The Dinner Party (1)

The grand hall of the de Broy ducal residence was wrapped in splendid bustle.

The assembled guests directed curiosity-filled gazes toward the married couple, Lucien and Marguerite. For tonight’s dinner party, relatives of both House de Broy and House Clavel, as well as nobles with close ties to them, had been invited.

It was meant to serve as the public introduction that had not been possible at the wedding.

The nobles connected to both houses had been informed of Lucien and Marguerite’s marriage, and they had also sensed that Queen Emilenne stood behind it.

Marguerite accompanied Lucien as they made the rounds to greet the guests, scattering smiles along the way—but at times, her expression clouded.

That said, it was not for the reason everyone assumed— not because she was being bullied for marrying into a rival house.

‘I couldn’t quite make Mother Yumila feel satisfied after all…’

No matter what, the thought that “having food, clothing, and shelter guaranteed for this level of harassment feels like paradise” kept winning out, and she could not maintain a sad expression.

Moreover, just as she had claimed, Marguerite’s etiquette was flawless. Lady Yumila had been unable to brand House Clavel with the judgment she most desired—that it was a beastly house that had not even taught its daughter basic manners.

Had Isabella been the one to marry, that wish might well have been fulfilled.

Marguerite stole a glance at Yumila.

Nobles aligned with House de Broy surrounded Yumila, whispering among themselves. Yumila nodded with a face that looked on the verge of tears, occasionally making gestures that drew sympathy.

“Poor Lady Yumila, to have the Lucien you raised with such care taken by a daughter from a house like that…”

“She could have formed a far better match—what a cruel fate.”

“That girl ought to know her place and show enough humility to propose a divorce herself, if you ask me.”

…Something like that, most likely.

The Duke of de Broy, Alban—who held little presence within the household—did not approach Yumila. He, too, seemed to be venting his complaints to nobles he was close with.

Naturally, nobles aligned with House de Broy and those aligned with House Clavel did not exchange greetings either, each ignoring the other as they passed the evening.

Among them, however, there was one person freely mingling across faction lines.

It was Isabella.

Not to support Emilenne’s wish to reconcile the houses and end domestic strife— but because blending into the de Broy faction allowed her to disparage her sister as much as she liked.

Approaching Yumila, Isabella pretended to choose a drink while eavesdropping on the conversation. Encouraged by her friends’ consolations as a tragic mother, Yumila—intending to confide only in familiar ladies—began boasting of just how thoroughly she was tormenting Marguerite.

“I’ve put her in a cold room in the northern tower and have her treated the same as the servants. The other day, when I summoned her for breakfast, she begged for forgiveness in tears and returned to the servants of her own accord.”

“Only proper. You mustn’t allow her to worm her way into the ducal house, Lady Yumila.”

Glancing at Yumila again and again, Isabella seemed reassured that her sister’s circumstances were anything but happy, a thin smile forming on her lips.

‘Those two—one wants to confirm other people’s misfortune, the other wants to confirm her own. They might actually get along. Well, nobles are all like that.’

When she glanced toward Lucien, she saw him frowning, apparently having noticed the odd behavior of a member of House Clavel, his gaze fixed on Yumila and Isabella.

Satisfied after hearing plenty of her sister’s slander from others, Isabella left the group.

Then she headed straight for Marguerite.

‘This is bad! I’ll make Lord Lucien angry.’

While exchanging greetings with de Broy-aligned nobles alongside Lucien, Marguerite panicked inwardly.

“We had hoped by all means to see our daughter wed to Lord Lucien, so to think it has turned out this way—I find it most regrettable.”

The tone was genial, but the words carried hostility. The man’s needle-like eyes glared at Marguerite, and from behind him, a young lady—clearly his daughter—sent her a cold stare as well.

Lucien, the future head of the house, with his handsome features. Even his aloofness likely appeared to the young ladies as something that heightened their admiration.

But Marguerite, consumed by the single thought that she must not let Isabella and Lucien meet, failed to recognize the barb and simply smiled.

The young lady’s expression hardened as she took Lucien’s arm.

“Though this is a presentation, given the relationship between Lord Lucien and myself, might we speak privately for just a moment?”

In other words, she was telling him to leave Marguerite behind and be alone with her.

With royal envoys present tonight, Lucien was about to refuse, not wanting to invite even a hint of suspicion.

Marguerite cut in before he could.

“Yes, please do. You must have much to discuss—just the two of you. …Lord Lucien, Richard is still in the hall. The carriage hasn’t arrived yet.”

The latter part was spoken so only Lucien could hear.

Richard, the de Broy family’s butler, was indeed standing near the great doors of the hall, checking that the banquet proceeded smoothly. When a carriage arrived, it was his role to go to the entrance to confirm invitations.

‘When did she learn the servants’ faces and names…?’

While Lucien was still stunned, Marguerite offered a graceful bow and promptly walked away.

In Marguerite’s mind, there was only one thought—

‘I must not let Isabella get close to Lord Lucien…’

—but her dignified retreat, without even looking back, appeared to the young lady as the composure of a lawful wife, and to Lucien as proof that she had no interest whatsoever in him.

“…Lord Lucien?”

“Ah—my apologies.”

Startled by the young lady peering up at him, Lucien took her hand and escorted her.

Yet Marguerite’s departing figure burned itself into his mind.