Chapter 8

Hilde was busy preparing for the party.

She bought a new silk dress and a matching hat.

She also searched through their late mother’s jewelry box and found a few pieces that were still worth wearing.

At the same time, she visited all the neighbors, proudly boasting about how she had been invited to such a magnificent party.

Whenever she casually showed them the elegant invitation decorated with gold foil, the simple villagers gasped in admiration.

Her next-door neighbor, Miss Jacob, couldn’t even hide her jealousy.

Delighted, Hilde returned home with her head held high.

Her arms were full of shopping bags.

Among them was a pair of silk stockings she had bought to match the new dress.

She couldn’t wait to try everything on.

“…You’re back?”

Clementine greeted her warmly from beside the window.

That alone was enough to spoil Hilde’s mood.

“What are you doing? Writing again?”

Seeing the pen in her sister’s hand, Hilde narrowed her eyes.

Clementine had loved writing ever since she was young.

Mostly silly poems and boring short stories.

To Hilde’s annoyance, their father had always been proud of his eldest daughter.

He had encouraged Clementine to send her work to newspapers and publishers.

When her first poetry collection was finally published…

He had even cried tears of joy.

Hilde had never understood why.

To her, Clementine’s poems were complete rubbish.

“So you’re going to waste another fortune on printing costs?”

“The books have still been profitable.”

Clementine answered calmly.

“Hmph.”

“They’ve sold fairly well.”

“They’re hardly bestsellers.”

Hilde sneered.

She had always hated intellectuals and social reformers.

Instead of filling their heads with romance and marriage…

They waste their youth on things like this!

Women’s youth was far too short for such nonsense.

“Please.”

“Spend that time accepting courtship instead, Clementine.”

Pouring herself a glass of wine, Hilde snapped,

“You’re older than I am.”

“You should be working hard to find a husband.”

Even as she said that…

Part of her was relieved Clementine wasn’t seriously looking for one.

Because if her sister married an outstanding man…

Hilde thought she might die of jealousy.

More than anything else…

She wanted to marry better than Clementine.

A better husband.

A wealthier family.

She wanted Clementine to look at her with envy.

“At the very least…”

“Couldn’t you earn money doing something else?”

Hilde demanded after taking several large gulps of wine.

“It’s embarrassing that my sister writes Gothic novels!”

At least when Clementine wrote poetry and short stories…

She could pretend to be refined.

But after becoming known for writing about death, madness, and ghosts…

Everything had changed.

Even if Gothic novels were popular these days…

Hilde hated it.

What if men think I’m just as strange as my sister and stop courting me?

“What other work should I do?”

Clementine asked sincerely.

“You could teach children at a school.”

“Or become someone’s governess!”

Hilde shot back.

“That salary wouldn’t be enough for us to live on.”

Clementine quietly pointed toward the shopping bags Hilde had brought home…

Then toward the wine she was drinking so freely.

“Could you give those things up?”

“Ha!”

“You make it sound as if I live some luxurious life!”

Hilde exploded.

“Stop pretending you’re sacrificing everything for me!”

“I’m not sacrificing myself for you.”

Clementine remained perfectly calm.

“I’m simply fulfilling my duty as the eldest daughter of this family.”

“Says the woman who spends her days cleaning horse manure!”

“And you should be grateful we still have a horse to clean up after.”

Clementine scolded her gently.

The old horse was the only one they had left.

“Don’t forget.”

“The gold I’m saving now will eventually become your marriage dowry.”

Hilde’s anger immediately cooled.

That…

Actually made sense.

The larger her dowry…

The better her chances of marrying well.

“If you’re so concerned about my future marriage…”

“Then why not hire another maid?”

Hilde quickly changed the subject.

“It’s embarrassing every time I go into society!”

“And this time we’re attending a truly important party.”

“We already have a maid.”

Clementine shook her head firmly.

“That useless Lucy is ugly and completely clueless!”

“Lucy is hardworking.”

“And kind.”

Hilde was about to stomp her foot in frustration.

Then she stopped herself.

Clementine was unbelievably stingy whenever money was involved.

She would only pull out an account book and start calculating expenses.

“I had the boutique charge everything to your account.”

Hilde picked up her shopping bags again.

“…By the way.”

“What are you planning to wear to the party?”

She suddenly grew worried.

What if Clementine showed up dressed in rags and embarrassed them both?

“All the neighboring nobles will be there.”

“You might even meet people you used to know.”

If she appeared looking poor…

People would gossip about it for the rest of their lives.

“I’m going to alter one of Mother’s dresses.”

Clementine answered casually.

She really has no worries at all…

“Oh, do whatever you want!”

Unable to argue anymore, Hilde spun around and stormed off.

The ball at Bellefontaine Castle was only a few days away.

Yet Damien Lambert made time to visit the capital.

His mother, Lady Saint-Fleur, who was traveling abroad with the King, had asked him to handle an urgent matter for her.

“Everything is finished.”

Damien made one final stop at the post office.

He personally mailed a letter informing his mother that everything had been taken care of.

Afterward, he prepared to return to Bellefontaine.

Just beside the post office stood a small bookstore.

Damien pulled out his pocket watch.

“…I still have some time.”

He pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside.

The bookstore was old and narrow.

The air smelled of dusty books.

For some reason…

One particular section immediately caught his attention.

The shelf filled with Gothic novels.

Out of curiosity, he picked one up.

It was a story about murder and ghosts.

Damien frowned.

“How vulgar…”

He would never waste his time reading such low-class entertainment.

“Are you looking for a particular book?”

The bookstore owner approached him.

Judging from Damien’s appearance, he bowed respectfully.

“No.”

“Not really…”

Damien was about to shake his head.

Then, without thinking, he asked,

“Do you happen to have any books written by Clementine Cornille?”

Why her name had suddenly come to mind…

He couldn’t explain.

“Oh, those…”

The bookstore owner clapped his hands.

“They’re all sold out.”

“She couldn’t afford a large print run.”

“Wait a moment…”

He bent down and pulled out a dusty book from the very bottom shelf.

“We do have one of her books.”

“It’s just not one of her Gothic novels.”

Quiet Tremors and the Map of a Lost Heart.

It was a collection of poetry.

“…Written by Clementine Cornille.”

Damien read the cover quietly.

Then he turned the book over.

There was an illustration of the author on the back.

It was unmistakably Clementine.

“It really is a wonderful collection.”

The bookstore owner sighed.

“She simply had bad luck.”

“If she’d found a noble patron like other writers…”

“It probably would have sold very well.”

“Do you know her personally?”

Damien pointed to the portrait.

“Of course.”

“She’s a kind and hardworking young lady.”

The owner smiled warmly.

“I still remember how happy she was when we first displayed her poetry collection.”

He chuckled softly.

“These days she writes Gothic novels instead.”

“I suppose reality forced her into it.”

“What do you mean by ‘reality’?”

“Well…”

“Gothic novels sell.”

The owner shrugged.

“Especially when they’re written by a female author.”

“That’s why they even included her portrait.”

Only then did Damien understand.

For money…

Clementine Cornille had turned even herself into something to be sold.

Suddenly…

He remembered the way she had lowered her head that day.

Her white cheeks flushed pink.

A color mixed with humiliation…

Self-loathing…

And quiet despair.

His heart began beating again.

“It’s unfortunate…”

The bookstore owner sighed.

“But we’re planning to remove her poetry collection soon.”

It wasn’t even selling well enough to justify taking up a dusty corner of the shelf.

Damien imagined books with Clementine’s portrait lying forgotten in a pile of discarded books.

For some reason…

The thought irritated him.

If her face had to be lying somewhere…

He wanted it to be somewhere he could see.

“How many copies are left?”

Fortunately…

Damien immediately knew how to get rid of that unpleasant feeling.

“Let’s see…”

“I think there are around fifteen copies.”

Without hesitation, Damien said,

“I’ll buy every remaining copy.”