You’re Being Loved, Aren’t You?

Though her fever had finally begun to subside, her vision was still hazy when Marguerite opened her eyes—and the first thing she saw was Lucien wearing a terribly angry expression.

Lucien’s hand gently stroked Marguerite’s cheek. It felt cool to the touch; perhaps it felt cold because she still had a fever.

On the day she had made Lady Yumila cry, Marguerite had found Anna in her room afterward. Anna had screamed, “Your face is bright red!”—and Marguerite had promptly become a resident of her bed.

Come to think of it, Lucien had been there once before when she had woken half-dreaming. He had stopped her from speaking and given her medicine.

‘Could it be that he’s been here this whole time…? When was that, exactly?’

It felt like three days ago—and yet also like only a few hours had passed. Her sense of time was muddled.

“…Lucien-sama.”

When she called out to him, Lucien flinched and quickly withdrew his hand.

Watching it retreat with a lingering sense of regret, Marguerite let out a small sigh.

“You’re awake. I’m sorry… It must have been a burden, dealing with my mother.”

“No, not at all…”

If anything, what came to mind as exhausting was the sudden luxury of her new life.

At first, she had been afraid of soiling the pristine, fluffy white bed. Her elaborately styled hair felt heavy, and moving around in dresses required constant care.

When she explained this, Lucien again took on an angry expression.

That was only natural—she had complained about what had been meant as kindness.

“I’m sorry, it’s my fault—”

“No, it was my lack of consideration. I only knew women’s clothing from banquet attire…”

“Perhaps everyone dresses more modestly at home?”

“My mother said it was too extravagant as well…”

Lucien’s expression clouded, perhaps recalling how Lady Yumila had called it gaudy.

But Marguerite herself did not know how other young ladies dressed in their daily lives. Isabella, for her part, dressed at home as though she were attending a banquet, lavishly adorning herself.

As Marguerite worried over this, Lucien looked at her in puzzlement.

“If you don’t know, then ask.”

“You’re right… I could ask Sharon…”

“I’ll have a tailor come this weekend. We’ll make everyday clothes that you like.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll tell Richard to arrange it.”

With that settled, Lucien left the room as if there were nothing more to discuss.

Left behind, Marguerite—

‘…Is my head not working properly because of the fever?’

Tilting her head as though what she had heard might have been a hallucination, she returned to bed.

“It was real…”

“Hey! This one’s cute too! And this! What about this one? And please match this fabric too!”

Several days later, Marguerite stood there, frozen in shock.

What Lucien had said had not been a hallucination. He promptly arranged for one of the finest tailors in the Royal Capital to visit House de Broy, and from Marguerite’s murmured, “I could ask Sharon…,” he even sent a messenger to House Murese to have Sharon come as well.

So long as Marguerite herself was not directly in front of him, Lucien was diligent and highly capable.

Tailors wrapped measuring tape around the stiff Marguerite and took her measurements with practiced hands.

Beside them, Sharon selected fabrics, chose unobtrusive decorations, and picked scrunchies and ribbons to tie up hair.

‘So many… Can all of this even fit in my room? Well, it should be fine—the closet still had plenty of space. But still… how much is all of this costing…?’

Faced with a second wave of abundant gifts, even Marguerite wore a troubled expression.

If Lucien had not called Sharon, she might have sent the tailors home without ordering anything.

‘Even if it’s to show obedience to the royal family’s wishes, isn’t this too much?’

In truth, it was Lucien’s earnest expression of affection toward Marguerite—but even as affection, it was undeniably excessive.

The two continued to misunderstand each other, each leaving the other bewildered.

“So, how has Lucien-sama been lately?”

“Well… he gives me flowers every day…”

“Oh my, you’re being loved an awful lot, aren’t you?”

Sharon sighed dreamily, pressing a hand to her cheek. Her other arm was piled high with fabric and lace.

Knowing what Marguerite had been through, Sharon seemed to have decided to increase Marguerite’s belongings without restraint, using House de Broy’s wealth.

“Am I… really…?”

“Of course. Just like you said, Lucien-sama is a wonderful person, Marguerite.”

At the unreserved praise, Marguerite’s cheeks flushed.

‘Why am I the one getting embarrassed?’

Even so, she could not stop her cheeks from softening.

“He is. He’s very kind.”

“Then it’s perfectly fine to have this much made.”

Sharon selected even more fabric, giving instructions to the craftsmen standing nearby. Whether it truly was fine remained to be seen—but—

When Sharon left, Marguerite decided she would tell Lucien that Sharon had praised him.

Unaware that doing so would leave Lucien even more flustered, his behavior turning completely suspicious.