My grandfather raised me from when I was very young, but he passed away when I was thirteen. After that, my aunt took care of me.”

Though it was not a particularly pleasant subject, her words—marked faintly with the northern accent, a somewhat slow tempo, and a clear tone—were as sweet as a gentle song. Finding it pleasing to hear, Hugh asked questions about Maylily indiscriminately, whether he already knew the answers or not.

“When did your parents pass away?”

“My mother died not long after giving birth to me.”

“And your father?”

At the Count of Everscourt’s casual question, Maylily hesitated.

A bastard of unknown origin.

It was the label she had always carried in her hometown, with no reason to hide it now. Yet, strangely, she felt reluctant to expose that truth to the Count.

“…He passed away before I was born.”

So she chose to be a child who had lost her father rather than one abandoned by him, at least in the eyes of this noble man who always shone like the sun. That way, perhaps, she would appear a little less pitiful.

“My condolences.”

The Count of Everscourt’s dry reply, as he stared intently at Maylily, carried no trace of vague sympathy. For that reason, Maylily was able to smile without difficulty.

“It’s all right, because I was loved by my grandfather and my aunt.”

“Was it your mother who gave you your name?”

“No, my grandfather. My birthday is May fifteenth.”

In Riverton, May fifteenth was Lovers’ Day, when couples exchanged lilies of the valley as tokens of each other’s happiness.

“It may have been a simple reason to receive my name, but even so, I like it.”

“So do I.”

“…Pardon?”

“That name is beautiful. It suits you well.”

“Ah…”

At the sudden compliment, Maylily let out a dazed sound of wonder. Watching her, the Count laughed silently. The slight curve at the end of his straight red lips, the deep, long dimple that formed beneath the sharp cut of his cheekbone—it was all so striking that her heart raced.

“Th-thank you.”

Barely managing to voice her reply, Maylily, flustered, forgot her manners and grasped the bowl of her wineglass to take a sip. The deep, rich fragrance of fruit spread through her mouth and heated her face.

Every dish on the table was a delicacy she would never normally even glimpse, and she wanted to eat her fill, but she could no longer bring herself to swallow.

Setting down the fork she had been pointlessly fiddling with, Maylily looked at the Count. Meeting his unwavering gaze, fixed on her as if he had been watching her all along, her heart thudded once again. Clenching her faintly trembling fingertips into a tight fist, she slowly opened her mouth.

“In truth, I wanted to use this occasion to thank you properly. I realized I had never given you proper thanks for your patronage…”

“To think I would live to hear words of thanks from you, when once you rejected my patronage with tears. I’m moved.”

“Even if I didn’t want it, I shouldn’t take what you have done for me for granted.”

Though she felt a small pang of resentment at the Count for bringing up the past mischievously in such a serious moment, Maylily didn’t lose her courtesy.

“To repay your goodwill with success, I’m striving with all my strength to become a singer. I attend every personal lesson faithfully, and just yesterday, my instructor told me my singing improves by the day. I also study Cartian whenever I can, and moreover… I have kept every promise I made to you.”

At Hugh’s sly tilt of his head, Maylily lowered her gaze and added, “The matter of managing my private life. As you know, it’s not desirable for a female singer to cause scandal with her personal affairs. It could have a negative effect on my career…”

Despite her tense face, Maylily continued speaking resolutely, one point after another. Listening for a while, Hugh soon realized why she was striving so hard to appease him.

“…I wanted, at least once, to tell you with what resolve I step onto the stage each time. Because, aside from my family, you are the only one who supports my success.”

The woman was pleading, begging, persuading him to remain her upright patron. Earnestly yet impertinently, innocently yet brazenly.

But Maylily, what shall I do? Your success is of no interest to me.

As Hugh concealed his inner thoughts behind a faint smile, Maylily’s eyes shone more brightly than at any moment that evening. She could never have imagined that those eyes, sparkling with pure hope and yearning, only provoked the opposite effect.