I Am Truly Very Happy

At Lucien’s indignant expression, which seemed fierce enough to radiate killing intent, Marguerite nearly jumped.

‘He’s angry! Because he’s realized that I’m someone without value to House Clavel…!’

Even if it had been done reluctantly in obedience to a royal order, House de Broy had taken Lucien—their future head—and made him Marguerite’s husband.

Lucien, and Marguerite, who had been treated as an outcast. It was only natural that the balance between them was off.

“Please forgive me!”

Marguerite prostrated herself at Lucien’s feet and begged for pardon. Lucien stared at her in shock.

“Wait! Why are you apologizing?”

“That is—because I am not someone who represents House Clavel. Lord Lucien is a man who will one day inherit House de Broy. But I—”

Even if Marguerite were to ask her father Maurice to act amicably, he would stubbornly refuse. Yet he would do anything Isabella asked.

She had understood that ever since the day she married into the house.

That was precisely why she had wished to be of use.

Meanwhile, Lucien felt a growing sense of panic at Marguerite’s words.

Because the target of his anger was Marguerite’s position within House Clavel—but not because she lacked value.

It was because he could not forgive the way House Clavel had treated her so carelessly.

“…Lift your face.”

Marguerite looked up at Lucien timidly. The usual brightness was gone from her; she was focused solely on considering Lucien’s feelings, worrying only that she might have been disrespectful to him.

Marguerite had married without bringing even a single maid or dowry.

It felt like a remarkably elaborate slight.

Why had he not, at that time, given thought to Marguerite’s own circumstances—?

“…Could it be that you felt sorry for me…?”

Marguerite lowered her brows as she spoke to Lucien, who had told her to lift her face and then fallen silent.

After the fire of anger, something akin to sorrow flickered through Lucien’s deep-sea-colored eyes, and Marguerite saw it.

Lucien glanced at Marguerite, then frowned again.

“…Why are you smiling?”

Marguerite was smiling.

Like cream warmed to room temperature—soft and gentle, yet somehow fleeting.

“Eh—no, lately I just find myself smiling more often… I’m sorry.”

Marguerite lowered her face again.

She could not possibly say that being worried about had made her happy. It might have been the first time since Sharon.

But her true feelings seemed to have reached Lucien all the same.

“I always thought those people in House Clavel were barbarians, but to think they would treat their own daughter—”

“W-well now. My father and sister don’t mean any harm… well, they do, but you see, it’s something you often find in stories.”

“It’s precisely because it isn’t common that it becomes a story!”

He raised his voice before catching himself, but Marguerite kept smiling all the same. She was used to this level of outburst.

Realizing that only made his anger swell further, until her smile itself seemed irritating.

‘Why am I this furious…?’

Looking up at the bewildered Lucien, Marguerite tried to put on a serious face, but the corners of her mouth still softened.

‘Just as I thought, Lord Lucien is a kind person.’

Her assumption had been correct. The man she had married was kind. That alone might sound trivial, but to Marguerite it was a truth that brought tears to her eyes.

Her cheeks flushed warmly, as if steam might rise from them, and Marguerite smiled.

“Being able to marry you, Lord Lucien, makes me truly very happy.”

“—!!”

“Lord Lucien?”

Leaving behind a wide-eyed Marguerite, Lucien stood up and left the room.

Left behind so suddenly, Marguerite tilted her head in confusion. When she heard his footsteps retreating roughly into the distance, her shoulders drooped.

‘I said it because I truly felt that way, but… was I being too forward…?’

Marguerite did not know that Lucien, walking away while desperately restraining the urge to break into a run, had a face as red as fire.