The Confusion Continues (2)

In the private room she had been given beside the library, Marguerite was completely absorbed in reading.

To Marguerite, her current life was wonderful. Her father and sister had forced her to do even the most trivial chores normally handled by servants and then found fault with her for them, leaving her almost no time alone.

In House de Broy, she had both an enormous collection of books and time to herself.

Even if she lost herself in a popular adventure novel, empathized with the tragic life of a princess from a fallen kingdom, and burst into tears, no one would scold her.

‘After such a painful journey, she finally found the one she loved… ah, how marvelous…’

Just as Marguerite was fully immersed in that happiness, Lucien appeared.

At the sound of knocking, Marguerite jumped up and wiped her tears.

“It’s me.”

“Y-yes, just a moment!”

She draped a shawl over her usual dress and opened the door.

“Lord Lucien. What brings you here?”

“……”

Lucien did not answer. With his brows drawn together and his expression stiff, he surveyed Marguerite’s room.

‘So this is the kind of room she’s been made to live in… It’s practically a servant’s quarters.’

Yumila had told him that Marguerite’s room was in the annex. He had also heard, in passing, that it was a simple room once used by a live-in caretaker.

Even among servants there were ranks, and higher servants such as butlers were given spacious, furnished rooms. Since Lucien rarely went anywhere beyond the library, he did not know what kinds of rooms existed in the northern annex, and he had assumed that some renovations had been made to make it at least passable.

But the room he now saw with his own eyes was so small that it could be taken in at a glance—a single room containing only a bed, a desk, and a wardrobe.

When he then shifted his gaze to Marguerite, she looked back at him uncertainly. A faint sheen of tears lingered in her eyes, and the tip of her nose was unnaturally red.

“…Were you crying?”

“Eh? Ah, yes. I was reading a book.”

Marguerite gestured toward the novel on the desk, but to Lucien it sounded like nothing more than a hastily made excuse.

‘She really is suffering after all.’

He was seized by a sense of self-reproach. Of course she was.

If she had taken an openly hostile stance like Count Clavel or her sister, he might have brushed off such treatment as her own doing.

‘But she has done nothing. Nothing to disparage House de Broy.’

On the contrary, she had even spoken up for them before the queen.

Lucien could clearly see Marguerite’s goodwill.

And having seen the quiet elegance with inner strength that Marguerite displayed when she was dressed up at the banquet, her current ragged appearance stirred pity in him.

“Tell me the truth.”

‘What is wrong with Lord Lucien…??’

Lucien stood there, shoulders slumped, without even stepping into the room, and question marks piled up over Marguerite’s head.

She could not understand his hasty conclusions either.

“You have something you want to say to me, don’t you?”

Lifting his face, Lucien asked.

It had all begun with a royal order neither of them wanted, yet she had obeyed it with the greatest tolerance she could muster. And still, everyone in House de Broy had treated her harshly.

He was prepared to accept any reproach.

Facing him head-on with that resolve, Marguerite wore a puzzled expression.

‘She doesn’t even trust me. Of course she wouldn’t be able to say it.’

Lucien sighed inwardly.

But then, gradually, Marguerite’s expression grew unexpectedly bright.

“How did you know!? The thing I couldn’t say…”

“It was obvious if I thought about it. You told Queen Emilenne that, but until now I haven’t listened to your opinions.”

“No, that’s not—well then, if you will allow me to say it…”

Marguerite fidgeted, her cheeks flushing.

“I want to see the sea, in the lands of House de Broy!!”

“…What?”

“Eh?”

Lucien let out a bewildered sound at the wish she had voiced so suddenly, and Marguerite, equally surprised, stared back at him.