Maylily - Chapter 43

“Then why were you sneakily digging into me?”

Only then did the Count of Everscourt close the remaining distance, standing before Maylily with a mischievous smile, tilting his head. His face looked thoroughly amused.

To put her in such a predicament. Truly, he was wicked.

“Digging into you? Th-that’s not it.”

“Then what was it I saw?”

“I was just….”

Maylily faltered, unable to think of a proper answer, and the Count urged her with a steady gaze. Her lips, which had been fidgeting helplessly along with her fingers, pressed together as if making a big decision, then slowly opened.

“Count, I….”

Her heart thumped so wildly it carried tremors into her voice. Even so, Maylily chose honesty over clumsy excuses.

“If you were to offer a little in return, it would make me very happy.”

If this was the kind of return the Count had meant, she wanted to meet that expectation, even a little.

“I was curious.”

Her voice, small but clear, carried her cautious sincerity.

As if savoring her words, the Count slowly closed and opened his eyes. His lips spread wide, revealing white, even teeth. At the same time, his bluish-gray eyes sparkled transparently beneath his languidly lowered lashes.

So he could smile like this.

In the pleasant wave drawn in the air by his low, gentle laughter, Maylily saw a smile that was innocent, free of any pretense or formality.

The Count was simply happy at Maylily’s interest.

That truth, revealed on his breathtakingly beautiful face, finally overflowed the fragile swell in Maylily’s heart.

While she quickly sank into that tide from her toes upward, the Count composed his expression and brushed his thumb along her flushed cheek.

“If that’s the case, then use me. That’s the simplest and surest way.”

Windays Park, about a ten-minute walk from the city library, was a favored promenade for nobles.

But like the streets of Aberque in the morning, it was sparsely populated at that hour. It was the perfect place for a walk away from prying eyes.

The Count of Everscourt had brought Maylily here, promising that while they walked together, he would permit any questions.

By chance, the park was hosting its annual Flower Show. Wherever they turned, vividly colored flowers and sculptures created a splendid spectacle, and clear birdsong floated in the fresh air.

Near her aunt’s home, there had also been occasional events to celebrate the year’s end or holidays, but it was the first time Maylily had seen a park decorated with such scale of resources and labor. Her eyes sparkled like a child’s as she marveled again and again. Each time, the Count told her the names of curious flowers or shared interesting stories tied to the park’s history.

Meanwhile, the awkwardness from when they arrived dissolved into the fragrance of blossoms.

After they passed a path made into a tunnel by long rows of iron arches adorned with geraniums and reached the large lake where waterfowl played, Maylily finally gathered her courage and asked the Count her first question.

“Count… how old are you?”

The Count, gazing at the birds flying low over the glittering ripples, brushed back the hair tousled by the breeze and smiled silently. The warm light rising between his enchantingly curved eyes fell upon her.

“That’s what you wanted to know?”

Her throat suddenly dry, Maylily gave a small nod instead of answering aloud.

The Count of Everscourt was twenty-four years old. He said he would turn twenty-five this coming summer.

His mother had died twenty years ago, his father three years ago, so now his unmarried aunt was his only family. Since the Count spent most of his time in the capital because of business, his aunt managed the estate and mansion in his place.

“Count, do you resemble your father or your mother more? I’ve no memories of my parents, so I’ve always been curious about such things.”

Well. The Count gave a faint laugh, then said, “I must resemble my father more. I made a point not to resemble my mother.”

“Why’s that?”

“My mother was the disgrace of the family.”

To her light question came an answer whose weight she couldn’t gauge. His voice was calm, which only left Maylily more at a loss as to how to react. She could neither pry into unpleasant childhood memories nor offer clumsy consolation.

“Ah… I’m sorry, Count. I didn’t realize it was an impertinent question.”

After a brief hesitation, Maylily spoke in a careful voice. At that, the Count stopped walking and gave her a faint, barely visible smile as he looked down at her.

“It’s fine. I’m rather glad to have the chance to speak of it with you.”

He must mean that it was good to share something from deep inside. But why did his gaze feel so cold? Thinking it must be her imagination, Maylily shook off the uneasy feeling with an awkward smile and quickly changed the subject.

“Um… ah, right! Count, which composer do you like?”

And for a while, their conversation turned to music. The Count’s knowledge of music was advanced, but he didn’t seem to have much personal interest or preferences.

She had expected as much, since he had never once attended a performance.

Once again, the question of why the Count had decided to become her patron rose up, but Maylily didn’t want to treat the subject lightly here, so she moved on.

When she asked about his dreams, the Count paused for a moment before answering dryly. He said his life’s direction was not about dreams, but about duty. Born with the names Skaard and Everscourt, his path had been set from the beginning, so it wasn’t incomprehensible.

Still, even with such a life, wouldn’t there be something he wanted to do or have?

Maylily soon realized it was a foolish question. A man who held the world at his feet didn’t need to attach the lofty word dream to such things. He could simply do or have them.

Once again, his world felt far too different from hers.

As she turned this obvious truth over in her mind, they left the lakeside and arrived at a peony garden surrounded by topiary shaped like castle walls. In the center of the pastel-toned peony path stood a fountain in the form of basins stacked in tiers.

“What’s that?”

Admiring the small rainbow above the trickling water, Maylily turned her head at the voice beside her. Following the Count’s gaze downward, a small exclamation escaped her lips onto the brown paper bag she was holding.

“Ah, they’re Cartian novels and opera scores. I stopped by the bookstore before coming to the library. And….”

The newspaper.

Recalling the Count’s photo printed in it, Maylily quickly swallowed the word that was about to leave her lips. She couldn’t let herself seem like a scheming woman again.

“Th-that’s all.”

Ending her words awkwardly, Maylily faced the Count’s doubtful gaze.

“Suspicious.”

“…It’s the truth.”

“Then I suppose you won’t mind if I look inside.”

The Count curved his lips and snatched the paper bag before Maylily could grasp his meaning. Dodging her startled hands with ease, he raised the bag high over his head.

“It’s mine, please give it back!”

Maylily stretched out her arms desperately. Her flushed cheeks and quickened breath showed how earnest she was. Unmoved, the Count looked down at her and grinned playfully.

“Now that you’re so frantic, I’m even more curious about what’s in here, Maylily.”

“I told you. It’s books and scores! Please, give it back, yes?”

Her blue eyes shimmered moistly as she pleaded, but instead of relenting, the Count seemed to enjoy her desperation even more.

“If that’s true, I’ll return it.”

“No! Don’t look, please.”

Finally raising his other arm high as well, the Count made to open the bag. Maylily, in her panic, drew close and rose on tiptoe, but she was far too small to reach the hand of a man a head taller. Throwing shame aside, she even began to jump.

“That won’t work, Maylily. You’ll need more strength in your legs if you want to leap that high.”

“Count, please….”

Laughing leisurely, the Count stretched his arm back further to torment her. Biting her lip hard, Maylily glared at him, then jumped with all her might and stretched out her arms.

“Ah!”

Her balance faltered as she landed, and her body tilted forward. In the sudden rush of a refreshing scent, Maylily realized she had buried her face against the Count’s chest.

“Ah, sorry….”

Flustered, she instinctively placed her palms against his chest, but as she tried to step back, the Count wrapped both arms firmly around her slender waist.