Young Leaves Of Love (1)

The incident in the library dealt Lucien a considerable blow.

The moment Lucien entered, Marguerite had interrupted the hobby time she had been enjoying so much and hidden it from him.

‘Did she think I would scold her…?’

In the past, the people of House de Broy had criticized everything Marguerite did—not because her actions were wrong, but simply because she was the one doing them.

‘In the end, we’re no different from the people of House Clavel.’

Remembering Isabella’s behavior, Lucien clenched his fist. That anger turned inward, directed at himself.

The reason Marguerite had been able to remain unfazed even when she was treated cruelly after coming to House de Broy was because the same treatment had already been inflicted on her at her family home.

If it had only been a repetition of the same thing at her place of marriage, it would not have been strange for the strong front she had maintained until now to finally reach its limit.

Marguerite often showed him a smile. Each time, Lucien had felt as though the distance between them was closing—and perhaps that had all been nothing more than his own wishful thinking.

On top of that, how could she possibly be happy after receiving a selfish confession from him?

‘Before I force my feelings onto her, I need to heal her heart. We must slowly come to know each other.’

Lucien’s self-reflection could be called entirely reasonable.

However, it did not apply to Marguerite.

A few days later, Lucien paced back and forth in his room in silence, Marron held in his arms.

That said, he was neither soothing the cat nor exercising.

Marguerite had once again shut herself away in the library all day, and Lucien lacked the courage to pull her out.

That meant the only time he could see her was during meals—but recently, Alban had begun appearing in the dining room as well, chatting animatedly with Marguerite. Yumila, who had now come to understand Marguerite’s worth, also joined in the conversation, and as a result, the distance between Lucien and Marguerite had only grown.

“Please take good care of Lucien.”

“Oh, no… I’m the one who worries whether I can truly fill the role after you, Lady Yumila…”

“You can. I guarantee it.”

“…Thank you very much.”

Marguerite smiled shyly.

“I also—”

“It’s thanks to Marguerite that we can all sit down together as a family like this. I’m truly grateful.”

A louder voice cut off Lucien, who had been about to say he felt the same.

Feeling a trace of resentment at Alban’s newly revived cheerfulness, Lucien nevertheless said nothing and ate his meal in silence.

That had been the pattern lately.

‘To speak to her, I’ll have to catch her when she returns from the library.’

Having missed every chance in the dining room, Lucien came to that conclusion.

When Marguerite passed in front of his room, he would open the door while wearing an expression that suggested he was about to usher Marron—who had slipped inside—back out.

That was Lucien’s plan.

Determined not to miss even the faintest sound of footsteps, Lucien’s expression was tense, his lips tightly drawn, his silence absolute.

Even Marron, who disliked Lucien, seemed to lose the will to escape in the face of his master’s seriousness, remaining docile in his arms.

‘…She’s coming.’

The sound was small enough to be missed, but the steady rhythm of shoes striking the floor reached Lucien’s ears.

The footsteps should approach his room in a straight line, pass by, and then stop in front of Marguerite’s door. He would open the door at that exact moment.

Holding Marron with one arm and gripping the doorknob with the other, Lucien waited.

‘…?’

Maintaining a stance ready to open the door at any moment, Lucien frowned.

The footsteps did not pass by.

Even so, there was no doubt Marguerite was nearby.

‘I don’t know what’s happening, but I’ll step outside.’

Lucien tightened his grip on the doorknob—

That was when it happened.

From the very door he was about to open came a knock.

Knock, knock.

“Lucien-sama?”

“!?!”

“Fugyaa—!!”

At the sound of Marguerite calling his name, Lucien—who had been on the verge of opening the door—instinctively hugged Marron tightly. Startled by the sudden, intense embrace, Marron bristled and let out a cry. The only reason claws did not fly was that he was, after all, a cat gifted by the royal family.

“W-What is it?”

He asked in a strained voice, then felt a chill—had he reacted too quickly? Would she realize he had been waiting right behind the door?

However, Marguerite’s reply sounded slightly subdued.

“Um, may I have a moment? There’s something I’d like to give you.”

“!”

She must be planning to speak through the door without seeing his face.

Realizing that, Lucien panicked and hurriedly opened it.

“Sorry—Marron came into my room, and I was trying to catch him.”

“Oh my, so that’s what it was.”

Marguerite seemed to accept even that painfully flimsy excuse.

In Lucien’s arms, Marron—his fur now rumpled from excessive hugging—let out a protesting, “Myaaah~~.”