/
“My heart aches every time I see this, Matthias.”
Riette clicked his tongue as he pulled open the cabinet door. Even though he wasn’t a big drinker, the minibar in Matthias’s room was always stocked with fine liquors.
“It’s not nice to overlook fine liqueurs in this way.”
With a vague grin, Riette took a bottle of alcohol and went back to the front of the table. Matthias’ expression was bland as always—he didn’t give a fig about what his cousin did.
The soulful melody of a piano played from the phonograph, perfectly harmonized with the crackling of the logs burning in the fireplace. Riette filled a glass with the liquor from the bottle, handing it to his cousin. Matthias took the glass gracefully, his movement in sync with the notes filling the room.
Leaning against the couch, Riette observed him as if he were a stranger. Matthias was staring at the rim of his glass, lost in thought as a canary, which now felt like a part of the bedroom, played happily beside him.
‘Your cousin is a demon of a gentleman.’
The reputation of Captain Herhardt, spreading ever wider with each social event held, suddenly rose in Riette’s mind.
Matthias had never spoken about his time serving on the military front—not from modesty, as one might have expected, but from feeling that his accomplishments during that period of time had no meaning. Instead, word of Captain Herhardt’s heroics spread through the lips of other aristocratic officers who had battled beside him during the war.
Riette might not have participated in the war, but the narratives he had heard allowed him to visualize Matthias’s prowess on the battlefield as if he had seen it firsthand. Neither a warmongering idealist like his fellow aristocratic officers, nor someone steeped with the boredom that came from the routine of the military, Matthias’ ethos as a soldier-at-arms was noticeably different from his brethren.
His name was etched in gold ink, illustrating his brilliant achievements during his time in uniform. Yet, Matthias deemed it all of little importance. Every time people gossiped about Matthias’ military prowess, they invariably concluded their stories with an incredulous sigh :
‘
. I don’t understand him.’
Riette knew better than anyone else how that discouraging remark was the most apt description of Matthias von Herhardt.
‘I really don’t understand.’
Each person had sighed once they uttered those words, much like how Riette was sighing at the moment.
‘I don’t understand him.’
He had known Matthias von Herhardt all his life, yet the only conclusion that Riette could draw about him was this— the man resembled a rainbow amalgamation that blended into a murky color with a white finish.
A noble aristocrat. A worthy successor. A good cousin. A man of honour. Every facet of him was prominent, yet nothing was discernible, even when all of the facets were arranged together.
Some praised Duke Herhardt for his self-learnt mastery of self suppression, especially when it came to carrying out his duties, but Riette was skeptical of their analysis. As far as he could tell, there had never been anything to suppress in the first place.
But how would Duke Herhardt act towards Leyla Lewellin?
More than a little tipsy, Riette grinned as Matthias gave him a sidelong glance. The canary was now sitting still on Matthias’s shoulder, something that Riette believed would make Matthias annoyed, but the man looked unfazed instead.
“How long do you plan to be the owner of that bird?”
“For as long as I want to.”
Matthias’s answer was quick and resolute. The bird fluttered up to his shoulder, rubbing its beak against his suspender as he took a sip from the glass he was holding.
“When will that be?”
“Well.”
Placing his glass down delicately, Matthias leant aslant against the armrest. The warm light from the fireplace reflected off the onyx buttons on his cuffs, gleaming a deep black in the light.
“Aren’t you curious? Why I came to Arvis, what I’m planning to do, that kind of thing.”
“No.”
Riette’s visit to Arvis that came out of the blue, and his impromptu weeks-long stay came as no surprise. Yet Matthias’s reply was indifferent, as if he found what he was listening to was nothing more than a pathetic affair.
“Whatever, you jerk.” Riette laughed, downing the last of his drink.
‘Is it lust?’
Riette looked at Matthias contemplatively. He knew well—men had the instinctive desire to own beautiful women. Despite the lack of emotion Matthias externally, that didn’t mean his instinct was gone. It was just a hunch, but Riette felt that it was a reasonable assumption to make with what he knew about his cousin.
But why the orphan? Duke Herhardt was always unsympathetic to women who were more beautiful and noble than the orphan.
The more Riette thought about it, the more it felt like he was in a labyrinth, increasingly confused by its twisting turns. Riette shoved the thought away as Matthias whistled. The bird, which had been bouncing on the table, flew over to Matthias immediately.
Gazing idly at the bird, Riette whistled towards it, tune longer and kitschy. Unfortunately for Riette, the bird showed no sign of coming towards him. It sat on the back of Matthias’s hand, tilting its head up towards Matthias instead.
“What the
. Can a bird recognize its owner?”
Riette scoffed as he recalled the woman who had kept a wary watch on him.
He didn’t view Leyla Lewellin as an elusive woman. No matter how long it took, Riette believed that she would open up to him with time, just like she did to the doctor’s son and Duke Herhardt. Not just that, but Riette knew Matthias von Herhardt would abandon the orphan eventually for the sake of his marriage with Claudine, an end result that Claudine had long hoped for.
“Shall we go hunting on the weekend?”
Riette asked, refilling the glass. After a moment of thought, Matthias gave a surprising answer.
“Go alone. I’ll have it prepared for you.”
“What?”
Eyes wide, Riette stared at Matthias. For as long as he could remember, Matthias had never turned down a hunting offer.
“No way, are you serious?”
A knock on the door interrupted Riette’s question. The butler, Hessen, stepped inside the room.
“The mail has arrived, master.”
With a parcel and a tray of letters at hand, he moved smoothly towards Matthias.
‘Why does the butler have to come in at this hour for such a trifling notice?’
Riette flashed the butler an annoyed glance. The butler’s lips were pressed flat, a clear signal that Riette had overextended his stay.
“Well then. See you tomorrow, Duke.”
Toasting a goodbye with the glass of alcohol in his hand, Riette left Matthias’s bedroom. After Riette’s steps had faded, Hessen opened his mouth, saying;
“Master, the parcel has returned.”
“Parcel?”
Hessen awkwardly gave a small box to Matthias. The sender’s name and location were unfamiliar.
“Who is this?”
“It’s my relative. I used this name and address to follow your order.”
“My order? Ah.”
Matthias’s mind flashed back to the week before, when he had ordered Hessen to send Leyla Lewellin a good pen. Understanding clicked into place at the memory.
“M.. master
..”
“I understand.” Matthias cut Hessen’s words short. “You may leave.”
He tapped his finger on the box he had taken. Hessen stared like he wanted to say something, but followed the Duke’s orders without further questions.
Matthias rose from his seat once the door had closed. The box was held in his hands, ripped box’s wrapper burned into embers in the hearth.
Inside the opened box was a note and pen, neatly arranged. Slowly, Matthias read the message, taking his time to read the few scrawled words on the scrawled words on the scrap of paper tucked between his fingers.
[Come to think of it, it was my fault for losing my pen.]
[It was my fault that I fell, didn’t properly pack things, and didn’t get it back on time. You don’t have to take responsibility..]
[There’s no reason for me to receive this item, so I’ll return it to you.]
There was no name written on the message, but Matthias knew who it was anyway. Leyla’s note was full of familiar conceit. The more Matthias read, the more slanted his eyebrows went, until eventually he snorted and flashed a grimace, edges of his lips curved up in anger.
As he watched the fire in the fireplace devour the crumpled note, shiny new pen and the parcel box they were originally wrapped in, self content, anger, shame and laughter loomed one after another on Matthias’s face as he watched the shimmering flame.
His expression faded back to neutrality, vanished moments after the vivid emotions mixed into one.
The only thing left of his features was the very picture of calmness and serenity marred only with the shadow of the lamplight growing over it.
*.·:·.✧.·:·.*
The class had ended early, but Leyla was still quite busy.
It was the day of the school’s council meeting. The members were going to discuss the issue of the school’s old, small building, which needed to be expanded.
As the person in charge of arranging the conference room, Leyla set up the chairs and desks in accordance to the number of people attending, preparing simple writing instruments and notepads for everyone to use before the meeting began.
“Miss Lewellin, are you done?”
Mrs. Grever asked in a hasty fashion. Smiling, Leyla looked around the conference room for one last time and nodded decisively.
“Yes, I’m done.”
“Then, let’s get going. The sponsors are here.”
“Already?”
Leyla scrambled to get ready, following Mrs Grever as soon as she was done. The sponsors’ extravagant carriages and limousines formed a long line as they entered the school’s front gate.
An ominous premonition flashed through her. She shook her head, as if to deny the feeling. In the numerous times she had read the list of sponsors attending the meeting, Herhardt’s name had never appeared in the lineup. She had nothing to be apprehensive about.
Nothing to worry about save for the gift she had returned to the Duke, that was, and the most likely cause for Leyla’s erratically pounding heart.
Several days had passed since she had returned the gift. The Duke had made no mention of her—no visits, no interrogations, no harassments, unlike his actions from before. Leyla, who had been terrified of encountering such a mishap, could already feel her guard going down. She might have hurt the Duke’s pride, but it was something that had to be done once anyway.
No matter how irrelevant their relationship was, Leyla had a dim hunch about him. She was aware of the Duke’s desire for her and knew she could get harmed.
Leyla despised him for every single thing.
She hated Matthias von Herhardt.
She hated his selfish desires. She hated the repercussions she would face because of his freakish obsession. Leyla had long since lost the desire to be embroiled in irrelevant affairs, and more importantly, she didn’t want to get hurt, especially by the Duke, who had gotten wind of her heart after she had returned the gift. As the aristocratic man remained silent, Leyla took it to mean that he had accepted her rejection.
Slowly sweeping down her chest, Leyla stood still at the end of the line to greet the sponsors. The autumnal rain had chilled the air. She had been concerned about the poor attendance rate caused by the bad weather, but all the sponsors who had promised to attend were fortunately present.
Leyla performed her job well, smiling and bowing politely to everyone she met. She prepared the tea and waited quietly as the meeting started. Leyla’s first council meeting would be considered successful only when she escorted the sponsors off the premises.
The headmaster turned around as the last sponsor, a lady, drove through the school’s entrance. A black car that had clearly been in a battle with the heavy downpours squeaked to a stop just as the other teachers were about to do the same.
“My god! Duke!”
The headmaster’s countenance changed from a confused expression to a beaming grin very quickly.
Face prepared to smile and greet the guest, Leyla’s lips quivered.
‘No way.’
Leyla blinked. She blinked rapidly, nervously, as if to deny what she was seeing. Standing there in a distinctive, straight posture under a parapluie held by an assistant was Duke von Herhardt.
His eyes wandered through the line of teachers, stopping at Leyla’s withered face.
When their eyes met, the Duke smiled.
For those who did nothing more than glance, it was a smile that could only be called gentle.