ã€ŠHalf a Step Away from Loveã€‹


 Half a Step Away from Love: Prologue

    ¡°The only difference between a caprice and a lifelong passion is that the caprice lasts a little longer.¡±

    Oscar Wilde

    Passionate embraces, greedy kisses, languid moans. Two naked bodies, striving to join in complete abandon. The long canopy curtains, fastened near the ceiling, have been drawn back, so as not to restrain the lovers'' movements in any way. The snow-white, crisp sheet, embroidered with a rather frivolous pattern, is crumpled in the corner of the bed, revealing the horsehair mattress. The other sheet, along with the blanket, has slid to the floor altogether. On the bed, besides the flushed bodies, only a scattering of variously shaped pillows remains ¡ª two stockings, one male and one female, and a flouncy petticoat, accidentally caught on the edge of the headboard.

    This disarray is not in any way dissonant with the atmosphere of the clean and luxurious boudoir. Armed with a bow and arrow, the god of love, childishly chubby and apple-cheeked, gazes approvingly at the proceedings from the fresco decorating the ceiling. Expensive porcelain figurines depicting naked women and embracing couples share the positive attitude. Every detail of the interior indicates simultaneously the sensuality of the lady, her delicate taste and wide knowledge of every nuance of fickle fashion.

    She is tall and graceful, with light, meticulously kept skin, with that natural pallor which is so fashionable in high society, maintained with the assistance of a profusion of ointments and other means. Her luxurious fiery red hair is barely kept within the limits imposed by a complex high hairstyle. He is a handsome brunette with a fair complexion, hazel eyes and dimples. They are so completely engrossed in one another that they do not notice the passage of time, and are unaware of their surroundings.

    Out of the blue, a brisk knock on the door destroys the idyll. The knocker does not bother waiting for a response to their call. Instead, just after announcing her presence, a young woman in a lush blue dress with purple ruffles enters the room. Vigorously tapping her heels, she approaches the bed without the slightest sign of embarrassment.

    At first, a quite colorful profanity escapes the redheaded beauty''s lips, but recognizing the intruder she immediately calms down. The man is not so complacent. He pulls back sharply, forcing the lady to wince when their bodies separate. Pointlessly groping the mattress, in search of a blanket or a sheet, he exclaims:

    "Who is that? How can someone come in here without permission?!"

    I just purse my lips indifferently in response. I have never liked this guy, though I try not to emphasize this once too often in conversations with the lady.

    "She ¨C may", answers the woman, looking at me expectantly. My face adopts an extremely serious expression.

    "Duke Almikonte is headed here."

    "My brother?! God damn it!" exclaims Duchess Mireya Almikonte, leaping from the bed. "How did he find out?"

    "Someone probably snitched," I shrug indifferently. Now is not the time to figure out who caused the problem, but rather how to solve it. We''ll catch him later.

    "What should we do then?" asks the man perplexedly.

    His face is white as chalk. It is amazing how quickly he pales.

    "Get dressed! Quickly!" orders Mireya, after her short moment of shock has passed. Both rush to look for their clothes. Not a trivial task, considering that various garments are scattered throughout the room. I quickly begin to lift women''s clothing from the floor, completely ignoring the male.

    "Should I hide him somewhere?"

    Mireya is speaking exclusively to me. Her lover frantically pulls on his shirt. He is in such a hurry he puts it on backwards, so he has to take it off and start all over again.

    I observe his nervous antics, somewhat disgusted. It is obvious that the reputation of the Duke''s sister does not concern him in the least. The guy only cares to save his own skin.

    In a way, I can understand the reasons for this ¡ª our Duke can be quite harsh. On the other hand, he should have thought of that before jumping into bed with a woman of such high social status.

    "It won''t work," I reply, helping Mireya dress. "If the Duke were alone, we could maybe risk it. But, Lord Cameron Estley is with him, and this man is too thorough. He will surely give an order to search every corner and leave no stone unturned."

    "What should we do?" The young woman''s confused gaze slides across the boudoir. ¨C"Maybe he should climb out the window..."

    "What do you mean, out the window?" gasps the gentlemen. "It''s too high! We''re on the third floor!" he protests.

    He has a point. First, Mireya''s chambers are indeed located on the third floor, and second, the ceilings of the second floor are extremely high. Consequently, the Duchess'' window is really too far from the ground. However, out loud I say something quite different:

    "So what if it''s high? It''s still a good idea."

    "I would die!" persists the man.

    I don''t even blink.

    "So what of it? Are you worried your body would be noticed, and would compromise Lady Almikonte? We can throw down some rags to cover it up."

    The man silently opens and closes his mouth in a fit of righteous indignation, as Mireya shakes her head, suppressing a smile.

    "Nessa, now is not the time for jokes! How should we proceed? "

    The Duke''s sister turns her back to me, so I could help her put on the corset.

    "I am contemplating just that."

    Unfortunately no practical solutions come to mind, so I decide to think out loud.

    "He can''t exit the chambers. When I came in, I saw two spies outside. I think Estley sent them to guard you while the Duke is getting ready. No man could sneak out unnoticed¡­"

    I stop and snap my fingers, latching on to the escaping idea. No man ... but what about a woman?

    "Undress!" I say firmly, pointing to the completely dumbfounded lover.

    "W-why?" asks he.

    "Undress, I''m telling you!" I insist. "We will get you out of here in a dress, disguised as one of the ladies in waiting. My Lady, you wouldn''t mind lending this young man some of your clothes?"

    "I would not," Mireya supported me.

    I had no doubt what her answer would be, and therefore have already come to the door. I open it a bit, and call the maid.

    "Emma!"

    Impatiently I beckon to her with my hand.

    Emma is perhaps the only servant that Mireya could trust fully without hesitation. In general, the Duchess selects all her servants carefully, and tries to avoid having suspicious or disloyal people by her side.

    However, Emma, the forty year old handmaiden, has served in the palace for a long time, and is more devoted to her mistress than anyone. If Mireya were to decide to slaughter some virgins and prepare a cocktail of their blood, Emma would agree to be on the lookout without a second thought.

    "My lady."

    The handmaiden drops a short curtsy.

    "We need to turn this handsome young man into a lady." I outline the scope of work. "Not necessarily young and charming ¡ª most important is that it be quick. You will need underwear, shoes and some old dress, as high-necked as possible."

    Nodding obediently, Emma disappears into the next room, which functions as a wardrobe. She comes back quickly, clutching an armful of clothes she has hastily gathered.

    While Mireya with my help puts the final touches on her own outfit, the maid dresses the young man in a skin colored undergarment. This part goes off without a hitch, but the next stage causes a complication.

    "Ouch!" exclaims the man. "What is that?"

    "This is a corset," I helpfully inform him.

    "I know what a corset is!" he snaps. "I just didn''t think it would be so uncomfortable."

    "Well, congratulations," I grin, critically sweeping my eyes over Mireya''s outfit and straightening out ruffles in her dress. "You have a rare opportunity to learn not only what a beautiful woman looks like, but also how it feels to be one."

    "But I absolutely cannot breathe!" he cries.

    "You can, judging by how well you manage to talk to us." I am not so easily softened.

    "Maybe we could do without?" the young man tries to take another shot at it, while shooting a look of loathing at the piece of clothing under discussion.

    "No we cannot." I am harsh as fate itself. "First of all, without it the dress will not sit properly. And second, the corset will help you create the illusion of breasts.

    "That is unnecessary!" At this point I am speaking to Emma, who is holding in her hands a thin sleeveless shirt, usually worn over a corset and under a high-necked dress. "Let''s move on directly to the dress ¡ª they will be here at any moment!"

    They manage to put on the petticoat, dress and silk stockings successfully. The shoes are a different matter: Mireya''s foot, although not tiny, is still much smaller than that of the young man. For a while we try to no avail to fit his paw into the elegant shoe, moaning and groaning, like Cinderella''s stepmother, struggling to marry off her own daughter to the Prince.

    In the end, Emma brings, from somewhere in the depths of the wardrobe, a pair of much larger shoes, probably left over from one of the ladies-in-waiting, which fits the lover. The man stands up ¡ª and his legs freeze wide apart and bent at the knees.

    "And what do you want to say with this stance?" I ask suspiciously, struggling not to burst out laughing.

    "Heels!" he hisses.

    "Yes? Heels?" I look at him quizzically, waiting for an explanation.

    "Why are they so high?"

    "Because that is what''s fashionable," I answer.

    "All right, but why are they so unstable?" persists the lover, unwilling to straighten his legs.

    "Well, that is to awaken in men the desire to take care of us and catch us if we stumble," Mireya let him in on a little woman''s secret.

    Judging by the sour look on the young man''s face, he is not overjoyed by the idea of a strange man catching him. However, I am mainly interested in his hair at the moment, which is in an atrocious state.

    "Emma, please bring me any old wig," I ask. "I hope we still have a few of those lying around somewhere in the chest."

    "Wigs are no longer worn," Mireya hesitates.

    "Some still wear them," I say.

    "Only old hags like Baroness Rego," winces the young lady.

    "Well, fine. Let him be considered an old hag. What matters is that they allow him out of here."

    I seat the man in the chair in front of me, and, equipped with brushes, begin to work on his face. He almost immediately sneezes, thus expressing his ingratitude towards all my attentiveness and care.

    "You will have to endure it ¡ª beauty requires sacrifice!" I state optimistically. "Be grateful that the present King''s father ordained a law banning the use of skin whiteners. Many women hate him fiercely for that. There are rumors that this decree is the reason his lover tried to kill him."

    "So why did he issue such a law?" the lover wonders.

    "Because the court alchemist enlightened him on the composition of most of those whiteners," I flaunt my knowledge, while quickly working with the brushes. "It turns out that whiteners contain lead, which in turn undermines one¡¯s health severely. Hence noble ladies have paid for their short-lived beauty with their lives."

    During this time I manage to somehow put a thick layer of powder on Mireya''s lover''s face, and then add some blush.

    "It is quite the cautionary tale," says Emma, walking out of the wardrobe with a wig in her hand.

    The white curls look absolutely unnatural, but back then ¡ª like the whiteners ¨C it was a tribute to the flighty and sometimes cruel fashion.

    "At least wigs are perfectly safe," I console the young man. Having hoisted the wig onto him, I begin to inspect the results. "Perhaps we are missing something," I mutter under my breath. "Earrings, maybe?"

    "But my ears aren''t pierced," answers the guy in surprise.

    "So what? We can pierce them right here, right now," I am not discouraged.

    The young man shrinks away from me, and Mireya, feeling somewhat compassionate towards him, comes up with a different suggestion:

    "What about clips?"

    "And what is a clip?" suspiciously scowls the lover.

    "Clips are shackles for your ears," I say, smiling.

    "Nessa!" Mireya reproachfully exclaims.

    "But I''m telling it like it is!"

    "Well actually, you''re right in a way;" she admits upon reflection, and guiltily looks at the man.

    However, I reckon wasting time on jewelry would be unreasonable. A few finishing touches, and the image is complete.

    "Well, how about it?" I address my question mainly to Mireya.

    "Great!" she grins. "No one will suspect anything."

    "I would like to hope so." I consider the fruits of my labors with a more critical eye. "Well, we don''t have time to improve it, anyhow. We will go and try to not run into the Duke, and you get rid of his clothes."

    Emma begins to fuss, picking up a pair of pants, a coat and so on from the floor, while I nudge the lover towards the door.

    "Most importantly, do not stumble as we are walking through the first corridor," I quietly instruct. "Try not to meet anyone''s eyes. If we have to split up, turn right and descend two floors down the staircase. You know the place. We will send someone to help you from that point on."

    Approaching footsteps attract our attention from the far end of the corridor. I have finished my coaching just in time, since there is virtually no chance we could have missed the group of four heading towards Mireya''s quarters.

    Two of the people approaching us are no more than servants, executors; hence they themselves worry me very little. But the other two could create a lot of problems, and I do not even know which of them should be considered more dangerous.

    Duke Conrad Almikonte, a widower of thirty four years, has a commanding and rather gloomy look. Of average height and a not too imposing physique, he has unusually broad shoulders, which make his appearance a bit disproportionate. His eyes are such a dark hue that they seem almost black. He has sharp facial features, a powerful mouth, slightly curved downward, and a square chin. His hair, unlike Mireya''s, is dark brown; it is curled in accordance with the current fashion.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    Near the Duke strides Lord Cameron Estley, who inherited the title of Count from his father and the title of Baron from his uncle ¡ª a man who wields a great deal of influence in the palace.

    As Almikonte''s right hand, he enjoys all the rights and privileges that come with the position. He is involved in numerous matters that hold interest for the Duke, and I barely have an idea of a third of the areas that are under his influence. However, in issues related to my duties, his intervention is more than enough for me.

    Lord Estley, a thirty-two year old bachelor, is significantly taller than the Duke, although he does not boast the same shoulder width. His black hair is pulled into a ponytail, covering the neck; his dark gray eyes have a piercing look, as if the owner suspects everything and everyone of a crime of some sort, and intends to solve the case with his gaze.

    He has a thin oval face, a straight nose, and high cheekbones. Estley knows how to be charming and ¡ª much worse ¡ª is able to use it for his own purposes. However, he never tries to manipulate me, as he knows it won''t work.

    As soon as they reach us, I stop and curtsey. Fortunately, Mireya''s lover is able to keep his cool, and performs something resembling a courtesy. It is rather awkward but in the darkness of the corridor it suffices. Especially since the Duke quickly passes us, without even bothering to nod in greeting. I don''t blame him.

    The Duke is often angry with his sister, but they do share a familiar bond. Mireya''s first lady in waiting, on the other hand, who often assists her in affairs, he finds quite objectionable; all that Conrad Almikonte feels towards her is cold antipathy.

    The servants follow the Duke into Mireya''s chambers, but Lord Estley lingers. He, unlike his master, greets me with a nod, befitting the relevant rules of etiquette. I would, however, prefer that he behaved less gallantly, because the longer we are in his presence, the higher the chance that he will see through my companion''s disguise and realize that he is not a she.

    Cameron Estley is very intelligent and observant, which often makes me want to hate him.

    "Lord Cameron!" I feign a joyful smile. "Would you mind having a few words with me?"

    I hold out my hand and tilt my head in farewell, looking at Mireya''s lover. Fortunately, he understands what I mean and hurries off. Estley takes me by the arm, and I lead him in the opposite direction, to the door behind which the Duke has recently disappeared.

    "Fancy meeting you here. What brings you at such a strange hour to the female wing of the castle?" I ask, imitating genuine bewilderment.

    "As you could see, I''m just accompanying the Duke," he replies.

    Sure, he''s just accompanying. I''m willing to bet that it was his spies who got wind of Mireya''s date, reported this information back to him, and that he was the one who gave Conrad Almikonte the idea to come here unannounced and catch his sister in the act. It''s a wonderful way to get her to dance to the Duke''s tune at a later date. He can blackmail her, for example, by threatening to send her to a nunnery for disgracing her dynasty.

    However, I don''t allow my anger to show on my face.

    "It seems the Duke simply wishes to visit his sister?" I suggest.

    "You literally see straight to heart of the matter, Lady Inessa."

    "But in that case, he could have warned her in advance about his visit, don¡¯t you think?" I bat my eyelashes naively, trying to compensate for the rigidity which manages to slip into my tone.

    "He could have," easily agrees Lord Estley. "However," the hint of friendliness in his eyes is replaced by searing cold, "this palace belongs to the Duke. And therefore, he has the right to enter any premises at any time, with prior warning and without it. Don''t you think?"

    I yank my hand. Now facing each other, we stop by the door leading to Mireya''s chamber.

    "Of course he has the right" I reply, calmly, but just as coldly. "According to the law. But the rules of etiquette require something somewhat different."

    "Would you like to discuss the rules of etiquette with the Duke?" without batting an eye, Estley asks.

    I grit my teeth against my will. The bastard is unobtrusively pointing out my place relative to the Duke. I reside in the territory of Conrad Almikonte, I live in his palace, and no matter whom I serve, in reality I am the Duke''s subject. If he so desires, he can always remind me of that.

    This is just like the old Cameron Estley I know and despise. He loves to put people in their place. Well, that is his privilege. But once again I have been able to twist him around my little finger. The man wearing a woman''s dress and wig has long since disappeared around the corner. It cheers me up, allowing me to swallow my pride with dignity.

    "Of course not. I don''t mean to criticize the Duke." My lips curl into an insincere smile. "I''m just worried that Lady Mireya will not be able to give him the welcome he deserves. She hates surprises.

    "Well, let''s see how she handles it," Estley says, glancing at the door.

    Then he looks at me as if trying to figure out what is on my mind. He must have thought that I deliberately delayed him on the doorstep, so as to keep him from entering as long as possible. However, given that the servants and the Duke are already in the boudoir, he has undoubtedly realized that was not the case after all.

    "Come on, Lady Inessa." His voice sounds a little more sincere than it had been until that point. "Of course, I understand, and in a way even respect your devotion to your mistress. But a musician as a lover!" He frowns expressively. "You have to agree that it''s overkill even for Lady Mireya."

    "And don''t you think," leaning forward I retort: "that it is a private matter?"

    Estley sighs expressively, as if lamenting the fact that he needs to explain simple truths of life to a stupid woman such as me.

    "Lady Inessa, you are allowed to have personal matters. You are an independent woman who is not burdened with frequent communication with her parents. I may have personal matters. But Mireya Almikonte cannot have personal affairs, as she belongs to too noble a family to allow that. Any mistake she makes lays an indelible stain on the whole Almikonte family and undermines the authority of her brother. In addition, before she marries she is a ward of the Duke. This in itself rules out the existence of so-called "personal matters".

    Well, yes, of course. This very convenient logic gives the brother the right to freely manipulate his sister.

    "You ought to know, my lord." I humbly bow my head. "Wait a moment!" I look back at him, eyes wide. "Surely you don''t suppose Lady Mireya is in the company of a lover at the moment?!"

    I feign surprise on my face, as if the thought had just occurred to me. As if we have not just talked about it almost in plain language.

    "Lady Mireya definitely has a lover in her chambers right now," Estley says, showing he doesn''t buy into my game. "And you can distract me with small talk all you like, it''s not going to change anything."

    "Lord Cameron," I bare my teeth in a smile, resembling a snarl: "I certainly understand, and in some cases even respect your devotion to your master. But believe me, there is no lover in Mireya''s chambers."

    He looks at me with narrowed eyes, then opens the door and enters the chambers. He doesn''t worry about such trivial things as letting a lady pass through first. Thankfully, I''m not the easily offended type, so I just follow him in.

    Mireya lounges in a comfortable deck chair, and watches her brother, who towers over her like a statue, from beneath hooded eyes. He clearly has failed to induce any sort of shame or even a blush of embarrassment in his sister. Judging by the sound coming from the adjacent quarters, the servants are diligently trying to find a lover in her boudoir, investigating for this purpose one room after another ¡ª the bedroom, the dressing room, the bathroom.

    "Ah, Lady Inessa," Mireya says, still keeping her eyes half-closed. When we are surrounded by strangers she addresses me much more formally than when we are by ourselves.

    "Come in, sit down please. It seems this will take a while."

    Needless to say, to the appearance of Lord Estley she doesn¡¯t react at all.

    Modestly inclining my head, I sit down on the edge of the white and green patterned banquette.

    Cameron approaches the Duke, who in turn gives his assistant a worried look. It has become quite obvious that the lover will not be found in the chambers. Lord Estley frowns, clearly realizing that something is fishy. He begins to carefully inspect the room, then unhurriedly walks up to the window, draws back the curtain, and looks out.

    "It''s a good thing we did not settle on the lover falling out of the window," I think, "Or right now Estley would have found a corpse, and certainly would have thought something bad."

    Meanwhile, the people the Duke sent to search return empty-handed. Conrad Almikonte''s jaw muscles clench from frustration. He glares at his sister, but she just gives him a calm, innocent look in response.

    "Would you like some tea, gentlemen?" With the tone of a friendly hostess she asks. "A foreign cook supplies me with delightful strawberry jam. She''s not willing to disclose the recipe to anybody. And also these... oh, I have forgotten." She snaps her fingers and turns to me.

    "Bagels," I suggest.

    "Yes, yes, bagels," agrees Mireya. "Funny name. No connection to beagles." When pronouncing the name of the animals, she somehow very intently looks at the men. "It''s a sort of pastry. Very popular in the Orient. If you''d like, I''ll order that they be served."

    "Thank you." It is obvious from the Duke''s tone that this is a refusal. "Why is your bed such a mess?"

    We really have not had the time to deal with the bed; the only thing Emma managed to do to salvage the situation was to pick up the blankets and sheets from the floor.

    "The maid was just about to lay new linens," Mireya calmly responds. "Forgive me, dear brother, but we had no knowledge that you would bless us with your visit now, of all times."

    I try to hide a smile. In the end, and without my help, Duke Almikonte still receives a lesson on the subject of good manners. I glance at Estley. He continues to look around the room, as if searching for clues; his lips are pursed.

    Suddenly, the Count steps to the bed and kneels, apparently unafraid to besmear his trousers. Then he bends down and draws a man''s boot from beneath the bed.

    Mireya starts, but immediately rushes to pull herself together. I bite my lip. Apparently, while trying to quickly get rid of the lover''s possessions, Emma just missed this little detail.

    Estley turns his find in his hands, surprisingly not the least bit squeamish.

    "What is this?" He for some reason addresses not Mireya, but me specifically.

    "A boot," I say, looking at him through the eyes of the crystal honest.

    "A boot,¡± Lord Cameron repeats after me, and a smirk begins playing on his lips. "And what is it doing here?"

    "It is my boot," I answer firmly.

    "Yours?" The Count''s smile becomes a little wider. "A man''s boot?"

    "A man''s boot," I confirm in such a tone as though it is obvious.

    Estley''s questioning stare demands an explanation, and I do not disappoint him.

    "No, of course I do not wear it. But it was I who brought it into Lady Mireya''s chambers. You see, we needed it for... for the samovar."

    "For the what?" asks the Duke.

    "Do you remember, Lady Mireya mentioned a foreign cook? In the Orient, those devices are commonplace. I''m not sure how convenient it is, but my lady is interested in all sorts of odd trinkets, so we decided to find a master who would make us such a thing."

    "All this sounds just wonderful," Lord Cameron interrupts me. "But can you tell me what the boot has to do with it?"

    "You mean, you don''t know?" I throw up my hands, supposedly shocked by such ignorance. "Boots are used as bellows for firing it up. You don''t believe me?"

    The men''s looks leave not even a shadow of a doubt that they don¡¯t believe me.

    "Well, I''ll prove it to you."

    I rummage in the bottom drawer of the dresser, where several pamphlets are lying around, that Mireya and I sometimes browse before bed. One of them describes the customs of different countries, and was the source of the information that turned out to be very helpful to us. This just proves that education can be useful in the most unexpected of situations. Taking out the aforementioned book, I find the right page, and triumphantly hand it to Lord Cameron. That page features an illustration of a samovar with a real boot on top of the pipe. The Count''s eyes widen again, and he presses his lips again in dissatisfaction.

    He shows the picture to the Duke, and then gives me back the brochure.

    "Well." The Duke steps to the door, not bothering to conceal his anger. "I''m not going to keep you any longer."

    After giving me one last heart-searching look, Lord Cameron follows him. I accompany the two of them, not so much out of politeness as to ensure that they are really going to leave.

    At the last second Estley stops and turns around

    "One day you''ll have a fall," he says in a low voice.

    "That''s when we''ll talk," I respond, smiling politely.

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    Half a Step Away from Love</a> by Olga Kuno

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 Part one, Chapter 1

    ¡°Dancing is a perpendicular expression of a horizontal desire.¡±

    George Bernard Shaw

    I settle comfortably into the chair, and observe the row of dancers with interest. The musicians play the waltz, the second dance of the ball today. The first is a polonaise according to tradition, in which all guests without exception must take part. The list of partners was drawn up in advance; if a gentleman wanted to dance the first dance with a certain lady, he would engage her a week before the ball, or even earlier, to make sure that nobody beat him to it.

    My case is somewhat different: I am dancing with Viscount Leon Shiro, with whom I am on strictly friendly terms. We do not feel any strong emotions, either positive or negative, towards each other, so the dance progresses peacefully, to our mutual satisfaction. As soon as the last notes fade, Leon walks me to the chairs arranged for the convenience of the guests, and goes on to play cards at one of the tables prepared for this purpose.

    So now I''m relaxing and watching the dancing couples. This season pastel colors are in fashion, so the women''s dresses are dominated by colors like pink, yellow, ivory, pale blue. As it should be at a ball, the dresses are luxurious. Lush due to the layered petticoats, decorated with colored ruffles at the edges, as well as lace and bows. Ornaments adorn the fabrics, depicting various flowers. Because of the abundance of decorations on the dresses, accessories such as brooches and necklaces are almost out of fashion. Narrow sleeves extend to the elbow. The high hairstyles decorated with feathers alone are reminiscent of works of art.

    The soft colors of the women''s dresses make a nice contrast to the darker and richer colors of the males¡¯ coats. The most popular choices are deep blue, dark green and purple. The vests are fortunately rather plainer; otherwise the men would look like parrots. From under the outerwear peek out snow white collars and cuffs.

    For a while I observe how Mireya and her new partner gracefully whirl around the dance floor. Well, at least this one isn''t a musician, if that helps our dearest Duke any. After the recent incident in which her brother almost caught her lover, Mireya has grown noticeably colder towards the latter. I do not know what has caused her to change her attitude, but the fact remains: he does not visit her chambers again. The red-haired Earl however, with whom she is currently dancing, seems to have a chance to become her new favorite.

    My gaze gradually shifts, sliding from the dance area to the far wall of the rectangular room. There really is something to see. The wall is covered from end to end and floor to ceiling with a fresco depicting a lovely garden. Rose bushes, flowering cherry trees, even the clouds floating in the sky look so realistic that it seems as though if you just close your eyes, you will smell the exhilarating scent of roses. As far as I know, one courtier even mistook the painting for a real garden and tried to enter it. To be fair, he was thoroughly drunk. The accident ended in a slight concussion, and a vow never to drink so much again. However, I don''t guarantee that the last promise was fulfilled.

    This mural is the creation of Pablo Eskatto, arguably the greatest artist of our time. His work has graced a few walls of the palace. His work is incredibly expensive; he happens to work for the noble people of the country; he also travels abroad at the invitation of members of royal families. Speaking of which, there are rumors that he, too, at one time spent a lot of evenings in Mireya''s boudoir.

    "Well, how about that," drawls Ilona, turning over a small ivory snuffbox in her hands, "they''re saying you quarreled with Cameron Estley again."

    My friend Ilona Dennis is also Mireya''s lady in waiting, but in the court she is known not because of her position but because of her eccentricity. She dresses, talks and generally behaves somewhat differently than the others. While fashion and etiquette prescribe that ladies be soft, gentle and mysterious, Ilona prefers frankness, swears frequently, and has a number of habits that are usually considered masculine. For example, she sniffs tobacco and sips brandy, and calls red wine sour. She hates ladies'' saddles and loves prodding the horse to a gallop. Her movements have something angular about them, and her mannerisms are sometimes overly sharp. Even her clothes are different from ours: a bit more practical, a little less jewelry, no bows nor bright colors. Living at the court means following fashion trends ¡ª it is an immutable law of the palace. The only way to not be a slave to fashion is to be the one creating it. However, not everyone has the power and status necessary for the latter. For example, Mireya can do it, but not I. Yet Ilona manages to be a rare exception to the rule: she does not follow any fashion trends, but she is forgiven. Perhaps due to the breath of fresh air she brings with her eccentricity to high society.

    Trying to set the young woman on the right path, supporters of more traditional behavior present a seemingly sound argument: if you do not behave as a woman should, men will not love you. Supposedly this is airtight logic. But the paradox is that Ilona doesn''t suffer from a lack of attention from the opposite sex. She has lovers and admirers. Yes, her relationships usually do not last long and do not turn into anything serious, but, honestly, who among us ¡ª classical and traditional ladies ¡ª can boast that?

    "Yes, but it was not exactly a quarrel..." I wince, making it clear that the word she chose was too strong. "We just had a small conflict of interest. He intended to catch Mireya with a man, and I was not going to let him. In the end, I managed to get the better of him."

    "That''s not good," says Ilona, placing her snuffbox on the adjacent empty chair. Such a reaction from her surprises me.

    "Not good?" I ask. "Why? Would you prefer that the Duke and that windbag Estley caught Mireya''s lover in her bedroom?"

    "That''s not the problem." Ilona shakes her head.

    "What then?"

    "The fact is that with such men as ''the windbag'', you need to keep on your toes. Beating these people is risky; when dealing with them often winning costs you more in the end than losing would. Sooner or later he will want to take revenge on you, and he is an extremely dangerous opponent."

    "Come on, don''t demonize him," I protest. "He is, of course, a right bastard, but not that terrifying." I bite my tongue, but to my relief no one has heard me. Ilona has a bad influence on me: in her presence, I also begin to speak more vulgarly than is appropriate for a court lady, especially at the ball. "And besides, you know I am not easily frightened."

    "I''m aware," confirms Ilona "and that''s why I consider it necessary to warn you. Courage is of course, a great virtue, but sometimes it can lead to dire consequences. Heroism leads the army to victory, but often ends badly for the hero."

    "The two things are not even comparable!" I shrug off her philosophical metaphors. "Heroism is out of the question. After all I''m not throwing myself chest forward onto a sword."

    "There are worse things than a sword," Ilona disagrees. "What do you even know about Cameron Estley''s affairs? Especially about those that do not relate to Mireya and her brother''s eternal quarrels? He is in fact involved in much more serious issues.

    He takes part in the investigation of major crimes, and in the sentencing; he helps settle conflicts with foreign ambassadors. Did you know that he drove Count Kroyton to suicide?"

    "I didn''t," I respond, shocked. "I¡¯ve never heard of Count Kroyton nor his suicide. And why did Estley treat him so horribly?"

    "I have no idea. The details of the case are unknown; people mostly spread rumors in murmurs about it. The only thing they agree on is the name of the perpetrator."

    "Well, if it''s just a rumor, and not exactly from a reliable source, then, you know, Estley''s guilt is also questionable," I shrug. "Maybe the poor old Earl had just died from a common cold and Estley and was careless enough to visit him a few hours before his death."

    "It''s possible of course." Ilona does not argue, but from the look in her eyes, I gather that she herself doesn''t question the involvement of Cameron Estley in Kroyton''s death. "But it is a widely known fact that he is personally present at some interrogations. And what kind of methods are used in those interrogations is no secret either."

    "So what?" I grimace. "He''s not going to put me in the interrogating chair just because I was able to get a man out of Mireya''s chambers at the right time."

    "That''s for sure," Ilona agrees with me whole-heartedly. "He''s not the kind of man who would send a woman to a torture chamber for such a minor transgression. Moreover, in this regard, you are quite well protected. After all, you are a count''s daughter, even if do not keep in touch with your parents, and are also under the patronage of Mireya. This is a good position. I just want to emphasize that you''re playing with fire."

    "If he leaves Mireya alone, I won''t bother him anymore!" I snap. ¡°And if I never see him, all I will have to say is good riddance. Why did he latch onto her? Surely with his intellect he can understand that it''s undignified of an aristocrat, of a man, even, to fight with a woman, trying to sniff out what''s happening in her bed!" I grimace with disgust. Ilona smiles.

    "Do I have to remind you that Mireya regularly thwarts the works of her brother?" she replies. "For example, the time when the Duke wanted to promote his man as a senior assistant to the ambassador. Mireya, behind his back, appealed to the King, putting forward the candidacy of her own prot¨¦g¨¦."

    "So what''s wrong with that?" I come to Mireya''s defense. "Her prot¨¦g¨¦ was no worse, I would say ¡ª even better than the one the Duke offered." Ilona laughs, looking at me, and I become flustered, realizing the way I am sitting, sticking out my chest, as if I were really ready to jump on a sword to protect my mistress.

    "In any case," I continue more calmly, relaxing my stance, "then, if you remember, the Duke got what he wanted. In the end his man received the position, and not without Estley''s intervention. "

    "That''s the thing. Estley''s task is promoting the interests of the Duke. Mireya constantly interferes with this mission. This turns her into an enemy who must be neutralized. How exactly? She is the sister of the Duke, so the option "put a bag on her head and make sure no one is the wiser" is not viable. What remains? The most effective way to keep her under control is blackmail. But what can he use for blackmail? She does not break the law, is not involved in any political conspiracies, and does not sniff ¡°purple dust¡±. Her only weakness is men. Everyone knows that she''s not exactly virginal. Mireya herself doesn''t make a big secret of it. However, as they say: "no body, no crime". You cannot blackmail based on popular palace gossip. Hence the Duke via Estley tries to catch her on the spot. The only problem is one restless lady in waiting who always butts in and ruins their plans."

    "And I''ll continue to butt in as long as they use such dirty methods," I snap.

    Laughing, Ilona picks up her glass of brandy.

    "Well, as I expected, my soul-saving talk was in vain," she sums up.

    She sips her drink, rolls it around her palate and swallows, closing her eyes in pleasure. "Good intentions, as always, lead to nothing. Well, it serves me right." She takes another sip.

    "Would you like me to read you a lecture, too, about the dangers of alcoholic drinks?" I suggest slyly.

    Hearing this idea causes Ilona to choke and cough, and then back off from me, crossing her arms in front of her.

    "Anything but that!" She pleads. "Let me enjoy the ball in peace."

    "If you want to enjoy the ball, go dance," I suggest. Ilona expressively winces.

    "I''m too lazy" she admits in a low voice. "Besides, these pumps chafe my feet horribly."

    "What part of them could chafe your feet?" I ask in surprise, looking down on my friend''s shoes. "They barely cover the toes. In this new fashioned model there is not even space for buckles!"

    "I''m actually glad about that," snorts my friend." Nevertheless, it has still managed to graze my foot."

    "Lady Ilona!" Baron Growly greets us both with a polite nod, emerging from the crowd. He is a peppy and cheerful thirty year old man who looks five years younger than he is, likely due to his energy and enthusiasm.

    "Would you like to dance?"

    Ilona sighs dolefully and looks at me plaintively, as if I could do something to help her. I pretend not to notice this, and take a sip of weak "sour stuff" from my glass.

    "Mazurka?!" Even more painfully Ilona moans, listening closely. "All right, Ralph, so be it, I accept your offer," she says jokingly. Fortunately their friendship guarantees he would not be offended. "But keep in mind: those wacky new shoes chafe my feet, so I''m going to limp and may even stumble."

    "Do not worry, my lady, I will support you," with a smile the Baron promises.

    "If I stumble, I may begin cursing," ominously warns Ilona.

    "I''ll survive," says Growly. "I hope this concludes the list of threats?"

    "It does." My friend''s sigh expresses hopelessness, but her eyes don''t seem sad. "Come on, if you''re so persistent."

    Growly leads her to the dance area, and I am left behind all alone. That, however, doesn''t bother me in the least. Furthermore, I decide to escape from the hall before someone decides to join me. It would be nice to have a little breath of fresh air in the garden. I could return just in time for dinner.

    Across the room, I notice Cameron Estley speaking with Lady Clara Wharton. More precisely, Lady Clara is clinging to the Count and passionately telling him something, while he carefully maintains a moderately civil expression on his face, which is clearly no easy feat. That is unsurprising. Estley''s companion is an elderly lady, who somehow inexplicably manages to combine enthusiasm and tediousness. This rare combination of qualities is simply deadly, almost fatal for those who are unfortunate enough to find themselves at the center of her attention. Escaping her attentions without violating the rules of behavior in decent society is possible only after the old lady herself tires of lecturing you. However, this usually takes a very long time. Therefore, passing the couple, I mentally rub my hands together in glee. Serves you right, Lord Cameron, I think to myself. I really hope that she tortures you for another thirty minutes.

    "Lady Inessa!"

    That raspy voice hits me in the back, like a bullet between the shoulder blades. Truly, the gods have decided to punish me. You should not wish such suffering upon your fellow man. Even if that man is as intolerable person as Lord Cameron. With a barely restrained suffering sigh, I turn and hurry to put on a friendly smile.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Lady Clara! How nice to see you! How are you feeling? Are you enjoying the ball?"

    I fire these questions in rapid succession, deliberately leaving her no time to answer, and slowly backing towards the door. Alas, Lady Clara stops my attempt to retreat, tenaciously grasping my hand. However, she is in no hurry to let Estley go, either.

    "I just told the Count, it''s downright indecent." The lady does not respond to my questions in any way, remaining faithful to her old habit of listening only to herself. "Two such prominent personalities of the court cannot have such a cold relationship. You just do not have the right. It''s bad form!"

    Unable to restrain myself, I roll my eyes. How many times will she repeat the same idea, using different expressions?

    "You hold such significant positions under such important people," continues Lady Clara, thankfully unaware of my reaction. "Your behavior must set an example to others. Your squabbles are just intolerable! In my time, ladies and gentlemen would never allow themselves to behave that way." She shakes her head in disapproval and tut-tuts at the same time, clearly relishing the action. "You must change your line of conduct. Do you hear me? You must!"

    "I''m sold," unexpectedly announces Estley, drawing his wrist from Lady Clara''s clasp and after a brief bow, staring me straight in the eye, and says:

    "Lady Inessa, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"

    I admit, I am a bit befuddled. But what would you have me do? In general refusing an invitation to dance without a sufficient reason is frowned upon. But dancing with Estley¡­ Still unsure how to proceed, I meet the Count''s eyes.

    "Just try to refuse me," he hisses furiously.

    I realize that in that case Estley would make sure I suffer. For instance, he could make me have tea with Lady Clara every night for a month. Besides, a dance is indeed not such a bad idea, as it would allow me to escape the company of the bothersome lady.

    "Of course, Lord Cameron," I declare, and curtsy in a manner befitting the occasion.

    "I hope you''ll excuse us, Lady Clara."

    Without waiting for an answer, which could have lasted for a whole dance even if it were positive, Estley leads me to the dance floor.

    "One minuet, and you''re free to go," the Lord assures me with a stony face. "Lady Wharton will calm down and find a new victim." I incline my head in agreement, halting beside him.

    "How fortunate that we don''t have to dance long," I say in a casual tone, extending my left hand to him, while gently moving my right one to the side.

    "Do you dislike dancing in general, or do you have something against the minuet specifically?"

    I have something against this particular gentleman. But I couldn''t say it to his face, especially since he clearly already knows.

    "Just because otherwise you and I will have to make small talk," I explain, taking a sliding step back.

    "And that frightens you?"

    His eyes flash with mockery, which clashes with his movements which, by the nature of dance, are meant to express admiration for his partner.

    "I am not of the easily frightened type, Lord Cameron."

    My tone does not conform well to the atmosphere dictated by the minuet''s movements either.

    "I know." Something I don¡¯t fully understand ¡ª either curiosity or approval ¡ª flickers in his eyes. "That just makes it even more fascinating."

    I arch my eyebrow questioningly, requesting him to clarify the meaning of his words. However, the Count does not take the hint, and asking him to explain would be beneath my dignity. We are silent for the next few steps.

    "So, Lady Inessa," Estley speaks first, apparently remembering my words about the necessity to make small talk. "Tell me one little secret. Dressing up men in female dresses ¨C is it a hobby or a perversion?"

    That means he has realized what kind of lady in waiting in a wig left our company in such a hurry. Well, I am not particularly surprised.

    "One day, you''ll know," I smile promisingly.

    It is his turn to raise an eyebrow, and mine to remain mysteriously silent in response.

    "Well," he continues, as we step on our tiptoes toward each other. "In this case, answer me this: Why do you dislike men so?"

    I nearly trip at hearing such a question, and stare at my companion with unconcealed astonishment.

    "Why on earth would you think that?" The initial shock has passed, and I am able to pull myself together. "Lord Cameron, your ego knows no bounds. You should not presume my attitude towards you personally to be an indication of my feeling toward the male sex as a whole."

    My lips curve into an acid smile. He responds approximately in the same way.

    "Lady Inessa, if you expect to offend me with that statement, I am sorry to disappoint you. Many people hate me ¡ª such is my occupation. If I were to have suffered because of every person who feels an aversion towards me, I would have become a monk a long time ago."

    "It would suit you," I assure him, sounding as though we are discussing the weather.

    "I doubt it. But let''s get back to my question."

    "Frankly, I do not quite understand the gist of it."

    "You are very tepid towards men, Lady Inessa. No ¡ª I''m not suggesting that you have other preferences. That you like women, or animals, or, for example, corpses."

    "What?!"

    My eyes widen in shock after hearing these assumptions; he seems to have been waiting for just that. He maintains a serious expression, however, the corners of his lips lift in a hint of a smile, giving him away. But I have no doubt: Estley enjoys watching my reaction to his affronting and ridiculous statements, which is why he has made them in the first place.

    "Oh, Lady Inessa, believe me, in the civil service, one sees far more terrible things," he complains. "However, I repeat, I do not believe that any of this applies to you. No, your tastes, without a doubt, are much more traditional. I know that you have dated men. Nevertheless, you don''t indulge in this part of life. According to my information, in the four years that you have lived in the palace, you have only had three lovers and those were long ago, near the beginning of your time here. Compared to most other young ladies in waiting that is a very small number. Can you tell me why?"

    I can''t believe it, what exact details he knows! He has probably conducted a whole investigation. I recognize his methods. I smile frostily.

    "I''m curious. What could be the reason, from your point of view?" I throw the ball in his court. But such a move doesn''t floor him.

    "I see only two possibilities," eagerly replies Estley, not even trying to accuse me of avoiding the question. "Option one: you have been very disappointed by men. The most likely culprit is your last lover. Apparently, this idiot seriously screwed up, and as a result you have decided to dissociate from the male sex in general."

    "So what is the second option?" I ask enthusiastically.

    "The second option is simple: you are still in a relationship with someone; you''re just keeping it a secret," says Cameron. "The most likely candidate, again, is your last lover. Has he left the country, or am I mistaken?"

    I just snort in response. How can you be mistaken if you have carefully checked the information in advance?

    "You might occasionally correspond with him, and are faithful to him," continues Estley. "I do not know which of these options is correct, and it is none of my business. I just want to emphasize that either way you are making a big mistake. You must learn to enjoy life."

    "So how do you do it? Changing partners as often as a woman changes clothes, and every week taking someone new to bed?" I am still smiling, but my eyes turn hard.

    "Do they really say that about me?" Estley pretends to be appalled. "Don''t listen to them, Lady Inessa! The court consists of nothing but gossipers and enviers."

    "Some revelation!" I snort.

    Estley smiles fleetingly.

    "It is not necessary to change partners every week," he says. "But don''t bury yourself while you''re alive, either. Look around. I''m sure you''ll find a decent man."

    "Lord Cameron, what is this really about?" I frown. "Be honest: why did you even start this conversation? What do you care whether I have a man or not? Or maybe you just want to anger me? If so, I''m sorry to disappoint you, but it is not so easily done."

    "Don''t worry, Lady Inessa, I have plenty of time to anger you," he laughs. "I''ll be honest with you: I really would like you to stop neglecting your personal life. At the moment, all your efforts go towards serving your mistress. It makes my work somewhat¡­ difficult. When you finally have a social life of your own, you will devote less time to Mireya Almikonte''s affairs. And that will be to my advantage."

    "Do you really think that after this admission I will follow your advice?" I am surprised.

    "You should consider it carefully," advises Estley. "Because whatever my purpose, following my advice would be in your own self-interest."

    We stand diagonally from each other, right shoulder forward. A few more movements and the dance ends.

    According to the rules the partner should escort the lady to the place where he asked her to dance. However, if Estley had brought me to Lady Clara, I would have had to strangle him with my bare hands. He apparently suspects as much, and decides not to risk it. Therefore, following my request, he leads me to the chairs, and then immediately disappears into the crowd of guests.

    I pick up a fan someone left on the seat and begin to fan myself thoughtfully, sitting on a nearby chair. How did you put it, Lord Estley? Enjoy life? Find lovers? I smile weakly. That''s not going to happen, milord. I will somehow survive without your advice. And my last lover has absolutely nothing to do with it. I did not even know that he had left the country. And besides I only dated him for a couple of weeks, and even then only for fun. And if I do treat men with a fair amount of caution, it is not because of him.

    Besides, you are doubly wrong: I do not hate the male sex. I''m just too lazy to spend time and energy on frivolous, fleeting romances. As far as a long-term relationship and marriage go... I have nothing against it, but only if I meet the right person. One who would fulfill all my criteria. Someone who would be a really good husband. Gentle, kind, well mannered. Unable to insult a woman, not to mention more serious forms of aggression. Educated, loves to read. Domestic, cozy. In short, a good family man.

    So far I have not met such a man; even if I never do, I''m not going to cry about it. Unlike many women, I am convinced it is better not to marry at all than to have a failed marriage.

    My thoughts are cut short by the sound of a gong, calling the guests to go into the next room, where dinner is served. Lowering the fan, I look around in confusion, as if just awakened from an afternoon nap.

    Damn. In the end, I never go to the garden. However, there is no hurry. The echoing gong reminds me that it would be a good idea to get something to eat. Especially since the dishes served at the ball are truly divine (even though we at the palace can''t complain about the food even on regular days). Only who will I go with now? We are supposed to go into the dining room in pairs: ladies must be accompanied by gentlemen. Typically the last partner in the dance would fill that role, but I have missed that dance. I do not know how Lord Cameron has spent the last few minutes, but it would be foolish to hope that he will show gallantry and hurry to my rescue. I''ll have to look for one of my acquaintances.

    "Excuse me, Lady Antego?"

    An unfamiliar voice causes me to raise my head, frowning. In front of me stands a young man, I would say twenty-five years old ¡ª that is, about my age. He is quite attractive, though not handsome. Brown hair to his shoulders, curled according to the latest fashion. Dark brown eyes, a round face, a cute dimple in his chin, of average height. His lips curve into a pleasant smile, though his facial expression reveals some embarrassment.

    "My name is David Limon. Baron David Limon", he corrects himself, looking questioningly at me. "You may recall we were introduced at the beginning of the ball?"

    "Ah yes, I remember."

    I hurry to put a polite smile on my face. Indeed, we were. But at such events you are introduced to so many new people that it''s impossible to remember everybody.

    The Baron looks relieved at my confirmation. Apparently, he is afraid that I would not remember our acquaintance and deem him coming over to be impolite.

    "May I accompany you to the table?" he asks, encouraged by such a promising beginning. But immediately after this he becomes flustered again. "Or perhaps you have already promised someone?"

    His behavior makes me laugh good-naturedly. That''s what I call manners. What a contrast to my recent dance partner!

    "You may," I graciously agree, and laugh again.

    David offers me his hand, smiling, and I rise from my chair, taking the fan with me. We join the number of guests traveling to the next room.

    "I don''t think we''ve met before," I say. "Have you just recently arrived in the city?"

    "Oh, not at all," He replied. "I have lived here since childhood."

    "But you don''t visit the court?" I ask.

    He shakes his head.

    "Almost never. We have a villa here; I live there with my mother. And, frankly, I find all of these receptions and events too noisy. I prefer a calm pastime with a book and a glass of wine. Or sitting by the fireplace among friends."

    When we pass the high doors, he lets me cross in front of him, without letting go of my hand. He leads me to the table, pulls out a chair for me and sits only once he makes sure I am comfortable.

    "Shall we toast our meeting?"

    Our glasses clink softly. What did I think just a short while ago? Such men don''t exist? Well, maybe I was wrong. While you, Lord Cameron, perhaps were right about something.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    If you like this book, please consider buying it:

    Half a Step Away from Love</a> by Olga Kuno

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Chapter Two

    ¡°Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.¡±

    Oscar Wilde

    Entering my bedroom, I lean wearily against the wall, and, throwing off my shoes, take a few steps barefoot. I stop near the mirror, remove the veil from my head and take off the red wig. Then the maid helps me to remove the luxurious emerald green dress with gold needlework, which belongs to Mireya.

    Today the Duchess, along with several of her ladies in waiting, visited the fair. Such trips mean increased security risk, because even trained guards can have difficulty keeping up with a motley crowd. Therefore, during such events additional precautions are taken: namely, Mireya exchanges places with one of her ladies in waiting. To be precise: with me. It is worth noting that to my knowledge there has not been a single accident during those outings; however, as they say, better safe than sorry. I have long been accustomed to the fact that once every couple of weeks I have to put on a wig, wear another woman''s clothes, and along with the other maids, hide my face under a thick veil. Something about this elaborate masquerade is even funny.

    But this time, I am just exhausted. Therefore, when I am clad in only a white chemise, extending to mid-calf, with great pleasure I sink into the armchair standing in front of the mirror, and throw my head back. I close my eyes and breathe evenly, waiting for the maid to prepare me a hot bath. Then I look at myself in the mirror, and click my tongue disapprovingly. Yes, after the bath I''ll have to work on my face, because underneath my eyes dark circles have started to appear.

    I unhurriedly let down my dark hair. Graceful curls fall on my shoulders. I stand up and look at myself in the full-length mirror. My shirt softly clings to my figure. In general, I can''t complain about my appearance: average height, narrow bones and no excess weight. I am skinny, slim and flexible, my breasts aren''t large, which is perhaps unfashionable, but I am more than happy with them. I have lively gray eyes, which, when necessary, are easy to hide under long lashes. I mastered the art of getting what I want with the right eye movements and facial expressions a long time ago, and I do it well.

    I tousle my hair and optimistically wink at my reflection, as if to say "we''ll be just fine", then walk around the room a little bit. My bare feet sink into the tender embrace of the fluffy carpet. I stop by the picture hanging on the wall, which depicts the sea and the waves lapping at the beach. I do not know why, but I daydream of the sea. Perhaps it is because I visited it as a young child. I was only five years old. From that trip I remember very little, but the view of the vast expanse of water, the cries of the gulls and the smell of seaweed have somehow become forever etched in my memory. Now I have two wishes. The first is to return to the sea. Just walk on the beach, bury my feet in the sand and listen to the sound of the rolling waves. The second: to have a huge mural depicting the seashore covering the wall from top to bottom. In the spirit of the one which adorns the ballroom. So that when you enter the room, you can glance at it, close your eyes, and practically feel the fresh breeze splash drops of the salty water in your face.

    Except I have very little chance of fulfilling those dreams. The sea is far away, and I simply don''t have the time to go on such a trip.

    As for the mural, few artists could create such a work of art, at the sight of which you could believe that in front of you is not a picture, but life itself. Pablo Eskatto could, but this man creates for kings, and his works are insanely expensive. The Duke certainly would not invite him to decorate the boudoir of a lady in waiting. So I have to make do with the modest painting, which is actually quite well done. Well, dreams wouldn''t be dreams if they came true, would they?

    After a bath, I feel rested. Wearing my own clothes this time, I proceed to one inconspicuous little-used room. Outside the sun has already set, but the night has not yet fully fallen. I close the dense dark purple drapes and light a single candle on the table. Then I pass my hand several times over the flame, causing it to bend under my fingers. Three times towards me, once away.

    "I''m already here ¡ª there''s no need to call!" the cute girl now standing in front of me cheerfully informs me. She is completely ordinary, save for the fact that you can see the wall of the room through her.

    "What have you brought me today?" she asks enthusiastically,

    "Earrings," I declare, and smile at her childlike directedness.

    I take out silver earrings with pear-shaped pendants from a secret pocket (the only kind our dresses have). When she sees them, her eyes seem to light up; of course, if one could say that about a ghost.

    "Come on!" she prompts me.

    I already know what to do. Which is not trying to give the earrings to the girl; rather, I place the hand with the earrings so that the shadow of them falls on the wall. She immediately slips through those shadows. When a moment later she stands again in front of me, she holds the earrings in her hand. Only this time they have a ghostly appearance as well. Meanwhile, their physical counterparts remain in my fingers.

    "Wow!" Exclaims the girl, wearing the earrings and looking at them in a round mirror on a long handle, which appears out of nowhere and is as transparent as she. "Now I have something to brag about to my people!"

    "My people" are the palace ghosts. However, I have never ever seen any of them. Only her: Maya Dancy, a young woman, who lived in the palace about a century ago, and died at the age of twenty-four. In general, this type of communication is, to put it mildly, unusual. The material world and the afterworld rarely intersect. Very few people have the ability to see and hear ghosts. So we are both kind of exceptions to the rule.

    "Well, tell me!" says the girl, admiring herself in the ghostly mirror. "The palace is buzzing! What was the incident with the disguise in which you seem to have played a key role?"

    It is believed that ghosts come to live with people in order to frighten them ¡ª to moan, complain about their ruined life or demand vengeance. I don''t know; maybe somewhere that is exactly what happens. But this palace is a special place. Here, even the ghosts talk about clothes, jewelry, balls ¡ª and of course they love to gossip.

    Having nothing against it, I tell Maya how I managed to lead Mireya''s lover out of her chambers dressed as a woman. I have no reason to hide the truth. That''s the beauty of communicating with a ghost. It won''t betray you, or use the information for its own selfish interests; it won''t even envy you, or at the very least she wouldn''t hold a grudge.

    For instance, now Maya is just having fun, and laughing merrily at my story.

    "One thing''s for sure: he was lucky that he was not born in my time!" She exclaims. "Whiteners would have been the least of his problems. By the way, no one could even imagine they were that dangerous. And yet now I realize that most likely my aunt died from lead poisoning... So, this lover of yours ..."

    "Not mine ¡ª Mireya''s!" I correct her. "That would be the day!"

    "Well, yes ¡ª Mireya''s." The girl waves her hand, making it clear that this was what she meant. "He should have seen the corsets popular in my time! Then he would have understood how easy yours are! In my century, it was fashionable to have a wasp waist and a flat chest. The corsets that molded your body into that shape were even called shells! And they consisted entirely of metal rods. More armor than clothes!"

    "Horrible!"

    I have a rich imagination; hence I shiver, vividly imagining wearing that kind of "armor" on my body.

    "And the farthingales" adds Maya, surveying her own dress. "I think they would have made that poor man feel extremely uncomfortable."

    I nod. Hoop skirts went out of fashion seventy years ago; today the only thing giving the dress volume is the petticoat, while stays made of whalebone have all but disappeared completely.

    "I once had the chance to wear this atrocity to a masquerade ball," I say. "It was a unique experience. And most important, I couldn''t pass through the door! "

    "It requires a special skill," Maya chuckles, not without pride. "In general, progress is a great thing," she concludes a little later. "I look at the changes that have occurred in the past couple of decades, and come to the conclusion that almost all of them are really for the better. The wig was also not a¡­. To tell you the truth ¡ª here she lowers her voice although in any case no one could have overheard her ¡ª they made your head very itchy. However, the shoes in my time were a lot better. No offense, but yours look pretty funny. And these incredibly long trousers for men..."

    I smile. What the ghost dislikes about the modern shoe, I couldn''t understand. But I completely share her opinion of the trousers. Just a couple of years ago, the trousers reached only to the knee, and the attire was completed with long stockings. Then long pants abruptly became popular. Rumor has it that some progressive tailor presented the model to the King. The monarch was so pleased with the innovation that from that day on he only dressed in that way. And what wears the King, wear the courtiers. In short, fashion changed very quickly. By the way, in the ducal palace one of the first who adopted the new trend was Lord Estley.

    "How was the ball?" Maya changes the subject.

    "Didn''t you attend?" I am a bit surprised.

    Given her taste for fashion and gossip, she just could not miss such an event.

    "I was only there for a short while. You see, balls have too much light, which tires us. It causes something like your migraines. Therefore, we usually prefer to stay away."

    "Well, you know it was a ball like any other," I say thoughtfully. Then I wince and complain:

    "Everyone tried to teach me how to live my life!"

    "Who is "everyone"?" Maya inquires. "And teach you what exactly?"

    "First Ilona told me how dangerous it is to mess with Cameron Estley," I begin to list. "And then Cameron Estley started to lecture me: said I should stop fooling around and find myself a lover."

    Maya laughs, but does not have time to answer: the door opens a crack, and into the room peeks Collin, one of the local page-boys.

    "Lady Inessa?" Seeing a familiar face, he seems to experience a sense of relief. "I was walking past and was surprised to hear someone in here at this hour. And ... to whom are you talking?"

    He frowns, peering into the room ¡ª but, except for me, of course he cannot see anyone.

    "A ghost," I say calmly.

    "A ghost?!" The boy starts in alarm.

    "Indeed," I say, as though talking to ghosts were as common and ordinary a matter as talking to seamstresses.

    "And ... what does it say?" asks the page, warily turning his head from side to side.

    "It says," I lower my voice, imitating his conspiratorial tone, "That it has starved for the last hundred years and wants to eat you for dinner."

    "That''s not true; I said nothing of the sort!" indignantly protests Maya.

    The only problem is that unlike me, Collin cannot hear her.

    "You''re joking!" There is a note of uncertainty in the page''s voice.

    "Why would I?" I raise an eyebrow. "Right now she is baring her teeth, stretching her hands towards you, her eyes glazed with hunger."

    Maya stands quietly, her hands folded on her chest, and looks at me reproachfully.

    "And... and... what should I do?" Collin moves back, but not in a hurry to leave the room. All in all, if I''m not mistaken, he is experiencing a whole range of emotions, from fear to curiosity to excitement.

    I mysteriously open my eyes round.

    "I will try to persuade the ghost to leave you alone. But it will agree only if you agree to some conditions."

    "And what do they entail?"

    I pretend to listen carefully to the ghost. Maya only emphatically shakes her finger near her temple.

    "Here''s the deal. First of all, you will never again go into another person''s room without knocking first," I start counting on my fingers. "Second, stop dangling after the tailor''s daughter. And third, brush your teeth every morning. Do you understand everything?" I ask sternly, giving him no time to think. The page nods, though not too certainly.

    "Then go."

    Collin hesitates on the spot. Overall, the young man realizes that there is a probability of nine out of ten that I am just pulling his leg. But the chance that it is all real, no matter how small, makes him leave hastily just in case.

    "Well, are you proud of yourself?" reprovingly asks Maya when the door closes behind the page.

    "Yes," I say quite sincerely. "He shouldn''t enter rooms without knocking first. What if I were busy making love to someone in here?"

    "You would lock the door in such cases," Maya snorts.

    "I would," I agree. "But that is neither here nor there. He still ought to knock. Besides, the tailor is really worried about his daughter, which this page has been bothering."

    "Well, the first two demands I can somehow understand," begrudgingly agrees Maya. "But the third... what do his teeth have to do with anything?"

    I shrug a little perplexedly.

    "I don''t know... To be honest, I just thought according to rules of the genre there should be three conditions. So I said the first thing that came to mind."

    * * *

    "Bastard! Scoundrel! Half-wit!"

    Mireya dashes around the room like a storm and furiously shouts one expletive after another, though never repeating herself. Emma shrinks frightened into a corner. Ilona, feeling more relaxed, sits in her chair, and just in case pulls up her legs. I have just come in, and now stand at the threshold trying to assess the situation.

    Mireya paces past me, sparing me a glance on her way. She definitely is furious. In this state, people of her position and temperament often tend to destroy everything around them. However, Mireya does not. First, all breakable objects that decorated the interior of the room have been picked out by her personally and with great taste. To lose them because of a momentary flash of anger would be a shame. And second, the Duchess, despite her explosive nature, is not inclined to show off. Which is what breaking dishes is really about in most cases.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    A new series of curses tumbles from the Duchess, this time obscene, and concerning mainly the relatives of a certain person of the male sex. Interesting. Who has managed to drive her up the wall that much ¡ª the Duke or a new lover?

    "Lady Mireya," says Ilona, on whom the lexicon of the mistress has not made a particularly strong impression, "the mother of the Duke is your mother too. Are you sure you really want to make all these statements about her?"

    The voice and expression of the lady in waiting are mildly ironic.

    So, therefore, we are talking about the Duke. I wonder what he has done this time?

    "So be it, all that relates to the mother, I take back," grimly agrees Mireya. "But not the rest!"

    "What actually happened?" I ask, walking into the room and sitting in an armchair near Ilona.

    Mireya finally stops, breathing heavily. Ilona opens her mouth, but then looks at the Duchess, reckoning it would be better if she told me herself.

    With a low growl the Duke''s sister plops down on the banquette.

    "This scumbag, my dear brother, has decided to build a philanthropic school for craftsmen in the south," she grimly informs me.

    I lean forward a little, keeping a question in my eyes; my gaze remains wondering. Charity is not a flaw; the opening of schools is a worthwhile thing. For Mireya to be so angry, obviously something else had to have happened.

    "He''s going to open it with my money!" She snaps.

    "With your money? What do you mean by that?" I decide to clarify.

    "With money from my dowry!" the Duchess enlightens me, accompanying her words with a bitter laugh.

    "Who gave him the right?!" I ask indignantly.

    "Exactly!" immediately agrees Mireya. "Excellent question. That''s what I asked my dear brother!"

    "So you have already talked to him about it," I conclude.

    "Have I ever!" Mireya proudly assures me.

    From her tone I gather that the conversation turned so heated that the walls of the castle shook.

    "But how did he explain all this?" I inquire cautiously.

    "He didn''t!" Mireya snaps. "Something just came over him! ''That''s what I want, so that what''s going to happen!'' No, he of course told me at length how important this school is for the Duchy. A whole lecture! About new opportunities for the poor, about raising living standards, about the level of masters and developing the southern part of the Duchy. As though I was born yesterday! As if I do not know that using the right words you can justify any, however ridiculous endeavor! As if I were so naive as not to guess the true reason which is hidden behind those beautiful explanations, but is far less noble!"

    "And what reason is that?" I frown.

    I don''t have any idea as to what it may be, although in any case I believe that, whatever the motive of the Duke, he doesn''t have any right to touch his sister''s dowry, especially without her permission.

    "Conrad plans to build this school in the Mirror Valley." Mireya chuckles pointedly. "Any more questions?"

    I purse my lips. Mirror Valley is an area in the south of the duchy, which is full of all sorts of streams, rivers and lakes. It seems, because the sky and the trees growing on the shore are constantly reflected in the clear water, that people came to associate the place with mirrors, and that''s how it got its name. Nature there is amazing: the water is a pleasure to swim in, and the air is allegedly healthy and even therapeutic.

    "My brother is going to build a mansion for himself on the sly, maybe even a small palace," explains Mireya, just in case. "Supposedly in order to be able to supervise the school. What part of the sum will be spent on this part of his plan, and what actually on the school, I don''t have to explain to you."

    No longer able to stay in one place, she jumps up and begins pacing again. However, this time more slowly.

    "He just wants to build a holiday resort and he''s going to do it at my expense!" she says, turning sharply on her heels.

    "Well, let''s say that this is what he wants." I am very angry at the Duke, but I try to stay cool, to ensure clarity of thought. "But the Duke himself isn''t poor. Why does he not spend his own money on the school and the mansion?"

    Mireya laughs bitterly.

    "Great question!" She praises me a second time. "Just wonderful. And you know, I asked Conrad the same thing. What do you think he answered me? He gave me another lecture. He says he does not have spare cash right now, while my dowry is just sitting there. Therefore, there is nothing more logical than to put it into action. "And what will happen when I set out to get married?" I asked. "We''ll cross that bridge when we come to it," was his answer. As if to assure me I do not have to worry about anything, because I am under his tutelage. When the time comes, he''ll make sure everything works out for the best."

    "So, he didn''t promise to return you that sum in time?" I reconfirm.

    "That''s what I like about you ¨C your ability to see the bottom line," declares Mireya.

    "No, he doesn''t intend to give me back the money. He did not say it outright, but it was implied. If I need the money, and he has the means to repay me, and he deems my reasons valid enough, then maybe ..." She waves again and plops down on the banquette.

    "Still, it''s some nonsense," I mutter. "What do you mean ''does not have spare change?'' Is he broke? Somehow I did not notice any signs of this."

    "Again, a relevant question." The amount of praise I receive from Mireya today is blush-worthy, but alas I am not very happy. "He has great expenses, many economic and political matters in the duchy, and in a short while it will be time to send the King this month''s taxes. In general, he always has an excuse for everything." She clenches and unclenches her fists again. "But this time it''s not going to work." Mireya''s voice is determined. "I''m not going to let him. It''s my money. My dowry. Our deceased parent left it to me. I am the only one who can decide what to do with it."

    "Of course, we will not allow him to have it,¡± I assure her soothingly.

    Mireya smiles gratefully. But in Ilona''s gaze I see some share of healthy skepticism. Well, she has a point: it will not be easy, and we''ll have to come up with a strategy. But I firmly intend to handle it, and everyone knows that''s at least half the battle. I get up from my chair and slowly walk around the room, hands behind my back.

    "We should appeal to the King," I say confidently. "He is the monarch and your relative. He''s the one who should interfere when your rights have been infringed. Strictly speaking, this is the Duke''s job. But when the Duke is the offender, only the King may judge you and give him a rebuff."

    To my surprise, Mireya shows no enthusiasm regarding my proposal. On the contrary, now she also gives me a skeptical look.

    "I''m absolutely sure that the King will take your side," I try to reassure her. "In this matter, you are in the right, whatever way you look at it. It doesn''t even matter how the Duke is planning to spend the money ¡ª on charity, on the development of the territory or on his own palace. In any case, it is your dowry, and no one has the right to take it from you."

    "I''m not as sure of the assistance of my cousin as you are." The King is Mireya''s and the Duke''s cousin, which Ilona and I of course know. "Who knows which side he''ll choose to take? It is even possible that Conrad has already told him his side of the story. But that''s not the heart of the matter." Mireya shakes her head, forcing her luxurious red hair to swing from side to side, wrapping around her neck and shoulders." My brother has hinted to me that I had better not even think about such a solution to the problem. Meaning everything will play out exactly the same as last time."

    I wince knowingly. The last time we tried to inform the King about the plans of the Duke ¡ª and, more important, to present the information from our point of view ¡ª the letter was intercepted. It happened even before the messenger had time to leave the palace.

    "My brother expects this step," continues Mireya, making sure that I follow her thought process. "And he is ready for just such an eventuality. Any mail leaving the palace will be carefully examined. I suspect that in the near future, even a mosquito will not be able to fly out of here unnoticed. Therefore, we should act in a more ingenious way."

    "You already have a plan?" I guess.

    Ilona also transfers her gaze to the duchess.

    "Yes," confirms Mireya, her eyes flashing triumphantly. ?We will fight my brother using his own methods. He intends to take my money from me, I shall do the same. I''ll take from him something that is worth no less than my dowry. Then I''ll threaten him that if he doesn''t back down from this robbery, he will be left in the lurch. While I will recoup my own losses by selling his thing."

    "What is this thing that is worth such a monumental sum?" I frown.

    "Strictly speaking, it has no price," calmly replies Mireya.

    "Wait..." It begins to dawn on me. "Are you talking about the diamond? About ''The Giant''s Tear''?"

    "Indeed." A smug smile lights up Mireya''s face.

    "The Giant''s Tear" is a one-of-a-kind diamond ¨C light blue, of highest quality and literally enormous for such a gem. It is an Almikonte family heirloom, which the current Duke inherited from his father, and is kept in the palace''s treasury.

    "What do you think, Nessa?"

    "But how do you intend to accomplish it? The diamond is in the treasury, which is inaccessible. A person can only come in and especially carry something out of there with the Duke present and by his consent, or by presenting an order from the Duke to the guards, stamped with his personal seal. Which is magically protected and cannot be counterfeited."

    Everyone in the room knows perfectly well that Mireya has a man capable of forging the Duke''s handwriting, including his signature. But the seal is a different matter. It was very carefully made by the best master of this craft; then a special spell was cast on it; thus forging it would be impossible.

    "You''re right," confirms the duchess, who has already had time to think over this aspect of her plan. "That''s why we''ll have to steal the seal. Just for a little while. Then we draw up the appropriate document, quickly gain access to the treasury with its help, and take the diamond. Thereafter we will immediately move the jewel to a safe location. If we were to keep it here Conrad''s people would find it sooner or later."

    Mireya undoubtedly expects my approval. But after some thought, I resolutely shake my head.

    "I am totally against it."

    "What?" Mireya is not angry, but in her face I can see genuine surprise.

    "Madam, I believe that you must not take this course of action."

    I know that I can be perfectly candid, and I consider it important to do so.

    "Explain."

    "The risk is huge;" I begin to list the cons of the proposed plan. ?First you have to steal the seal out of the Duke''s private quarters. Then retrieve the diamond using forged documents. But considering its incredible value the guards may not allow someone to take it, even with the document. What if they send a man to the Duke to clarify his intentions? In the best case scenario, the person retrieving the diamond would have a chance to escape. But what if they guard him while they check? And I haven''t even started talking about smuggling the diamond out of the castle.

    How are you planning to do it, given that we are afraid even to send a letter? Moreover, where would you send it? And whom would you trust to guard it? It is an incredibly valuable thing! God help us if it were stolen! What would we do then? Also" ¡ª I once again shake my head, trying to appeal to Mireya''s good judgment ¡ª "it''s not just a risky move. Not just an intrigue. It is against the law. We are talking about a serious offence. Furthermore, it is stealing from the treasury of the Duchy. This means it is equivalent to a state crime. The same goes for the theft of the seal. Lady Mireya, believe me, if something goes wrong, your brother will not leave it at that. Even if we manage to execute the plan to perfection, he will find a way to create a very serious problem for you. Much more serious than using part of the dowry for his own goals. And I haven''t even mentioned the fate that awaits the executors of this plan. They will certainly not handle us with kid gloves. After all, the penalties for crimes of national importance are very harsh, up to and including the death penalty. Even for noblemen. Perhaps for noblemen first and foremost."

    "I could not agree more," Ilona declares from her seat.

    Mireya clearly doesn''t like our consensus. Pursing her lips, she looks at us, not too pleased. However, as dissatisfied as she may be, our resistance doesn''t enrage her, unlike the Duke''s recent actions. She doesn¡¯t like the situation, but she is ready to bear it.

    "So, you refuse to participate in such a venture?" she asks me.

    "Yes" I say. "I''m not going to take part in it and I think that we have to act differently." I try to speak as convincingly as possible. ?We should again consider possible ways of sending a letter and in the meantime look for alternatives. Lady Mireya, I''m sure we''ll figure something out. But the theft of the diamond would only lead to disaster."

    "Ilona, what do you think?" Mireya turns to my friend.

    "I fully support Nessa." Ilona''s voice does not have the slightest hint of doubt.

    Mireya thinks for a moment, biting her lip and drumming her manicured fingers on the elegantly curved backrest.

    "Well¡±, finally, she sighs. ?I¡¯ll have to weigh carefully everything you have said. And reach a decision."

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    If you like this book, please consider buying it:

    Half a Step Away from Love</a> by Olga Kuno

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Chapter Three

    ¡°Whenever a man does a thoroughly stupid thing, it is always from the noblest motives.¡±

    Oscar Wilde

    The fact that this morning I rise early is not surprising. I do have a natural tendency to have the lifestyle of a lark. My mother in her time rather disapproved of this inclination, noting that such a schedule befits farmers, not noblewomen. In a way she was right. Most of the palace inhabitants tend to wake up late, often getting out of bed closer to eleven. Of course, I do not mean the servants. But do not judge my fellow courtiers too strictly. It is important to remember that their day also ends quite late. Ordinary people wake up and go to sleep with the sun. Life in the palace is not dependent on the cycle dictated by nature. It''s not customary to economize on candles. And if the Duke arranges a ball, no one goes to sleep until morning.

    You may wonder how I manage to stay on my feet that late, given my habit of waking up early. In fact, it is not difficult. It takes only an hour and a half of sleep during the day. I have an opportunity to do this most days. After a rest in the afternoon in bed or on a lounger specially designed for this purpose, I am again cheerful, energetic and ready for action. Fortunately, there is always activity taking place in the castle, because of its busy atmosphere.

    Once again, the morning is the opposite of boring. By around nine o''clock I am fully dressed, washed, my hair and my makeup done; as usual, that does not take me a lot of time, and I am soon walking through the corridors of the palace. One could say that I have come by the Duke''s chambers by accident or by some gift of clairvoyance.

    However, in reality there is a much simpler explanation. After yesterday''s conversation with Mireya, my mind has been preoccupied with thoughts of the question of her dowry and possible solutions to this problem. It is therefore unsurprising that my legs unconsciously have led me to the Duke ¡ª the person responsible for the whole situation.

    Obviously, the fact that I see Cameron Estley at the entrance to the Duke''s office doesn''t surprise me. Something else shocks me. The Count is speaking to some servant, whom he apparently has run into just before reaching the door. And out of the room, through the open crack Emma looks at me pleadingly.

    I mentally curse, using expressions that Ilona would approve of. In fact, it takes me only a few seconds to understand what is going on. Everything is clear as day. Mireya was never going to give up her daring, or, rather, insane plan. After Ilona and I did not support her in this endeavor, she just found herself another helper ¡ª Emma, of course, agreed to everything. She did not even think of somehow evaluating Mireya''s intentions. She just did what her mistress asked of her. More precisely, she tried to.

    Here''s the catch. Apparently, she was able to sneak into the office of the Duke. It is likely that she was also able to find the seal. I wouldn''t be surprised if at the moment the maid has it hidden in one her pockets. The problem is Lord Estley''s sudden arrival. It is quite likely that the office was his goal at first. I gather this from his posture, half-turned to the door. One time he even reaches for the handle, but the servant''s words make him linger. However, in a short while this conversation will be over. The servant isn''t a courtier; hence they aren''t going to move into another room to continue their conversation. They''ll discuss everything, Estley will finish giving orders and they will each go their own way. Then the Count is obviously going to enter the office.

    I tensely purse my lips. In a minute ¡ª two at most ?Estley will catch Emma in the act. What should I do?

    No ¡ª for the maid, I would not lift a finger. She has only her own stupidity to blame. Dedication is one thing, but a person should still have a head on her shoulders ¡ª it''s actually quite useful. After all, I''m sure Mireya didn''t force her to assist her ¡ª Emma is acting of her own free will. Devotion to a person does not mean strictly abiding by her every whim. In my opinion, sometimes it is just the opposite. For example in the case at hand. If Emma fails and is caught, it will hurt Mireya too. That is what causes me to intervene.

    Oh, I do not want to have anything to do with the theft of seal and the diamond! But it seems that fate itself will not allow me to stay away.

    The footman bows in obeisance and then heads down the hall, hurrying to execute the Count''s orders. Estley steps closer to the door; Emma''s terrified face disappears from the slot as she quickly withdraws more deeply into the room.

    "Lord Cameron!"

    I rush towards him. Estley stops expectantly, slightly surprised by my haste. Without giving the Count a chance to come to his senses, I grab both his hands and excitedly look into his eyes, while simultaneously, as if by chance, turning his back to the door.

    "Lord Cameron, you were absolutely right!" I exclaim emotionally.

    Estley frowns, slightly bewildered by my charge. However, his answer sounds very confident.

    "Of course, I was right," he confirms without a shadow of a doubt. "About what exactly?"

    What a cocky jerk! But out loud I say something quite different:

    "You were right about me! Then, at the ball. When you said that I don''t have lovers, because there is one man whom I''ve desired with a burning passion for a long time, secretly."

    The words pour out of my mouth more and more quickly. Out of the corner of my eye I see Emma once again approaching the gap and eagerly watching our conversation, ready to use the first opportunity to escape. The trouble is that, because of their current positions Estley might still notice her in his peripheral vision, if she emerges into the corridor. So I grab the Count''s arm even more strongly, and imperceptibly turn him a bit more.

    "I did not dare tell anyone who it is," I go on chattering, carefully distracting Estley. "In fact, I did not even dare to admit those feeling to myself. But I can no longer remain silent. This person is you."

    And before the completely stunned Lord Cameron can somehow respond to this confession, I stand up on tiptoe and kiss him on the lips.

    Perhaps "kiss" is not even the right word. I grab his head with my hands and literally dig into his mouth with mine, trying to crush it so the pressure would not allow him to break from the embrace and focus on anything else. However, he doesn''t seem so keen on escaping. At first he just freezes, not responding to my actions. Then his hands wrap around my back and shoulders, and his lips start to move no less passionately than my own. Well, it would have been foolish of him to not take advantage of the situation.

    Cameron Estley sure knows how to kiss. He is better than all of my former lovers; however, it has been so long, I might have just forgotten. But he certainly uses his lips skillfully, hot and soft at the same time. He smells pleasantly of some expensive perfume, of the kind that does not give a sharp smell, but so to speak surreptitiously envelops you, forcing women close by to experience the slightest dizziness. At first I feel goose bumps spreading through my body, and then I, on the contrary, feel feverish. My fingers clutch Cameron''s hair eagerly, to the point of risking tearing out a clump, and my lips move more aggressively. My hands begin to gradually sink lower and lower, slip to the back of his neck and down to his hips. At the same time, I feel his long fingers caress my own back.

    Out of the corner of my eye I catch a slight movement to his left. Emma finally decides to slip out of the office, tiptoe a few steps, and then walk down the hall as if nothing had happened. As if she were just going upstairs, she walks past us.

    I could now stop the kiss ¡ª the only problem being, I don¡¯t really want to. Hey, Nessa, pull yourself together! The play is over; it is time for the actress to retire before her deceived audience decides to throw rotten tomatoes at her! Nevertheless, I cannot resist and my palms eagerly explore his hips, while I simultaneously kiss him as though I want to swallow him.

    Then, I abruptly pull away. I let him go, lower my eyes, and clasp my hands in front of me.

    "Please forgive me! I''m sorry; I do not know what came over me!" I exclaim. My cheeks blaze with a blush quite suitable for the role. "I beg you, forget what just happened!"

    With these words, I run away. Fortunately, Cameron doesn''t try to either catch up with me or call me back.

    For some time now, loud female laughter has been ringing out under the high ceiling of the Duchess'' boudoir. Mireya has reached the stage when she just sobs, one hand resting on the back of the chair on which she sits sideways, and the other wiping tears from her eyes. Ilona also laughs, although my story shows that I ignored her advice about Lord Cameron. That doesn''t stop her from giggling, her head in her hands. I, too, am smiling, but with a little more restraint: after all, for me, unlike the others present, the recent incident is associated with some awkwardness.

    "Poor Lord Estley!" Mireya barely squeezes out through her laughter, rubbing the tears from her face. "How will he live? What did you say to him? ''Forget everything that happened?''"

    "Something like that," I say.

    "Right ¡ª as if he could just forget such an incident!" Ilona shows skepticism.

    "Come on, he''ll be fine," I shrug her of.

    One thing I am sure of is that Estley won''t suffer. That he could, with no difficulty, find a girl who would not demand any forgetfulness at all from him.

    "Well?" Meanwhile, Mireya asks. I look at her, puzzled. "Tell me!" she insists.

    I look blankly at Ilona, just to be sure: my friend Ilona too, is awaiting something from me. It makes me tense up and sit up straight. Until now, I have been half-lying, at ease on the banquette, as befits the woman of the hour.

    "But I have already told you everything," I express my bewilderment. "Do you think one such incident is not enough for one morning? Personally, my nerves have been shaken more than enough!"

    "You do not understand," Mireya shakes her head. "Your story is quite enough, but you have missed something."

    "What?" I bat my eyelashes in confusion.

    Mireya leans forward, her eyes flashing with avid curiosity.

    "How was it?" she asks.

    "How was what?" I, on the contrary, draw slightly back.

    "How was it? What do you not understand?" Mireya asks, fondly exasperated. "Is Lord Cameron a good kisser?"

    "Oh, that..."

    I purse my lips and look at my companions from under my brows. I have no desire to delve into such details. No. The facts themselves I am ready to recount as many times as necessary. But to expatiate upon my feeling ¡ª no, thank you. Especially considering that I liked the kiss a lot more than I had expected. It would be a different matter if I had kissed a decent person ¡ª then I wouldn''t be ashamed to admit that I enjoyed the process. But when it comes to this self-confident scoundrel! By the way, I wonder: did he like it? Judging by his reaction, it seems he did ... Goddamn it, what am I thinking?!!

    "I don''t know," I say aloud, dryly. ?It¡¯s been a while since I''ve kissed someone. It''s hard for me to compare. He''s probably okay."

    Mireya capriciously purses her lips, unsatisfied with my answer.

    "Anyway, what does it matter?" For some reason this subject begins to annoy me. "What difference does it make how he kisses?"

    "What do you mean ''what difference?!''" More than ever Mireya livens up. "Kissing is an important part of a relationship with a person."

    "Very important!" Ilona backs her up.

    "Lady Mireya, you''re worrying me!" I plead. "What personal relationship? With whom? Cameron Estley?"

    "What''s wrong with that?" the lady feigns surprise. "He is a prominent suitor, by the way."

    I clutch my head and groan loudly. Fortunately, in the absence of witnesses I can afford to behave relatively unceremoniously with Mireya. Ilona doesn''t count ¡ª she is one of us.

    "Very prominent," the latter says gravely.

    Again I put my head in my hands.

    "Ilona," my voice is full of sarcasm "didn''t you recently tell me some spiel about how dangerous Cameron Estley is? Now, you''re proposing I have an affair with him?"

    "Oh, Nessa, Nessa," reproachfully sighs my friend." Do you still not understand that dangerous people make the best lovers?"

    Mireya chuckles approvingly.

    "And why do you suppose that we are just talking about a simple affair?" She adds. "Perhaps we are referring to a pure and true love? We could arrange you to be wed. I would personally organize the wedding."

    "A-are you making fun of me?" I stammer hopefully.

    "Well, of course, we are!" laughingly Mireya admits. "More precisely, pulling your leg. There, there, do not be offended!" She sits down beside me on the banquette and puts her arm around my shoulders. "Of course, I would never place you at the mercy of such a man as Estley. I am extremely grateful to you for what you did today!" She stands up from the banquette, takes a few steps and turns back with a mischievous smile on her face. "However, I wasn''t kidding about this: if you decide to marry, I will arrange everything in the best possible way."

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "Thank you!" I laugh. "I think you won''t have to worry about that for a long time. I will marry only if I find an optimal candidate. You could say a perfect candidate. That is quite unlikely."

    "What, in your opinion, would be an ideal candidate?" With keen interest Ilona asks. "What kind of a man is the ideal husband?"

    Mireya awaits an answer with no less interest. I gather my thoughts, my head thrown back. It is not an easy question to answer, especially clearly.

    "An ideal husband ¡ª he... he is..." I pause, snapping my fingers. A blissful, romantic smile blossoms on my face. "He is, you know..." The right words finally come to mind. "Someone who does not get in the way."

    I say this with languid eyes. Then I stare resentfully at the laughing girls. I would just like to know what is so strange about my feelings?

    The door swings open, and Emma bursts into the room, not even bothering to knock. The laughter ceases instantly; we all look at the maid. She stops at the door, panting, leaning on the door handle.

    The thing is, Emma was able to steal the seal out of the Duke''s office. When I helped her escape, she rushed straight to Mireya. The forged letter, needed to enter the treasury and carry out the gem, has been prepared beforehand. The maid took it and immediately headed there. She has only now returned.

    Judging by the rapidness of Emma''s breathing, her flushed cheeks, and upset, guilty expression, the trip to the treasury did not go well. The maid clutches in her fist the letter, which has become crumpled from such treatment ¡ª the letter which sports the Duke''s personal seal.

    "Well, how did it go?" Mireya is already on her feet. "What happened?"

    "Forgive me, Madam," Emma murmurs, bowing her head apologetically." I did not succeed."

    We all wait for an explanation, but none follows: the maid just stands there in a fit of self-deprecation, her head bowed and her hands, which continue to crease the letter, clasped in front of her.

    "What happened?" Mireya demands, as she takes the maid''s hand in order to bring her out of her stupor.

    Emma sighs and lifts up her eyes to her mistress, and speaks:

    "I was not allowed to enter. They said that without a special order they cannot do anything."

    "And what about the letter? Did you show them the letter with the stamp?"

    "I did. But they did not even bother to read it. Just skimmed it."

    "But they did see my brother''s seal?"

    "They did," in the same apologetic tone Emma says. "But they said it did not matter. They have received a new decree, according to which only the Duke, his valet, and Lord Estley are allowed to enter the treasury. Anyone else can only enter accompanied by one of these people. I tried to insist, but they threatened that they would call the security chief ... so I left."

    Emma lowers her head again.

    "Did they tell you when this decree was issued?" I speak up.

    The maid''s shoulders quiver as if she considers herself guilty for that too.

    "Just a few minutes before my arrival, Madam," she whispers.

    Mireya grits her teeth, barely restraining herself from cursing.

    "Relax, Emma," she says. "Drink some water and calm down. It is not your fault that all this happened. You have served me well."

    The maid, a little comforted by such kind words, but still worried, goes into the next room. I sit back, leaning against the foot of the bed, which is close to the banquette I am resting upon. My lips stretch into wide smile, in which admiration mingles with anger.

    "He figured it all out," I state. "And so fast! How did he manage that? All the same, he''s an incredibly smart bastard."

    "Whom are you talking about?" Mireya abruptly asks.

    "About Cameron Estley, of course," I confidently respond. "No one else could have calculated all our moves in advance, and so quickly."

    My words almost immediately receive unexpected confirmation. We hear knocking, and a footman accompanied by a maid enters the room.

    "Lady Almikonte." He bows in a manner befitting the occasion. "I am authorized to deliver a letter from Lord Cameron Estley, addressed to Lady Inessa Antego."

    I look at Mireya for instructions. After receiving a nod from her, I put out my hand. The footman hands me the envelope.

    "I told him to give me the letter, but he refused" complains Mireya''s maid, justifying allowing a stranger into mistress'' private chambers.

    "I was ordered to give you the letter in person."

    The footman speaks humbly, as if apologizing, but his face simultaneously expresses self-confidence. Well, he is right in a way: orders are orders. Especially when a man like Estley gives them.

    "Come on, read it!" impatiently Mireya urges me, as soon as the door has closed behind the servants, when once again it is just the three of us.

    I open the envelope and unfold a square sheet of pale yellow paper. On it a few sentences are written in beautiful cursive handwriting. I begin to read. As I skim the lines of text, I become more and more angry. I literally feel my rage physically entangling my body and soul. My hands tremble, my eyes darken.

    I painfully grit my teeth. I feel that had the writer of the letter been in this room, I would lunge at him and strangle him with my own two hands.

    As I finish, I crumple the letter in my hand, taking out my anger at the author. Then, in a fit I toss the piece of paper aside. Unfortunately, it does not fall far: the paper is too light.

    "How dare he!" I hiss, surprising myself.

    Frankly, my strong reaction to the letter frightens me a little. I could not remember ever being so angry at someone. To the point of gritting my teeth, and the world turning red and black in front of me. It seems at this point that any additional small thing would be enough to push me over the edge and make me lose control.

    Meanwhile Ilona picks up the letter which I have cast aside so cruelly. She smoothes out the paper and, without asking my permission, starts to read. I don''t really mind. I care very little about what is happening around me at the moment, because I am so focused on my overwhelming fury.

    "Who does he think he is?!" I continue to rage.

    At first I do not notice the way my friend''s lips stretch into a smile as she reads. I notice her reaction only when Ilona, once she reaches the end, bursts into laughter.

    "Does something strike you as funny?!" I am indignant, transferring part of my wrath onto the lady in waiting.

    She puts her hand to her chest, apparently deliberating whether to explain something to me, but was unable to utter a word because of her laughter. I gasp indignantly, unable to say anything in response to such blatant disregard of my feelings.

    Mireya decisively snatches the letter from Ilona''s hands. She sits down in an armchair, her whole appearance broadcasting calm and steadiness ¡ª qualities her maids currently lack ¡ª and begins to read aloud at a measured pace. After the first couple of lines she stops and looks up in amazement, but then forces herself to continue. The letter reads:

    "Dear Lady Inessa!

    I hope you enjoyed the short-term possession of the Duke''s seal as much as I enjoyed the short-term proximity of your body. I hasten to inform that your chosen payment method entirely suits me. The passionate kiss of a young woman descended from a count¡¯s family is worthy of the price of borrowing the seal. If you wish to pay in a similar manner for other services, please contact me without hesitation.

    Yours sincerely,

    Cameron Estley.

    P.S. Be so kind as to return the seal to its rightful owner as soon as possible. To pay to possess it on a regular basis, you would have to not leave my bed for at least two months."

    "Oh, my..." Mireya says, speechless.

    "I''m going to kill him," I hiss. "Tear his head off. And then I''ll strangle him. Or vice versa. I don''t care if they do execute me for it."

    "Well, well, stop with this nonsense," Mireya gently asks. ?We¡¯ll find another way to make him regret writing it in the first place."

    "And you!" I point at Ilona with a trembling forefinger. "From you I did not expect something like that!"

    "I''m sorry, Nessa, really," begs my friend, trying to look serious again. "But don''t you see? This letter ¡ª it''s almost an admission of defeat! I know I said that it''s better not to mess with people like Estley, but I still cannot help but admire your success."

    "What success?" I frown, ready to take offense seriously, if it turns out that Ilona is mocking me.

    Personally, Cameron''s letter doesn''t seem a sign of success to me, but rather the greatest humiliation of my life. He has openly hinted at the fact that I acted like a courtesan. Most disgusting of all was that this presents the situation in such a way that I myself am almost ready to agree with him.

    "What?" Ilona repeats, as if the answer is obvious. "Nessa, do not you see how furious he was when he wrote this letter? He was livid!"

    "You really think so?" I dubiously drawl. Being able to interpret the letter in such a manner would be nice; in any case, it would help me to come to terms with its contents. However, I don''t really believe Ilona''s speculation is correct. "I don''t see it. He is just making fun of me. He is smugly making it clear that he will always outwit me ¡ª spewing insults ¡ª obviously enjoying himself."

    "Just making fun? Enjoying himself?" Ilona asks, shaking her head in disbelief. "Nessa, but he rages and fumes! I bet this perfectly honed letter is at least the tenth version, while the first nine are lying crumpled in the trash. At first, he worked on the wording and then threw out the drafts because of how shaky his handwriting was from anger. He probably paced from corner to corner, clenched his fists in anger and, perhaps, even punched something a couple of times."

    "You have a very vivid imagination," I say glumly. "In my opinion, it was not so. He was just sitting quietly, lounging in a chair, slowly sipping wine and grinning mischievously while inventing some other disgusting accusation."

    "Oh, my friend, you still don''t understand men!" Ilona reproaches me. "You should paint the town red as soon as possible, or at least drag someone into your bed. The fact of the matter is that Estley offends you in almost every sentence" she explains to me, patronizingly, as if I were a small child. "If he were, as you say, calm and relaxed, he would have done it exactly once in the entire letter. But no, he was so furious that he knew no measure. It is, incidentally, not at all like him. Apparently, you have managed to hurt him very much."

    I look askance at my friend, still not knowing whether or not to agree with her reasoning. At least, Ilona herself seems totally convinced that she is right. Okay, I''ll have time to think about it later, with a clear head. More specifically, when I regain the ability to think logically. This clearly is not about to happen for at least the next couple of hours.

    At this moment Emma enters the room. I spin around and walk slowly toward her, like a snake gliding towards a tasty mouse.

    "Emma," I coo softly." I assume you still have the seal?"

    The maid nods nervously, guessing from the look in my eyes, that she is in for a scolding.

    "Well," I say in the same soft, gentle voice. "Now you must make sure the seal returns to its usual place. How you do it I do not care. You understand that?" I wait until the maid cautiously nods. "Otherwise," I sharply raise my voice, almost shout: "I''ll sell you to Lord Estley as a sex slave! Do I make myself clear?"

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

    If you like this book, please consider buying it:

    Half a Step Away from Love</a> by Olga Kuno

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Chapter four

    "The fairy story may be hard to believe, but so long as there are children, mothers, and grandmothers in this world, it will be remembered by all."

    Charles Perrault

    The chairs in the Lime Hall are placed in a wide semicircle. Because of the soft upholstery on the seats and backs, as well as comfortable armrests, the courtiers are very comfortable. The storyteller sits on the same kind of chair, set to face the others, in the center of the semicircle. For the hostess, Lady Mireya Almikonte, a special place is prepared, close to the narrator. This shows the high position of the lady, but also demonstrates her willingness to put aside being the center of attention for the specially invited guest.

    Gerard Roshen, a stocky man in his fifties with almost white hair and at the same time childishly joyful eyes, has chosen quite an unconventional hobby. One that is extremely rare amongst members of the nobility, although very widespread among peasants. This man is a storyteller. He talks to ordinary people, collects fairy stories, writes them down, then adapts them in his own way ¡ª in particular, he edits and changes them to befit high society, and finally tells the new versions at social gatherings. That is his hobby. However, he is so serious about this and gives it so much of his time that it might as well be his profession. Who can tell where the subtle line between the two lies?

    David and I are sitting among the other guests. In a manner of speaking it is our second date. The first (not counting our meeting at the ball) was a few days ago, on the initiative of the young man. We walked in the garden and had a good time. We talked about everything and nothing. He told me about his childhood, about his mother, about books. I told him about the intricacies of court life. Everything proceeded sedately, calmly, as it should be. No unexpected kisses, passionate embraces or vulgarity in the conversation. No surprises ¡ª including unpleasant ones. Hence I felt that a second date would be quite acceptable. Thus, I invited him to this gathering.

    At my request, Mireya arranged for David an invitation to today''s event, although it was intended primarily for the court. Moreover, without me even asking her she ¡ª in a whirlwind of activity ¡ª organized a pass for the young Baron that guaranteed him the right to freely enter the palace whenever he pleases. So now we would be able to meet quite often. It remains to be seen whether we would like to or not.

    The stories the storyteller tells can be divided into three categories: funny, scary and romantic. Some are written in prose, others in verse. Roshen has just begun a poem, called "Tales for romantically inclined men".

    Once there was a charming prince,

    Handsome and courageous.

    One maid he loved above them all

    A darling sweet young princess.

    The princess could not love him back

    Return his ardent feelings,

    For she was sleeping all the time,

    Succumbed to a vile curse.

    The Prince then saddled trusty horse,

    Relying on his luck,

    It took three years, three weeks, three days

    To reach her ancient castle.

    He charged through vales and shaggy crags

    He rode through wood and brambles

    He finally o¡¯ercame them all,

    To kiss his lovely princess.

    She woke up from her slumber then

    And open¨¦d her eyes.

    My darling, called the maiden fair,

    Sweet smile upon her lips.

    The curse is now defeated! Done!

    But then sweet maiden yawned,

    Turned in her crystal coffin

    And¡­ fell asleep again.

    The Prince in fear dashed o¡¯er to her¨C

    Lovely Prince Charming he ¨C

    He passionately kissed her whole,

    From toes to full red lips.

    All this would anyone awake,

    However dead she be,

    But princess from the realm of dreams,

    Would not return to him.

    The simple moral comes from this.

    And here I speak the truth:

    When maiden clings to sleep, not you,

    Seek for another lass!

    I listen with half an ear, concentrating more on my own thoughts. My gaze slides now and then to Estley, who sits at the back of the room. The Count sits near the door, ready to leave the room quickly if it he is called away on some urgent business ¡ª which happens quite often. I cannot get Estley out of my head, because the problem of Mireya''s dowry still persists. It will be necessary to come up with a new plan, considering our last attempt with the Duke''s seal failed spectacularly. However, the fact that it failed makes me more happy than sad. Luckily, Emma was able to return the seal without difficulty.

    Soon, however, my attention shifts to another subject, and I''m ashamed to admit that it too is quite remote from the storyteller''s work. Slowly looking around the room, I notice that Lady Audrey Stelton, the youngest of Mireya''s ladies in waiting (not even nineteen, I think) is sitting next to Baron Crown, a courtier, one of the Duke''s people. No, their closeness itself would not bewilder me, even if it were due only to random selection of chairs. Yes, the palace is divided into two opposing camps: supporters of the Duke and those who support his sister. However, in most cases it doesn''t imply a personal conflict between courtiers. Lord Cameron and I are an exception to the rule rather than the norm. After all, we''re not just committed to one side; we find all accessible (and sometimes inaccessible) ways to promote its interests. Hence, it confuses me how these two ¡ª Audrey and Crown ¡ª interact during the storyteller''s performance. The Baron takes the girl''s hand, then hugs her around the shoulders, and clutches her knee with his fingers. In short, his behavior is on the verge of indecency, and in some cases, perhaps beyond. Audrey, in turn, clearly does not feel at ease. She sits, tense as a taut string, red blotches on her pale face. From time to time she tries to wriggle gently, to avoid Crown''s touches, but he insistently draws her back to him, and she does not resist.

    What I see looks very suspicious and I do not like it all, but as long as Roshen continues to read, I cannot in any way interfere. Therefore, I can only watch, which I do.

    Meanwhile, the poem comes to an end, and Roshen begins to tell a different story, this time in prose. It is a pretty well-known story about a girl who has a wicked stepmother and evil half-sisters, who make her work hard for hours on end. About how she goes to the ball in a magnificent dress and shoes that her fairy godmother conjured for her, trimmed with fur, and how the prince falls in love with her, and later finds her with the help of her lost shoe.

    When the storyteller finishes the story, the audience applauds as usual. But even before the latest clapping subsides, Marquis Oliver Troll winces and sarcastically says:

    "Your whole story is painfully obvious. It is impossible to believe a word of it."

    The courtiers whisper excitedly among themselves, waiting to see what would happen next.

    "Could you clarify what you mean, young man?" Roshen asks, tilting his head curiously to one side.

    "Very well." Lord Troll settles in his chair, completely at ease, stretching out his legs, and begins with a flashy lazy voice to recap. "First of all, how could your heroine dance at the ball? According to the story at home all she did was cook porridge and mop the floors. Meaning she was an ordinary servant. How did she manage at the same time to master the complex art of dance? And learn good manners? And all this to such a degree that a prince, the heir to the throne, would fall for her?! Now second: you say that the prince found the heroine using her lost shoe. But this is pure nonsense. What, do you think, was the size of the girl''s foot if her slipper did not fit anyone else? Was she a dwarf, or a giantess? Moving on. Just don''t get me started about the security service in the Royal Palace. Not only did they let a complete stranger in without asking for any background information, they also allowed the suspicious guest to disappear, despite the fact that she was running away so fast that she lost one of her shoes. It didn''t even occur to them to find out what was going on? What if she had been a thief, stealing some valuable thing? Or what if she had slipped poison to one of the guests, and was now running away from just retribution? Meanwhile, if the guards had detained her, or at least followed her, there would have been no need to bother with the shoe."

    As I listen, I feel a growing sense of outrage. Why is he bothering the harmless storyteller? If he doesn''t like it, he doesn''t have to listen. Nobody has been dragged to the reading against their will; nobody breathed down his neck and forced him to come.

    "What is this nonsense?" quietly whispers David in my ear.

    "Want to ask him that?" I whisper back.

    "I do not think it''s a good idea. Why add fuel to the fire? It''s better to just drop this discussion."

    I do not think so. From my point of view, the conflict has started solely because of the efforts of the Troll, and the storyteller should be supported. I am even prepared to give the Marquis a piece of my mind, when I notice that Estley has opened his mouth to say something. But then he thinks better of it, instead looking at Roshen.

    I also look at the storyteller. To my surprise, he does not seem offended, but rather amused. He gives Troll a cheerful look, in which understanding is mixed with curiosity.

    "Young man, you reproach me that my stories are not similar enough to reality," he said. "But allow me to ask: why do you think that reflecting it was my goal? Fairy tales do not exist in order to portray life as it is. Honestly, it would be quite presumptuous of me to compete in this matter with God. If you are interested in reality, why listen to fairy tales? Just open your eyes and look around."

    "What then, in your opinion, is the purpose of fairy tales?" asks someone from the audience.

    Roshen smiles significantly.

    "There are several," he replies. "One is to entertain. Yes, just to entertain the distinguished audience, lift up their spirits and for a short while distract them from the very reality which this young man holds so dear." He glances mockingly at Troll. "There is of course, another goal: to teach. Please note: never to preach. To show the listener some facet of reality. But in order to most clearly distinguish the matter at hand, all the other facets are often transformed, working towards the goal set by the author, and not towards mirroring reality. Please allow me to keep the others to myself. Otherwise, I will reveal all my secrets and immediately be out of work: because from this point on, any of you will be able to take my place."

    The audience laughs a little at the joke, and then the event arrives at its natural conclusion.

    After saying goodbye to David, I walk down the hallway toward Mireya''s chambers when I once again see Crown with the young lady in waiting. This time, he has Audrey pressed against the wall in one of the high niches and is kissing her neck, clearly intending to go lower. She doesn''t struggle, but stands still as if petrified, biting her lip with her eyes shut tightly. Perhaps it is none of my business, but I can''t just pass by.

    "Baron Crown!'' I try to make my voice as stern as possible. "Don''t you think such behavior in the corridors of the ducal palace is a bit inappropriate?"

    "Lady Antego!" The young man does not try to hide how much my intervention irritates him. Meanwhile, his little piggy eyes literally shine with lust, causing me to physically revolt with disgust." I''m sorry, but I think you''re sticking your nose where it doesn''t belong. As they say, three is a crowd."

    "Lady Stelton is Ms. Almikonte''s lady in waiting," I icily remind him "hence her behavior is not exclusively a private matter. If she behaves in an improper manner, it besmirches the whole court."

    Audrey muffles a gasp at such cruel accusations, but I am focused on the Baron''s reaction at the moment.

    "In this case, I hasten to inform you," with outright hostility in his voice he says, "that Lady Stelton is my lawful bride. We are engaged and plan to marry in the near future. Therefore our behavior, albeit somewhat uninhibited, does not cross any lines. Many people in this palace behave far more promiscuously."

    I look at the girl expectantly.

    "Audrey, is this true? Are you really engaged?"

    Audrey with an unhappy face subtly moves her head. Apparently, this move is supposed to be a nod, but it isn''t very convincing.

    "Audrey?" I raise an eyebrow questioningly.

    "Yes," answers the girl quietly, this time giving a more noticeable nod. "Yes, we are engaged."

    "Which is now proven," triumphantly says the Baron. "I hope, now, Lady Antego, you will continue to go your own way and leave us to our own devices?"

    By all accounts, that''s what I should do. But something about this situation is fishy; her eyes are too frightened, perhaps even haunted, staring straight ahead. And I remember well the days when I too felt trapped.

    "Well, you hoped in vain," I snap. "Lady Almikonte wants to see her waiting-lady. Lady Stelton will have to come with me. You will have to postpone your date."

    The Baron clenches his teeth, but does not dare to argue. The wish of the Duchess is law in this palace, of course, so long as it does not go against the wishes of the Duke. The girl, looking absolutely terrified, does not rush to come out of the niche. I have to give her a severe glance, to ensure she follows me. At the same time she looks more and more at the floor. She doesn''t bid her supposed fianc¨¦ goodnight, even with her eyes.

    I silently walk through the corridors, occasionally glancing out of the corner of my eye to make sure that Audrey is still following me. I don¡¯t go into Mireya''s chambers, instead heading towards the ladies in waiting rooms. I enter the first empty room I see, and close the door behind my companion

    "Is... Lady Mireya going to come here?" Audrey asks timidly.

    "Please have a seat." I point to the chair, and she sits down. I sit in a chair facing hers. "Lady Mireya is not coming. She did not call you. I just used this excuse to talk to you alone."

    I keep my eye on the girl''s reaction, and see that as she heard my confession, she grips the armrests of her chair.

    "Audrey, what is going on?" I try to speak softly, but at the same time add a little firmness to my voice, feeling that otherwise she wouldn''t reveal anything to me. "Is Baron Crown really your fianc¨¦?

    "Yes," lowering her head, she confirms.

    "So you agreed to marry him?"

    "Yes".

    "Voluntarily?" I ask insistently.

    This time she is silent for a long time, and squeezes the armrests so hard that it seems as though they would fly into flinders at any moment. However, in the end her response remains unchanged.

    "Yes," she whispers again.

    I take a deep breath, trying to figure out what to do next. You would think my conscience should be clean. I have asked all the right questions. I have made it clear that I can offer her assistance if need be. She has refused. What else can I do? Moreover, Audrey''s behavior, I have to admit, is beginning to get on my nerves. After all, it is obvious that she is unhappy with her relationship with Crown. Why, then, keep silent when I''m trying to help her? If she chooses this course of action, then it serves her right.

    "Lady Inessa, may I go?" she asks, as if to confirm the validity of my last thought. Looking up at me pleadingly, very quietly she added "Please."

    "You may," I shrug.

    She jumps up from her chair and flees from the room. At the same time I notice that she has tears in her eyes. I throw back my head in exasperation. Well, what would you have me do?

    The next day I return my thoughts to the subject and decide after all to talk to Mireya. When we are alone, I briefly tell her everything I had noticed. Mireya listens to me very carefully.

    "So what do you suggest?" She asks.

    "Try to talk to her." I shrug. ?Audrey chose to remain silent when I asked her, but it is likely that with you she will be more forthcoming. If not, then... I''m going to assume that we did everything we could, and the rest is not within our power and is not our responsibility."

    So that''s what we do. Mireya calls her lady in waiting for a conversation, for which only the three of us are present. It turns out I am right: in Mireya''s company Audrey starts talking pretty fast. Partly because she trusts Mireya, and partly because she is used to obeying her superiors.

    As it turns out, the situation is as follows. Audrey''s family hid an unsightly fact of their history, or a terrible secret ¨C it depends on how you look at it. The secret is that her father was an illegitimate child. His father was not his mother''s, Audrey''s grandmother''s, husband ¡ª the Viscount ¡ª but some nameless lover. You would think that this would just be so much water under the bridge. However, the problem is that it means that Audrey''s father has received his title illegally. He is not the son of the Viscount, and therefore, in the absence of other children, the viscountcy should go to more distant relatives.

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    The estates of Baron Crown and the Stelton family are in close vicinity, practically neighbors. Accordingly, members of these families are constantly in clear view of one another. The servants, too, mingle among themselves. In such a situation it is difficult to keep family secrets. Recently it became clear that it was not possible in this case. The Baron came to Audrey and said that he knew her father''s secret and planned to open the public''s eyes to such a blatant crime. He would only change his mind if she agreed to marry him. Such a disclosure would mean grave trouble for her father; disgrace for the whole family and, of course, the loss of the entire property. For a few days she struggled in doubt, but in the end she accepted the Baron''s terms. He, in turn, knowing of her helplessness, indulged in completely indecent behavior, which I witnessed.

    During the story, Audrey predictably starts crying; she more or less calms down only some time after she has finished. Mireya is affectionate with her, offers her tea, and then lets her go, placing her in the maid''s care and promises to help to the best of her ability. When the door closes behind her, Mireya turns to me.

    "Well, what do you think?"

    After asking this question, she stands up and slowly walks around the room, apparently considering her own attitude towards the situation. She stops near the half-open window.

    "Tell me, how do you feel about this spot on her family tree? "I answer with a question.

    A lot would depend on Mireya¡¯s attitude toward this problem.

    The Duchess waves her hand in the air to demonstrate her indifference.

    "I beg of you!" She replies. "How long has it been? No, I certainly do not support the illegal transfer of titles. But Audrey''s father, whoever conceived him, in fact, grew up as the son of Viscount Stelton. He was as good as adopted by the Viscount. In such cases, the question of inheritance becomes extremely ambiguous."

    "Yes, but the King would have hardly ruled in favor of Audrey''s father" I say gently.

    "True," Mireya grimaces, "but, I repeat, how long ago was it? I do not think it is correct at this stage, after several decades, to reconsider the issue of succession. Besides," her eyes twinkle mischievously "I know Audrey very well. But about her distant relatives, who in theory could inherit the viscountcy, I know nothing. So I''m not that concerned with their interests."

    "Terrible," I reply with a laugh and without the slightest hint of terror. "In the court it''s not a question of justice, but of who knows whom."

    "What do you expect?" Mireya seems surprised by my irony. "There is no other way, child, and not only in the palace."

    Sometimes she calls me ¡°child¡±. Not because she is much older than I. Our age difference is only two years. Rather, our different status plays a role. One way or another, I am not offended by this.

    "If so," I cut to the chase, "we need to find a way to rein in the Baron. It will not be easy. No, I can of course play dirty tricks on him. But it is important to ensure that the Crown will not betray the confidential information to which he is privy. To do this we will have to back him into a corner. And to be honest, I can''t really imagine how we would do that."

    Mireya sighs heavily; after slamming the window shut, she walks to the banquette.

    "My brother could take care of it," she says glumly. "He would surely find a way to nail that bastard down, especially considering he''s a member of his suite. But you know, Conrad and I are not on the best of terms right now. After he decided to rob me, and I gave him a piece of my mind ¡­ Anyway, it does not matter" she waves. "Even if I ask my brother for help, he would probably refuse, just out of spite. Therefore, such a move is pointless."

    I thoughtfully look at Mireya. Maybe she''s right, and an appeal to the Duke really is doomed to failure. Or perhaps we should at least try this method, but Mireya just does not want to. She doesn''t want to lick his feet, or apologize to him. Or she is afraid that in return he''ll require a voluntary renunciation of part of the dowry. However, there is no point speculating. Mireya will not turn to the Duke for help, that''s a given, and therefore I should start from what I know.

    Suddenly a solution dawns on me. At least, I hope it is the right one.

    "There is no need to approach the Duke," I say. "There''s another way. I will turn to Lord Estley. He has enough influence to deal with the Baron without the intervention of the Duke."

    "Lord Estley?" Mireya brings together the tips of the fingers of her right and left hands and frowns pensively. "Do you think he would agree to assist us?"

    "I think he would," I nod. "In the end, it''s not in his interest for people close to the Duke to allow themselves such antics. It paints the whole court in a bad light. And Lord Estley likes to maintain order in the palace."

    "But even if he agrees, there is another difficulty," said Mireya. "If we let Estley in on the problem at hand, we reveal the secret of Audrey and her father. Do we have the right to do this? And if we do, won''t it just create even more trouble for the girl?"

    "I do not think so. First, blackmailing a person like Audrey is not his style. She''s not an important enough figure for him to get his hands dirty. Second, even if he blackmails her... to be honest, it would still be better for Audrey than what is happening now. Estley at least would not humiliate her or enjoy her helplessness. He would simply put their acquaintance to good use, creating a mutually beneficial cooperation. And third of all... well, leave it to me. I have reason to believe that Audrey is in no danger from him. I will be very careful and test the waters before I trust Estley with information of a sensitive nature." We discuss the situation a bit more. As a result, my plan is approved, and we each go our own way. The next day I go to talk to Estley.

    Since the incident with the ducal seal, we have not been communicating much.

    We only greet each other in the hallways, usually limiting ourselves to a curt nod. Nevertheless, I can''t say that I am greatly weighed down by the need to set up a meeting with the Count. The anger caused by his outrageous letter has long since faded. Now I am even able to look at the incident with humor. Besides, after having the opportunity to properly reflect on those events, I am well aware that my own actions were, to put it mildly, not the most harmless, and wounded Estley''s pride. So I consider us to be more or less even, and am ready to cooperate. The only question is whether Lord Cameron thinks the same.

    This is why I prepare myself thoroughly for our conversation. I take my time picking out my outfit, and eventually settle on a tender fuchsia dress with floral patterns and a deep square neckline. My hair maid, as usual, gathers my hair in a high hairstyle, but this time I tell her not to use the usual clips, but special ones that have just became fashionable. Each time I move my head, they flutter gently like butterfly wings. I choose a modest pair of earrings matching the color of the dress. Finally, the shoes: open, showing my delicate feet, and at the same time with relatively low, almost childlike, heels, which give the impression of innocence. Finally looking at myself in the mirror, I nod with satisfaction and proceed to Estley''s study.

    Lord Cameron is waiting for me, as I arrive at a previously agreed time. As soon as I come in, he stands up from behind the massive desk, where he is reviewing some papers. He greets me with a half-bow, a tribute to etiquette. I in turn curtsey, surreptitiously eyeing either my enemy or my business partner. Cameron Estley looks as immaculate as ever. White shirt, mostly hidden beneath his long purple vest, of a beautiful shade ¡ª the purple closer to blue than to red ¡ª black coat and matching pants tucked into high jockey boots. Literally, the embodiment of a wet dream for many ladies. A dream that came true for some. However, as a rule, not for a very long period of time.

    "Lady Inessa, I''m so happy that you find it possible to descend to my humble abode."

    Of course, Cameron Estley would not be Cameron Estley if he didn''t start a conversation with an ironic remark, with a completely straight face.

    Humble, sure. I could not help but look around the room. So what on earth is exactly modest in here? The furniture, although exclusively functional, but massive, with legs shaped like animal paws, and adorned with exquisite carvings? Or the undoubtedly expensive painting of the three-mast ship? Or maybe the statuette on the mantelpiece, the price of which would purchase a couple of horses? Then again, if he wished he could probably buy the whole herd, without selling anything.

    "Sit down," meanwhile, he invites me.

    I prefer to remain standing. I take a couple of slow and somewhat hesitant steps in Estley''s direction, hands clasped in front of me, and look at him flirtatiously from under my brows.

    "Lord Cameron, are you still angry with me for that prank?"

    I pout and give the Count a naive and pleading look. I innocently blink a couple of times and, for effect, slightly shake my head. My clips and eyelashes flutter simultaneously.

    First Estley looks at me with his usual cold stare, but very quickly I see flecks of laughter in his eyes. He slowly looks me over from head to toe. One could mistake this gesture for that of a man interested in a woman. But I feel as though I can read his thoughts. And almost hear his sarcastic question: "So, how many hours have you spent preparing for this single sentence?" I am not the least bit embarrassed. As many as it takes, since on this first sentence depends the following conversation.

    "Nice try" Estley grins. "It did not work, but still, not bad."

    I just smile innocently. It did not work my ass! You''re smiling, Lord Cameron, which means it worked perfectly. And you can say whatever you please; I do not mind.

    "Come on, Lord Cameron, that''s not fair," I coyly reproach aloud." As an honorable man, you must forgive me. A generous man must exercise leniency towards women''s silliness."

    Estley laughs softly.

    "What makes you think that I''m an honorable man, or a generous one?" he asks cheerfully. "Sit down." He repeats his invitation; this time backing it up with a nod in the direction of the chair.

    "Oh, but if you say you forgive me, I will have a much easier time talking to you," I implore."

    "I never promised to make your life easier," responds Estley.

    "Really? Oh well," I say.

    I finally sit down; smooth out my dress and abruptly change tactics. My face, from which once all signs of coquetry fly, has adopted a no-nonsense expression. I lower my hands on the table and lean slightly forward, making it clear that I don''t intend to blabber on, but rather to seize the bull by its horns.

    The Count sits in his former place and arches his eyebrows expectantly.

    "I''m listening," he says.

    "I''ve come to talk business."

    "That is how? I assume it has to do with Lady Almikonte''s dowry?"

    He has another thing coming.

    "Of course not, Lord Cameron." I bare my teeth in a dazzling smile. ?With the matter of Lady Almikonte''s dowry I will deal myself, without your help."

    "Really," My words clearly amuse him. "And would you like to tell me how?"

    I shake my head disapprovingly.

    "So you can take appropriate countermeasures? I think not. Honestly, Lord Cameron, do you hold such a low opinion of my mental faculties?"

    "''... To show leniency to women''s silliness,''" he repeats ironically, innocently looking at the ceiling. "You know, I can indulge a woman''s silliness. But indulging her intelligence is more difficult. However, I confess, before I thought you were smarter. How did you manage to get involved in this stupid venture with the seal?"

    This time he was able to sting me. The rebuke seemed fair, which is why it struck a chord.

    "If you really want to know," I say grimly "I was opposed to this plan from the very beginning."

    "Nevertheless you took part in it," sarcastically Estley states.

    "The service imposes obligations."

    I try to hide my own irritation behind a fake smile.

    "What obligations?" I do not know whether or the smile playing on Estley''s lips is sincere, but it is sure as hell toxic. "To throw yourself at eligible men and kiss them?"

    "Well, not at married ones!" I retort reasonably.

    "Seems to me," muses Estley, "I wouldn''t put it past you."

    I am about to become angry, but change my mind, when I realized that the Count is right. If it is necessary for my work, I would do so, and probably without the slightest hint of remorse.

    "Let''s get down to business," I suggest.

    "Let''s try."

    "But first I have to ask you a question. What do you know about Lady Audrey Stelton?"

    "Lady Stelton?" Estley responds to that name without much interest. He silently moves his lips, recalling the information available to him. "Your mistress'' youngest lady in waiting. There is nothing in the least significant about her past. An innocent lamb, and frankly speaking, she''s nothing special. What about her?"

    "Hmmm... What else do you know about her?" I squint. "About her, or for example, about her family?"

    Suddenly, a spark of interest appears in Estley''s gaze.

    "You mean something compromising?" he asks.

    "Exactly."

    "And who among her relatives are you interested in?"

    "Well, for example, her father."

    "I gather that you''re talking about the dubiousness of his rights to the title of Viscount?"

    After confirming his suspicions that I am aware of the situation, he speaks directly.

    "I had no doubts that you were familiar with the story" I smile.

    The Count winces as if from undeserved praise.

    "Lady Inessa, before a person is granted a place in the court of the Duke, a report lands on my desk which contains all their background information. If the information is not public, it does not mean that it is unknown to me."

    "And yet you allowed Lady Stelton into the court," I say.

    "Why wouldn''t I?" He is surprised. "I repeat, the girl is completely harmless. Besides, if I allowed you into the court ¡ª I will never forgive myself for that mistake! ¨C then throwing obstacles in her way makes no sense."

    Clearly, the last sentence is spoken in a very sarcastic tone.

    "And what about the controversy of her descent?"

    "Lady Inessa!" reproachfully Estley winces. "That, as you say, controversial origin characterizes at least one third of our nobility. We don''t want the palace to become deserted, do we?"

    "Good," I nod." Now we can cut to the heart of the matter."

    I recount, without unnecessary emotion or adjectives, to Lord Cameron, in a nutshell, what I know about Baron Crown''s blackmail and his forced engagement to Audrey.

    Estley listens to me with a stony face. It is utterly impossible to understand the Count¡¯s feelings about my story from the expression on his face.

    "That''s all."

    I finish my story and lean back in my chair, waiting for his reaction.

    "I suppose you want me to solve the problem with the Baron," Estley states after a short silence.

    "I suppose it will not be difficult for you to accomplish," I say. "The main question is how to ensure that he doesn''t reveal Audrey''s secret."

    "Oh, well." Estley drums his fingertips on the tabletop. "Let''s assume that I can help you. What will I get in return?"

    "Isn''t a heartfelt thank you enough?" I beam, naively fluttering my eyelashes.

    "No. It''s not." With a polite smile, Estley shakes his head.

    "And how about," I say forcefully "you stand up for the honor of the Duke''s entourage and, therefore, the Duke himself, making sure that the people close to him do not indulge in such nasty behavior?"

    "I have an alternative proposal. I will help you, and in return you will persuade Lady Mireya to voluntarily give up the part of her dowry which is necessary to the Duke."

    "Not a chance. Lady Mireya would never agree to such terms, and I will not try to dissuade her."

    We have a short staring contest ¡ª a battle of wills, if you will. Then Estley grins.

    "I reckoned you''d say that. Generally speaking, I don''t really need your support. I can deal with this issue, regardless. Oh well. I think I''m going to meet you halfway. Showing nobility and ¨C what did you say before? Oh, generosity. I''ll solve your friend''s problem."

    I don¡¯t really consider Audrey a friend, but I do not correct Estley. Currently something else is bothering me. I stare at my interlocutor, trying to determine what insidious plan is brewing behind his mask of honesty.

    "Well. We will all be very grateful to you," I say aloud.

    "You can send this girl, Lady Stelton, over to me. I will resolve her problem."

    "May I ask how you are planning to do that?"

    "Are you sure you want to know? However, let''s do the following. I will invite you to attend the final stage of the execution."

    "Agreed."

    Why pretend otherwise? It piques my curiosity.

    "Thank you, Lord Cameron." I rise from the chair. "I''ll tell Lady Stelton to come over".

    I head towards the door, but remember something, and turn around.

    "One more question. Yesterday, when Troll lectured Roshen, you were going to say something in response, but then changed your mind. Why is that?"

    Estley is a little surprised at my question, but responds forthwith.

    "I found it pointless," he shrugs his shoulders. "A man who tries to prove with all his might that he is smarter than everyone else is surely going to expose himself to ridicule without assistance from others."

    I bow my head, accepting his answer. Then I leave.

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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    Half a Step Away from Love</a> by Olga Kuno

    ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 Chapter five

    "Because you are a great lord, you believe yourself to be a great genius. You took the trouble to be born, but no more."

    Pierre Beaumarchais

    I come out of my bedroom and barely have a chance to close the door when I literally run into Tilda, a court lady, distinguished by her special love of gossip. Not that many in the palace don''t like gossip, but for Tilda rumors and gossip are almost a mania. Whenever anything happens, she is the first to know, and immediately hastens to share the news with the whole palace, out of altruism of course. In short, the woman is a fount of information, and at the same time is extremely dangerous if you want to hide something.

    "Nessa, have you heard the terrible news?" Tilda exclaims, not bothering with such trivial things as "good morning."

    Uttering the word "terrible", she widens her eyes with a look of delight on her face.

    "No, I have not yet," I respond eagerly.

    Learning new gossip early in the morning is always helpful.

    "Baron Crown!" Tilda rushes to enlighten me. "He has suffered a terrible accident. Yesterday, during a walk, he slipped and broke his right leg. Good thing he only fell from a low height."

    "How did he manage that?" I throw up my hands, mentally putting the facts together.

    My conversation with Estley took place the day before yesterday. Then yesterday Crown had an accident. Coincidence? Of course not.

    "Nobody really knows," Tilda says, her eyes widening again. It seems that this fact pleases and distresses her at the same time, adding a sense of mystery to the news. ?It seems that the Baron himself fails to understand how it happened. Well, now he will certainly be more cautious. Once he''s able to walk again, which, however, may not happen soon. Yesterday a doctor visited him, and said that for the next few weeks Crown will have to stay in bed. Not surprising, considering his injury."

    I solemnly nod, indicating that I am impressed by the story. Fully satisfied with this effect, Tilda quickly bids me goodbye and hurries off to spread the news. I set off to search for Estley, who is quite easy to find.

    "Lady Inessa!" He greets me when we run into each other in one of the living rooms. "I was just going to send you a note. I intend to fulfill the last part of our agreement. Do you want to accompany me to see Crown?"

    "Of course."

    Estley gallantly offers me his arm, and I take it, noting in passing that Baroness Lastly is giving me an envious look. This was, by the way, completely unnecessary. First, the only thing we have in common is business, and second, the Baroness has a very jealous husband. But for some reason I feel like annoying her, so I lean heavily on Estley''s elbow.

    "Do you intend to visit Baron Crown?" I clarify sarcastically while we climb the grand staircase covered with expensive dark red carpet.

    Since I don¡¯t feel sorry for the Baron in the least, I speak on this subject calmly.

    "Indeed," Estley confirms. "That''s how noble and generous people act. Or am I mistaken?"

    One has to know Lord Cameron very well to catch the notes of vitriol in his otherwise serious tone.

    I acknowledge that milord is not mistaken, and the rest of the way we walk in silence. Estley lets me pass through into the chamber where Baron Crown is recovering from his accident, and then enters the room himself. The Count signals to the valet, and the latter goes out into the hall.

    Crown¡¯s bandaged leg is motionless on the blanket. The Baron winces painfully, lifting his head from the pillow to look at the visitors ¨C I''m sure not the first ones today, and undoubtedly not the last.

    Following Estley''s silent instructions, I sit down in an armchair by the window, which is somewhat away from the bed. The Count himself chooses the seat closest to the bed.

    "How are you feeling, Baron?" He asks politely but icily.

    "Thank you for your concern. Pretty awful," Crown moans, wiping the sweat from his brow with his hand.

    At this moment, I for some reason vividly recall how this same hand shamelessly pawed at a helpless woman just a few days ago. Grimacing with disgust, I look away; unable to sympathize with the man, who is surely in a considerable amount of pain.

    "Please accept my condolences," Estley responds in the same cold tone. "What does the doctor say?"

    "What can this charlatan say?" The Baron brushes him off ¡ª irritably. I snort quietly: the ducal healer ¡ª a charlatan? "Bed rest, some stupid oils, supposedly good for strengthening bones, and the like."

    "I see. Well," says Estley "I would like to add to the doctor''s advice some recommendations of my own."

    The Baron looks up at him with some surprise, but Estley, as if nothing has happened, continues:

    "Fractures, Lord Crown, have a nasty tendency of recurring. Luckily for you, you only broke your leg, but sometimes people even break their necks. So, to ensure this does not happen to you, I highly recommend that you cease all interaction with Lady Audrey Stelton. Just forget that she exists," he says, seemingly not noticing how the patient''s face has become pale and drawn. "Oh, and one more thing: I advise you to forget about the unfortunate misunderstanding associated with her father''s title. Memory, you know, can be a very harmful thing to the healing bone. I hope I have made myself clear?"

    "Y-yes."

    The Baron shrinks back into the bed.

    "Wonderful. The next few days you need complete peace and quiet. Then, when you are allowed to move around, you will leave for your family estate. You will be much more comfortable recovering there. Moreover, the Duke no longer needs your services. Do not worry; the servants will very carefully carry you to the carriage. And in the meanwhile, get some rest." His tone abruptly changes to benevolent. "Recover, regain your strength, and get ready to move. Lady Inessa, are you coming with me?"

    "Yes, Lord Cameron." I rise from my chair and take the hand offered by the Count. "I think the Baron has a lot to think about."

    Mireya and I sit in the cozy living room, located next to the Duchess'' chambers. After Audrey enters the room and curtseys, we dismiss the servants. Mireya bids the lady in waiting to sit down.

    "So," she inquires with obvious impatience "what did Lord Estley tell you?"

    "Everything happened the way you said it would." The girl says, crossing her hands on her knees. "When Inessa passed along his invitation, I went to his study. Lord Estley treated me very politely and kindly. He said that he would be able to solve my problem, and make sure that Baron Crown leaves me alone. Furthermore, he promised that the Baron would be expelled from the palace. Then he mentioned that I will owe him a favor. I said of course, as long as it''s in my power. Lord Cameron replied he won''t require anything difficult. He said he needs to be aware of what is happening in Lady Mireya''s territory ¡ª who comes here, what people talk about, and so on. Also, if I can from time to time pass along such information, he would take on himself to solve my current difficulties. And any other hardships of this kind, if any arise in the future."

    "And you?.." Mireya gives her a meaningful look.

    "As you ordered, I pretended to ponder the offer, and then said that I agree. That I am ready to do anything to stop harassment from the Baron."

    "Wonderful!"

    I could not help but exclaim, and then rub my hands together in satisfaction.

    Mireya is watching my actions with a smile.

    "Excellent, Audrey," she says. "You did everything right. You may go."

    "If Lord Estley asks questions about specific things, tell us first," I add, putting aside my glee for a moment. "Besides, we will from time to time supply you with information that you will then pass on to him."

    "Truthful information?" she clarifies just in case.

    "Well, of course!" I assure her, almost offended by the question. Then I blink and correct myself: "At least, true to some extent."

    Meanwhile, the problem of dowry still remains to be solved. Of course, I assured Estley that I could easily deal with this issue on my own, but that was mainly bravado. In fact, it is quite complicated. However, complications are not a reason to give up.

    This time I managed to convince Mireya to hold off such radical measures as stealing the seal, and to try a more legitimate way first. Namely, to seek the support of the King. By now already two letters sent from the palace with different maids were resting on Estley''s table, or maybe turned into a handful of ashes in his fireplace. I do not know, I wasn''t invited to look at the result of his espionage. But one way or another, both maids were stopped before they could go out into the yard, and the letters were taken from them. So now I have decided to take matters into my own hands.

    Of course, I am being watched, so I have to be cunning, which is why I choose a different route than usual. Throwing a cloak over my shoulders, I quickly run down the narrow backstairs and as quickly rush to the inconspicuous side exit door. But when the door to salvation is just a couple of steps away, it swings open without my help.

    I almost whistle, impressed by such alacrity. Cameron Estley himself enters the building and stands leaning against the doorpost. In his gaze, mixed together, are reproach, sham fatigue and something akin to pleading. "Let''s not make it harder than it has to be," says his gaze. I resolutely straighten my back and stare at Estley defiantly.

    "Lady Inessa," he sighs, correctly interpreting my body language. "Please come with me."

    At the same time, it is obvious he is not going to let me out.

    Seeing as I do not have much choice, I follow Estley into one of the rooms on the first floor. The Count closes the door, and even glances at the window, as if checking to see if I could escape into the yard in such a peculiar way. Then he practically blocks my way to the door with his body, and crosses his arms on his chest.

    "Lady Inessa," he says, "I propose to reduce our communication to a minimum, and make it as pleasant as possible. I know that you have a letter that you intend to send to the capital. You know that I will not allow you to do so. So let''s cut our losses. Just give me the letter. Then tell your mistress that you did everything you could, but it did not work."

    "But I haven''t done everything I could yet, right?" I retort, trying to stall for time.

    "If you must," Estley unhappily shrugs his shoulders. "I am just proposing an option which makes everybody''s life easier. You will still give me the letter before you leave this room."

    "Which letter?" I bat my eyelashes.

    He does not even smile.

    "Lady Inessa, do not confuse determination and stubbornness. The former is highly commendable, but you should quit while you''re ahead. I am not letting you out of here until I get that letter."

    "Are you going to search me?" I am surprised.

    Estley winces.

    "You know perfectly well that if I have to, I will," he states firmly. "Please note: I''m doing my best to avoid it. The need to apply such measures to you brings me no joy. But I will do what I have to do. Therefore, I repeat, give me the letter voluntarily."

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "Really voluntarily ¨C it''s virtually at gunpoint!" I exclaim.

    "This is a pointless conversation," Estley rolls his eyes." Do you want to stand in here for a couple of hours and discuss my methods? To tell you the truth, I have other things to do."

    "What a coincidence! So do I," I grin. "So maybe we should simply part amicably? Each will go about their duties. Then you will tell the Duke that you did everything you could, but it did not work."

    Estley sighs reproachfully, purposefully showing his irritation, but then for some reason he chuckles.

    "You just can''t stop digging in your heels, can you?" He narrows his eyes. "Tell me, Lady Inessa, why you are so devoted to your mistress?"

    "That''s none of your business," I snap.

    Only then do I realize that replying in this way was short-sighted. At this rate, I''ll just provoke Estley, and he will do everything just to get the information he is interested in. This is the last thing I want.

    "There is no particular reason," I hurry to assuage him. "Nothing interesting. Devotion is like love. You never can tell exactly where it comes from. It just exists, that''s all."

    "Well, for love there is always a reason, and usually a compelling one," Estley remarks. "But we digress to abstract discussions. Why are you so actively defending her right to that money?"

    "It''s her money," I say forcefully.

    "Which she absolutely doesn''t need," replies Lord Cameron. "She does not use it, and if she hadn''t found out that the Duke needs it, she wouldn''t have even noticed the sum had changed. What is all the fuss about, Lady Inessa? Mireya Almikonte even without this amount will remain one of the richest brides in the country. Her dowry is so substantial that truthfully, we are talking about a drop in the ocean."

    "Not exactly a drop," I disagree. "Right now she may not need that money. But what if tomorrow she decides to get married? Suddenly, her dowry is not so substantial anymore, after the Duke has had his way with it! "

    "It won''t happen," says the Count, fully self-righteous. "But even if theoretically that somehow were to happen, the Duke would certainly correct the situation by adding the necessary amount to her dowry. Believe me; he is interested in a suitable match for his sister no less than Lady Mireya. He would never let a successful marriage fail because of such a minor detail."

    "The trouble is that the opinions of the Duke and his sister on what kind of marriage is considered successful don''t always coincide," I point out.

    Estley shrugs indifferently.

    "Well, in any case she will not be able to be married against the wishes of the Duke. He simply won''t allow it. What do you mean by a successful marriage ¡ª a love match? But then, don''t you think it would be weird for the dowry to get in the way of marital happiness? If the hypothetical fianc¨¦ really loved her, he would be ready to take her even without any money, wouldn''t he?"

    "You are shifting the conversation towards the topic of romance," I snap, feeling the sarcasm in his words. "I''m talking strictly about rights. Mireya has the right to decide what to do with that money. If she wants it to lie in the treasury for decades gathering dust, she''s entitled to do so. If she wants to, she can bury it in the ground and wait to see whether or not it sends up sprouts."

    "But the Duke prefers to use it for a good cause," Estley counters. "Maybe you do not know, but he''s not putting it into his own pocket, he''s going to finance a school for craftsmen."

    "Oh, of course, I''m aware of that." I try to make my smile as acid as possible. "There is only one small detail which you, Lord Estley, conveniently forget to mention. Or simply do not want to? What about the cute luxurious mansion the Duke is going to build for himself on the sly in the southern part of the Duchy?"

    I expect my words to take my companion down a peg, at least a little. But Cameron Estley is not one to become flustered because of such nonsense.

    "So what?" he asks as though he really does not understand what is so reprehensible about the aforementioned fact. "Of course, where the new venture is, especially such a large project, there is the person who will oversee it. And that person will have to live somewhere. By the way, most likely it will not be the Duke, but someone from his retinue ¡ª the one whom he will appoint to this position. Do not look at me as if you had just caught me red handed! It is beyond any doubt that it will not be me: I have more than enough to do here."

    "In any case, I know without a shadow of a doubt the Duke will use this house whenever he pleases," I insist.

    "Absolutely," agrees Estley. "And has it occurred to you, Lady Inessa, that Mireya Almikonte will also be able to use the house at a moment''s notice? Whenever she wants to treat her nerves in the southern climate or have a couple of flings away from her brother?"

    "Mireya Almikonte hates the province," I snap.

    "I wouldn''t be surprised if the feelings were mutual," shrugs Estley. "You did not even bother to consider it, but the construction of the mansion, as well as the school itself, will be very good for this area. New jobs, attracting high-class masters, some of which may at the same time agree to teach courses to the apprentices."

    "This is all pointless," I sigh, shaking my head wearily.

    "What is? Courses?"

    "No, our discussion. You still will defend the interests of the Duke, and I Lady Mireya''s."

    "Your wording is not entirely correct," calmly replies the Count. "You are defending the interests of Lady Mireya, and I, the interests of the Duchy. Do you see the difference?"

    If he is hoping that these words will make a lasting impression on me, he is in for a disappointment.

    "Do you want a medal?" I snap. "Ask the Duke ¡ª he certainly won''t stint. Especially if it is struck at other people''s expense."

    "If I ever need a medal, I''ll be sure to remember your advice," promises Estley. "Well, Lady Inessa. I see that the debate is really meaningless. I have tried to reason with you, but it has turned out to be an exercise in futility. So we are back where we started: give me the letter."

    "No."

    "Give it to me or I will be forced to take it."

    "I won''t give it to you".

    "Where did you hide it?"

    His ploy works: I do not answer with words, but for a split second I instinctively lower my eyes.

    "I see." Now the eyes of Lord Cameron focus on my d¨¦collet¨¦. "That''s what I thought." He raises his gaze from my cleavage, albeit reluctantly. "Lady Inessa, give me the letter amicably."

    "I''ll see you damned first."

    He finally shakes his head as if to say that from this point on I''m fully to blame for his actions. Then he steps closer to me and presses me against the wall.

    Head thrown back, I look at him languidly, slightly part my lips, and thrust forward my breasts heaving beneath the corset.

    "Do you want to engage in this search so badly, Lord Cameron?" I ask breathlessly, bringing my mouth almost to his chin.

    For a couple of seconds Estley freezes. Reading the emotion on his face is not easy, but in any case it certainly does not look like he is made of stone. Then he closes his eyes for a moment, sighs and stares at me with his usual insightful look.

    "Did you intend to throw me for a loop? Good idea and masterful execution." He swallows, as if to confirm his words. "But your plan has failed."

    Estley''s hand firmly slides right into my cleavage. Although I am expecting such a move, I nevertheless flinch as his fingers touch my chest. However, I must admit that he doesn¡¯t linger any longer than absolutely necessary. He finds the envelope easily and draws it out, and then quickly walks away, setting me free. I think that if I were to run off with cheeks burning from shame, he would not try to stop me. But I am not that sort. So I just continue to stand there, calmly adjusting my lace ruffles. My only reaction is to step away from the wall.

    Estley quickly tears open the envelope and scans the letter. He gives a satisfied nod.

    "The content is the same as in the previous two cases," he concludes. "However, I will still check this letter for hidden messages later. Lady Inessa, I''m sorry about what happened, but you left me no choice. Would you be so kind as to fulfill my request. Tell Lady Almikonte to stop fighting this meaningless war. It will save all of us a lot of time and effort."

    "May I go now?" I ask angrily. "Or maybe you want to look for something else?"

    It seems, in his eyes, I detect the desire to somehow defuse the conflict, but ultimately Estley just nods and says:

    "You may go."

    Passing him, I stop for a second.

    "You are a real scumbag!" I hiss, looking him straight in the eye. "And one day you''ll pay for this."

    Estley does not bother to say anything. Or maybe he takes too long pondering his words, and simply has no chance to say anything. I literally fly out of the room, and then flee the palace as well.

    As I come out of the gate, my face is distorted with rage; I walk down the street a bit. Then I take a carriage, tell the driver the address and sit down, carefully shutting the curtains on the windows.

    As if with a wave of a magic wand, all my anger dissipates. Smiling in satisfaction, I pull off my left black shoe. I deftly pry off the insole with my fingernail, as the insole actually has a secret double layer, and pull out a paper hidden in the shoe. The sheet has been folded several times. I unfold it and quickly look over it, smiling contentedly. Of course, the missive is a little rumpled from such treatment, but it doesn''t matter. His Majesty will read a message from his close relative Mireya Almikonte in any case.

    I hand the letter to the messenger with the order to drive at full speed. I am in no hurry to return to the palace. The deed is done, and now I can afford to take a walk. I have time to just relax, breathe in deeply the fresh autumn air and push with the tip of my shoes the fallen leaves gathered in large piles at the edges of the pavement.

    Lord Estley was completely right in assuming that part of the intercepted letter might be hidden from view, written in invisible ink. Going into his office, he hastens to test this assumption and carefully moves the sheet of paper above a candle. Letters appear. Sitting at his desk, the Count reads the following message:

    "Dear Lord Cameron,

    I hope you liked my breasts, because you will never have another chance to touch them. The letter, the sending of which you so desperately sought to prevent, is at the moment already on its way to the royal palace. You will not be able to intercept it in time.

    I hope you are not angry with me.

    Sincerely yours,

    Inessa Antego."

    End of part one

    --------------

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 Part Two, Chapter Six

    "Marriage is not a word, it''s a sentence."

    Anonymous

    The sound of the harpsichord fills the Western Music Hall, squeezes my heart and is not planning to let it go anytime soon. The young prodigy, only twenty years old, passionately plays sonatas of his own composition, bent over the instrument and now and then silently moving his lips. What had happened in the life of this young man for his music to wrench the soul inside out, treating it as ruthlessly as a laundress treats freshly washed clothes while wringing them out?

    I sit at the concert, clenching my teeth and feeling the tears welling up in my eyes, on the verge of rolling down my cheeks. I just hope that no one notices. Of course, there are more than enough weeping ladies here; some even sob quietly, dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs, and probably would have wept loudly, if etiquette had allowed it. But I do not want to join their ranks. I am one of those people who almost never cry, and do not want to change my reputation because of one sentimental concert.

    Perhaps the number of criers is not so great; however, it seems to be tenfold due to the mirrors hanging on the walls. It is a tricky design trend, used frequently in modern palaces. Mirrors are placed facing each other, making the room appear larger. At the same time they create the illusion of an entire mirror gallery. Of course, everything they reflect is also multiplied. The last note dies away, and the composer closes the harpsichord. Although I am cursing my tears to hell and back, I willingly and wholeheartedly join the thunderous applause. The boy certainly deserves a manifestation of gratitude on the part of the audience. He will most certainly greatly benefit from this performance. From this moment on, the doors of the noblest houses of the Duchy will be open to him. I have no doubt that we are witnessing the beginning of a dizzying career. I must hand it to Mireya: she knows how to discover talents and the best way to organize such events.

    I blink, trying to get rid of the veil of tears covering my eyes, and move to the side, where I can keep out of everyone''s sight. I should wait until most of the listeners leave the room, and then, too, quietly leave. In the meantime, I can wipe those silly tears and clean up my face.

    Damn! I knew it: I have forgotten my handkerchief again. I almost never need them, so I leave the chambers without one. I have to act cautiously, using the back of my hand. I have to admit, the effect is far from the best, and the risk of ruining my makeup is quite high.

    "I never thought that you appreciated music so keenly."

    I cannot help myself, but flinch when I hear the mocking voice right behind me.

    "It is really strange. I am usually a heartless beast," I throw over my shoulder, making it clear in this impolite manner that the conversation is over.

    "Take my handkerchief."

    Lord Cameron pretends that he did not get my hint. I turn to the Count, but I am in no hurry to take the white handkerchief embroidered with gold which he is currently holding out.

    "Lord Cameron, you carry handkerchiefs with you!" Angry that I was caught not in the best shape, I want to taunt him. "Do you have a cold, or are you maybe going through a sentimental period?"

    "No, it''s just being surrounded by flocks of romantically inclined young ladies, who might need one," he immediately parries, not a bit hurt.

    ¡°Are you so altruistic then that you literally could not stay away?¡± I snap, while hinting that the line of action I mentioned was much preferred in this situation.

    ¡°What are you talking about? I am no altruist,¡± responds Estley. ¡°My interest is purely mercantile: I don''t want you to start a flood.¡±

    ¡°Lord Cameron,¡± until this point I stood half-turned away from him, but now I turn to face him, ¡°But what are you doing at a concert hosted by Lady Mireya? Surely not looking for some sort of spy in the crowd?¡±

    ¡°No. Everything is much more serious. Actually, it''s a secret, but I will tell you.¡± Estley conspiratorially lowered his voice. ¡°I''m trying to catch a dangerous criminal. A maniacal serial killer. You see, for some reason he came up with this crazy idea, although not without a grain of rationality, that women are the root of all evil. So he kills them, trying to make the world a better place. He catches girls one by one when they are upset after the concert and disoriented, and strangles them. At the moment he is hiding behind the partition.¡±

    I cannot resist and throw a glance at a nearby partition. Estley laughs. I angrily purse my lips.

    ¡°Lady Inessa, sometimes an oboe is just an oboe, as a friend of mine says. If I have attended the concert, it only means that I like to listen to music.¡±

    ¡°Well, the concert has ended,¡± I inform him, ostentatiously turning away.

    ¡°The handkerchief, heartless beast!¡± Lord Cameron mockingly reminds me.

    Restraining a growl with difficulty ¡ª my eyes are still wet, and my nose probably red and swollen ¡ª I turn around again and take the handkerchief.

    ¡°Just remind me later to give it back. I''ll probably forget. I always forget such trivial matters.¡±

    I pointedly bring up the handkerchief not to my eyes but to my nose.

    ¡°Don''t worry,¡± Estley says generously. ¡°I have at least a dozen of these. See all these women around us? Almost half of them have the same handkerchief.¡±

    Before I realize that I am being teased, he retires with a curt nod. I finally remain in splendid isolation. However, the need for a handkerchief disappears by itself: my eyes are now completely dry.

    The following evening I go to Mireya''s room as soon as I return to the palace. I am in a good mood. On that day I visited David, who of course invited me. I met his mother. We sat at the table, drank some tea, and talked about life. The Baroness struck me as a smart woman, educated, with a strong personality and a pleasant manner. In short, I''ve had quite a nice day.

    The complications begin as soon as I approach the chambers. In the hallway I run into Ilona. She firmly takes my hand and quickly leads me to a corner.

    ¡°Mireya has a guest,¡± she says in a low voice.

    ¡°The Duke?¡± I guess.

    Who else''s appearance could cause a similar effect?

    ¡°Indeed. He has thrown everybody out, says he needs to talk to his sister alone.¡±

    ¡°Where are they?¡±

    ¡°In the small living room.¡±

    We look at one another, nod to each other and head in the opposite direction to that in which I had previously been going. We circle around Mireya''s quarters and enter from the other side, through the servants'' door; then we sneak on tiptoe into a tiny room, from which you see everything going on in the living room.

    We are in luck: Mireya did not immediately let in her brother, first cleaning up, preparing to meet him. So by the time we plaster ourselves to the narrow gap, the conversation has just begun.

    ¡°To what do I owe this honor, my dear brother?¡±

    We cannot see Mireya from there, but her voice sounds very cold.

    ¡°I have come to speak with you, sister.¡± The Duke''s is even more frigid. ¡°We have to discuss your dowry, among other things.¡±

    I hold my breath, trying to catch every word. Our struggle for Mireya''s dowry had been a success: the King received the letter and unequivocally took the side of the girl. The Duke was left holding the bag. Has he devised a new way to get his hands on the money?

    ¡°The recent incident has shown that you cherish this money and firmly intend to use it for its designated purpose.¡± Conrad continues. ¡°I have decided not to discourage you. Therefore, you shall be married in the near future.¡±

    ¡°What? Asks Mireya incredulously. ¡°Married?¡±

    ¡°Yes, married,¡± the Duke confirms casually, sitting down. ¡°I have found you the perfect groom. He has accepted my proposal with enthusiasm, so we can consider the matter settled.¡±

    ¡°He has accepted your proposal with enthusiasm?¡± Mireya repeats angrily. ¡°Well, why don''t you marry him yourself then?¡±

    I nod vigorously, thus expressing full solidarity with Lady Almikonte.

    ¡°Why are you so hostile to what I have to say?¡± the Duke shrugs. ¡°You do not even yet know whom I have chosen you as a husband.¡±

    ¡°You have chosen.¡± Mireya repeats in a measured manner. ¡°It''s enough.¡±

    ¡°That is just your stubbornness talking.¡± Conrad shakes his head. ¡°It''s senseless, childish, and goes against your own interests. I''m not even talking about mine. Are you going to listen, or would you prefer the name of the groom to be a surprise at your wedding?¡±

    ¡°It won''t be,¡± Mireya cuts in. ¡°Because there will be no wedding.¡±

    ¡°There will be,¡± says the Duke. ¡°I''m tired of your antics, Mireya. God knows, I''ve endured them for a long time. Even in those cases when you have created obstacles for my work, without having the slightest good reason. But my patience is not endless. You''re twenty-six years old; it is the right age to be married. I would even say that in a little while it will be too late. Start an independent life, set up your own home and run it according to your own orders.¡±

    ¡°So that''s how it is,¡± hisses Mireya. ¡°Well, whom have you picked to make me happy?¡±

    ¡°Now we''re getting down to business. Lord Gustave Dorion, a Marquis, has served for two years at the court of His Majesty, and comes highly recommended.¡±

    ¡°Is that the one who is allegedly coming to visit you tomorrow?¡± Mireya is outraged at such treachery.¡±

    ¡°Indeed,¡± confirms the Duke. ¡°And why "allegedly"? He will in truth be my guest. And at the same time your fianc¨¦. One does not negate the other.¡±

    ¡°Go to hell!¡±

    ¡°What is so unacceptable to you already?¡± Although Mireya''s nature is, perhaps, more explosive, her brother is also starting to become angry. ¡°At least listen to what kind of person he is! You know nothing about him! I, by the way, am not a monster, and have picked a very good match for you.¡±

    ¡°I suppose that he''s a good match for you first and foremost!¡± Mireya snaps.

    ¡°Yes, for me too ¡ª so what?¡± The Duke also raises his voice. ¡°You can have it both ways! So,¡± he tries to pull himself together and speaks quietly. ¡°Lord Dorion is rich, noble, and relatively young.¡±

    ¡°How old is he?¡± asks Mireya.

    ¡°He''s thirty-six.¡± Conrad continues, carefully ignoring the snorting of his sister. ¡°As I say, he has done good work at the court. He has an unblemished reputation. He doesn''t drink, is not fond of purple dust, does not squander money, and doesn''t organize orgies.¡±

    ¡°It would be better if he did,¡± Mireya blurts, earning an extremely disapproving look from her brother.

    ¡°In addition, the Marquis is very good-looking.¡± The Duke makes an effort and continues to speak as if he had not noticed his sister''s inappropriate sarcasm. ¡°Because it matters to you, does it not? So, I have made sure of that too. Moreover ¡ª I believe, and it would be important for you to know ¡ª according to rumors, he is a very good lover.¡±

    ¡°I will not marry the person that you choose,¡± Mireya raps.

    ¡°Oh really? Is everything unacceptable to you again?¡± Conrad is furious.

    ¡°Believe it or not, yes!¡±

    ¡°In this case, no one is going to ask you!¡±

    ¡°In this case, you neither!¡±

    ¡°Keep in mind that tomorrow your fianc¨¦ arrives, and the wedding is in three weeks!¡±

    ¡°I hope the wedding veil will suit you!¡±

    ¡°And after the wedding you will go to your husband''s palace, and there you can get on his nerves!¡±

    ¡°Get out of my quarters!¡±

    ¡°With pleasure. I have already told you everything I was going to.¡±

    And the Duke leaves the room, loudly slamming the door on his way out.

    After waiting a few minutes to be sure, Ilona and I rush into the living room.

    ¡°Did you hear that?¡± Mireya cries indignantly.

    A few red strands have escaped from her hairdo, giving the girl a disheveled, perhaps even slightly demonic look. In general, her hair is much easier to mess up than to style.

    We nod affirmatively. Mireya knows very well about the adjoining room with the gap, and often specially arranges "face to face" meetings in here, so one of the ladies in waiting can overhear the conversation.

    ¡°This is tyranny! His... his insolence knows no bounds! Who does he think he is? And who does he take me for ¡ª his slave?¡±

    ¡°More likely a younger relative,¡± Ilona tries to smooth things over.

    ¡°And on this basis he thinks he has a right to control my life?¡±

    Mireya''s eyes flash angrily. The attempt to smooth things out doesn''t work ¡ª on the contrary, things are noticeably sharp and sticking out like a pack of knives and barbed arrows.

    ¡°Perhaps you should wait until tomorrow,¡± Ilona offers. ¡°You never know, maybe you''ll like the man!¡±

    ¡°There''s no way,¡± says Mireya with conviction.

    ¡°Just imagine," insists the lady in waiting. ¡°You enter the hall, and there he is, literally a prince on a white horse, riding on his horse right into the hall. And then the horse lifts its tail and ... yes, romantic stories ¡ª not my forte.¡± Ilona throws up her hands. ¡°But I still think you should first look at the groom, and then start to get angry.

    ¡°Not true," Mireya disagrees. ¡°You have described everything perfectly. I even began to smell something. It''s exactly how this whole story smells ¡ª it stinks!¡±

    ¡°He''s such a bastard!¡± I hiss, shaking my head.

    ¡°You see, you see?¡± Mireya immediately catches on. ¡°I have always said that my brother is a total scumbag!¡±

    ¡°I''m not talking about your brother,¡± I wave. ¡°No, he is also, of course, quite the saboteur. But I''m willing to bet that the brilliant idea of the wedding does not belong to him.¡±

    ¡°To whom, then?¡±

    ¡°Cameron Estley, of course.¡±

    To me it seems obvious.

    ¡°Well, don''t go that far,¡± Ilona drawls dubiously. ¡°You can''t know that for sure.¡±

    ¡°Of course I can. The Duke... with all due respect to your brother,¡± I glance at Mireya, ¡°doesn''t think very fast. No, I am not calling him a fool; he''s smart in his own way. But his mind, how to phrase it ... is more rigid. Fresh ideas, the ability to find an unexpected way out ¨C it''s not his element. That''s what he has Estley for. It is likely that the Duke really did pick the groom himself, but Estley is the one who gave him the idea to get rid of you this way. And this,¡± I fix my steady gaze on Ilona, ¡°I know for certain. I would scratch that bastard''s face in a heartbeat!¡±

    ¡°I would do the same to my brother,¡± Mireya supports me.

    ¡°Well, if we were to go the whole hog, we know two or three people in the palace whose faces I wouldn¡¯t mind rearranging.¡±

    Realizing that she will not be able to calm us down, Ilona changes tactics and decides to join our bloodthirsty attitude.

    ¡°Don''t worry, Lady Mireya.¡± I state belligerently. You will not get married because of this Marquis. I''ll kill myself if I have to, but this wedding will not take place!¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Nessa!¡± Mireya embraces me. ¡°I know I can always count on you.¡±

    The Duke''s intention to marry off Mireya without asking her consent renders me extremely nervous and angry. The reason for this emotional reaction lies not only in my concern and sincere sympathy for Mireya, but also in my more general attitude towards forced marriages. This attitude stems from personal experience.

    It feels as though a long time has passed since then, even though in reality it happened only four years ago. My parents decided to marry me off. Not that they wanted to get rid of me. I was not a bother to them in general, and so they did not impose themselves on me too much. For as long as I can remember, they have been living their lives, and I mine. I was practically raised by my nanny and by some of the servants, as well as our castellan who practically replaced my family; they shared their emotional warmth generously with me. The castellan became for a while for me something akin to an uncle or an older brother; with him I could discuss abstract subjects and intellectual issues that the servants were not very interested in or books they had not read. My parents were always close by, but rather as some distant relatives who would appear, smile, say a couple of words and disappear again. They were involved in their own pursuits ¡ª card games, dances, horse racing, and who knows what else. Most important, we were all happy with this way of life, so I cannot complain.

    But then came the moment when the Antego family suddenly ran out of money. As I now realize, it was not that sudden. Although my father was a Count, his estate had been quite modest to begin with. If managed rationally, however, it would have been possible to live quite well off it. The thing was that the rational use of money was not one of my parents'' virtues. My mother and father preferred to live in grand style, not bothering to think about the consequences. So at one point they arrived on the verge of bankruptcy.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    But they were lucky. They had invested money in one profitable project. Namely, me. As is well known, a young daughter with a good education, an attractive appearance, who belongs to a count''s family line, is a great way to earn a tidy sum. If, of course, you manage to sell her off to your advantage. Here my parents showed an entrepreneurial streak, which before this point hadn''t manifested itself, and it worked marvelously. They found a groom very quickly. Baron Renoir Luzhe. Thirty-four years, rather more handsome than not, and although a little below us in title, he was extremely, staggeringly rich. Also, he was quite ready to invite a young flower such as myself into his home, and financially compensate my parents for this loss.

    Not that I was delighted with the planned marriage, but I didn''t react with the same hostility as Mireya. Mostly I decided to find out as much as possible about my fianc¨¦ before our first meeting, which was planned to serve as the engagement . So I began to collect information.

    But the information I gathered almost turned my hair gray at nineteen. The rumors about my fianc¨¦ ranged from very unpleasant to frankly frightening. Judging by those rumors, he was a real sadist. He flogged six servants to death. And maimed countless others. He raped maids. Other details I heard did not fit in with the worldview of the young daughter of a count such as myself.

    Naturally, I did not hide this information. Instead, I went to my parents and asked them to cancel all arrangements with the Baron. I explained to them in detail the reason for my refusal. I did not have the slightest doubt that after that there would be no more talk about a wedding.

    My surprise was all the greater when my parents brushed off my story like a troublesome fly. Really, shame on you, dear daughter, for listening to idle gossip. People always talk, it''s in their nature. Especially about rich and famous people, because everyone is envious of them. And the servants? Servants always think that they have been punished unjustly, even if in fact there was a good reason for the beating. A fatal outcome from such punishment? Simply an exaggeration. And even if all of these accusations were to have any basis in reality, what rich men allow themselves with their maids they would never allow themselves with their wives. So I have practically nothing to worry about.

    I was definitely not happy about the prospect of seeing, on a daily basis, my husband beating and raping other women. Moreover, something made me strongly doubt that he would keep himself on his best behavior with his own wife. I had little life experience at that stage, but I had a head on my shoulders, and knew how to think logically. This logic brought me to conclusions I did not like in the least.

    In defense of my parents I have to say that they sincerely believed what they said. They really believed that their daughter, who was alarmed by the upcoming wedding, was worried about nothing and inflated minor problems out of proportion due to the romantic nature of young girls. Not surprisingly, they never became aware of the fact that their daughter had never been given to excessive romanticism., To do so, after all, one needs to communicate with someone a bit more in depth than "Hello, darling! You look great! I have a new doll for you."

    I talked to my parents many times. First, trying to convince them with all kinds of logical arguments. This had absolutely no effect, so I tried raising my voice. I demanded, insisted, stamped my foot. To no avail. The only result was my mother''s migraines. Perhaps tears would have helped, but crying was already completely foreign to me even back then.

    What could I do? It came to the point of the meeting and the engagement. The groom, a stocky man with a round face, hazel eyes and fat lips, was much older than I, but not old. In addition, he was in good physical shape. He didn''t appear to be such a terrible man. He was courteous, polite, educated, and smiled a lot. My parents were completely delighted. They even gave me encouraging looks. As if to say, you see, the devil is not as terrible as he is painted. Actually, all is well. We said so from the start!

    Then we were left in private for a while. The Baron was still smiling, but for some reason the look in his bright eyes made me very uncomfortable. He stepped up to me and forced me to retreat quickly to the wall. For a few moments he just stood close to me, looking at me like a cat at a mouse. Then he drew out a box from his pocket and took out a ring. It was gold, with large stones. My parents would certainly like it.

    ¡°Will you allow me?¡± He asked.

    I hesitantly shrugged. What choice did I have?

    He started to put it on my ring finger. But suddenly he stopped and instead brought the stone to my fingertip. The stone was rough, with sharp edges, and looked like several fragments joined together. One such fragment the Baron pressed into my finger. All the while, he was raptly and intently watching my reaction.

    I loudly sucked in air when a drop of blood appeared on the pad of my finger. He did not stop and continued to apply pressure. Gritting my teeth, I looked up and challengingly met his gaze. He looked at me for a little while longer with narrowed eyes, then smiled and put the ring on my finger.

    ¡°We will have an interesting time together,¡± he said, and then, without uttering another word, opened the door and went out into the next room, solemnly telling everyone that the engagement had taken place.

    I did not remove the ring. I left it on my finger as a reminder of what awaited me. So I would not even think of relaxing before I found a way out of this situation.

    However, I couldn''t find a way out. Of course, I told my parents about the episode with the ring, and displayed my wounded finger as evidence, but they just chalked it up to a vivid imagination. So what if you got a scratch from the ring ¡ª what a beautiful stone! And so expensive, too!

    My imagination meanwhile ran wild even more than before, after I managed to find one of the maids who had suffered from Baron Luzhe''s abuse back in the day. After hearing her story, I turned pale and fell into a stupor. My muscles turned into stone, and I felt my heart in my throat. In the end, I recollected myself, comforted the sobbing woman, and then, without hesitation, gave her money ¡ª a large sum for a person of her class ¨C so she would have an opportunity to start a new life somewhere away from here.

    I pondered the option of running away. The problem ¨C or rather, my luck ¡ª was the fact that, in contrast to romantically inclined young ladies, I began to consider the consequences. The conclusions saddened me. Moreover, I knew of several similar stories. Girls either returned to their parents after some time, quite battered and pleading for forgiveness, or they didn''t return, but hit rock bottom. Young women of my class simply had no chance to lead an independent life with dignity, without having the support of their parents or other powerful patrons. Especially if they also didn''t have money. Not that I thought it beneath me to get a job, but, first, I did not know how to start looking for one. Second, I did not have any references. Without them, I could, of course, settle for a job in the field, working for peanuts, but I simply did not have the physical strength required for such a job. Nor did I have any relatives who could take me in; and a thoughtless decision in the spirit of "Just run away, and then somehow it will work out" just wasn''t for me. I knew perfectly well that it wouldn''t work out. The most likely outcome would be to end up in some brothel as an oddity with good manners. Not a better prospect than the upcoming marriage.

    As the wedding day approached, I began to think more often about a different manner of escape. Among the books I read were all sorts of textbooks about poison. I began to gather information on various methods of suicide. I hated having to resort to this measure, but I was not going to become a plaything in the hands of my future husband, who was interested to see how long it would take to break me. So I approached the topic of suicide logically, and thoroughly examined it. I picked out a few techniques that seemed to me most easy and painless. Then I tried to postpone further thoughts on this subject until the moment when I had no other choice.

    Then Mireya came around. Just a week before the wedding, she and a few ladies in waiting stayed in our castle on their way from the capital. She heard about the upcoming joyful event and wondered why the bride did not look very happy. It was against my principles to complain about life to complete strangers, but my deep despair and my parents'' absolute indifference made me ready to open up to the first person who was willing to listen and understand. Especially since in my heart there was a faint hope that the sister of the Duke would be able to do something to help me. To my great surprise, the help came immediately and was much more fundamental than I expected. Mireya, terribly outraged by my story, went somewhere; barely half an hour later she returned and told me that I could pack my things and go with her to the ducal palace. As it turned out, she practically bought me from my parents.

    For that reason, I will never betray Mireya. And I am not going to allow anyone else to marry her against her will.

    The longer I think about it, the stronger the blood boils in my veins. But it is too late now to be angry at my parents, and pointless. Meanwhile, there is a much more suitable target for my anger here in the palace. So all my resentment quickly concentrates on the person I consider to be the main culprit for the trouble that has befallen Mireya.

    That''s it. I''ll go to him right now and I''ll tell this smug bastard, this base scoundrel, this intriguer, to his face, what I think of him. And I''ll get him to cancel the entire plan of marrying Mireya off. He can explain that to the Duke in whatever way he wants.

    It is evening, so I decide that I am most likely to find Estley in his chambers. There''s where I head. However, I do not find him in the drawing room, nor in the next room, and then there is a valet guarding the door, who for some reason refuses to let me in. But I, enraged and thirsty for retribution, pay him no attention. Just wave my hand sharply in the air ¡ª and, frankly, I''m not even quite sure what happens next. Whether the valet simply retreats, frightened, or whether I actually strike him I don''t know. If it is the latter case, I''m not sure whether I hit him with my hand or he runs into the door when I throw it open... Not really giving any thought to the fate of the poor man, I burst into the room, which turns out to be a bedroom.

    No, nothing really terrible happens. After all, it¡¯s not like there is anything new to be seen. Everything is quite trivial. He is on top, she is on the bottom. They could have come up with something more original. They both have more than enough experience, thank the gods. However, they say the classic prevails over any variations...

    I nevertheless become flustered, albeit briefly. I stand at the door and look away from the bed, giving Lady Lastly the opportunity to wrap herself in a sheet. Estley too covers himself up, even though rather carelessly.

    ¡°Lady Inessa, you were so eager to rush into my bedroom, you swept poor Robert off his feet?¡± he asks. I guess that Robert is probably the valet. ¡°I hope he didn''t get hurt too badly? I hope at least he wasn''t carried away to the far north? Truly the next hurricane will have to be named ''Inessa''".

    ¡°I need to speak with you alone.¡± I hiss, having no intention of listening to his taunts any longer.

    At this point, the stumbling valet emerges behind me with an impressive shiner starting to show. I turn around, and the guy instinctively recoils.

    ¡°Lady Inessa.¡± Estley does not leave my words without a response. ¡°Get in line, as the traders in the market say. Lady Lastly was here first. So right now my focus is entirely on her. You can wait in the next room. Just be so kind as to not kill Robert on the way.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± His vile hints anger me so much that my voice is virtually dripping with poison. ¡°I''ll just go and tell Baron Lastly that his wife will be available in ¡­about half an hour?¡±

    I look at the Baroness. She curses under her breath; some extremely unpleasant expressions are addressed to me personally, but I do not bother listening to her. I turn away, allowing her to duck behind the partition; she gets dressed and calls me a whore as she is running out of the room. Funny ¡ª after all of this I am the one who is supposedly worthy of that moniker?! In my opinion, given the circumstances, it is not exactly logical.

    Estley himself is in much less of a hurry than the Baroness, but he manages to pull on his pants.

    ¡°I''m all ears.¡± He says sarcastically after the unfaithful wife slams the door. ¡°So, what did you need so urgently in my bedroom?¡±

    ¡°I wanted to put a pea under your mattress.¡± I snap. ¡°Would you get dressed?¡±

    ¡°Oh really?¡± Estley feigns surprise. ¡°A strange request from a woman who bursts into a single man''s room in the middle of the night. Anyway. The lady''s wish is my command.¡±

    He picks up his shirt from the back of the chair, slips his arms into the sleeves and begins to fasten the buttons in a tantalizingly slow manner. That makes concentrating on the reason for my visit quite difficult. But I still do my best.

    "Leave Lady Almikonte alone!" I demand. "I know that it was your idea ¡ª to marry her off against their will. Go to the Duke and revoke this venture of his!"

    The shirt is finally buttoned. Estley doesn¡¯t bother with such nonsense as a vest or waistcoat; thus, he looks homey and slightly disheveled, but still relatively decent. He even deigns to offer me a seat.

    I, however, refuse the offer, feeling that if I relax, my fervor may fade away. Therefore, I stay standing, but for convenience I rest both my hands on the back of the chair.

    "So," at least the sneer disappeared from the bastard''s gaze. "In other words, as I understand it, the Duke''s sister again hastened to show her character."

    "Do not try to shift the responsibility for what happened to Lady Mireya!"

    Estley shrugs wearily.

    "The Duke himself is organizing the wedding. He chose the groom, and he is in charge in all the arrangements. I did suggest to him the idea that marriage for Lady Mireya would be the best solution for all involved. The rest is beyond my competence. What do you find so unacceptable?"

    "What do I find unacceptable?" This insolence is almost enough to render me speechless. But not quite ¡ª that would be too much of a gift for him! "Yes, what right has the Duke to interfere with her life so unceremoniously?!"

    "Lady Inessa, you surprise me. The Duke is her older brother. You know perfectly well that the marriages of girls from aristocratic families tend to be arranged by next of kin. What''s so outrageous about it, or does it go against the generally accepted norms?"

    "I don''t care about the norms!" I snap, angry because of my own, personal, reasons. "Lady Mireya has the right to choose her own husband herself!"

    "Excellent," Estley offers no objection. "Let her offer an alternative candidate. If this person were an appropriate fianc¨¦ for a woman of her status, the Duke probably would not mind."

    "We are not talking about someone specific," I counter. "At the moment, Lady Mireya doesn''t have a candidate in mind."

    "Then I do not understand at all what the matter at hand is. If she has no candidates, the Duke offers her one."

    "He didn''t offer, he stated it as a fact."

    "Call it whatever you want. As I understand it, the groom has not even arrived at the palace, and your mistress is already raising a racket. Honestly, it is just like her."

    "Keep in mind" ¡ª I have not noticed how my hands released the chair and forefinger stretched and poked Estley in the chest ¡ª "there will be no wedding. I''ll personally make sure of it."

    "Excuse me, Lady Inessa, but it has already been decided, and the wedding will take place," he replied. "Even if I have to take care of it personally."

    "In this case ¡ª see you on the battlefield!" I leave the room, walking in a wide circle around the poor valet, who shrinks away just in case.

    ---------------

    The whole book is available here - https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88</a>

 Chapter Seven

    ¡°Le mariage et le c¨¦libat ont tous deux des inconv¨¦nients; il faut pr¨¦f¨¦rer celui dont les inconv¨¦nients ne sont pas sans rem¨¨de."

    Nicolas De Chamfort

    The reception dedicated to the arrival of the Marquis Dorion is in full swing. Quiet music plays gently, the waiters carry the wine, and in addition, guests can go to a special table and take a bowl of dessert. The guest of honor has already been introduced to Lady Almikonte. It is just a meeting, not an engagement, so Mireya has not become enraged. True, she greeted the Marquis extremely coldly, but she didn''t cross any lines, or exceed the limits of etiquette. In fact, she rarely does so in front of strangers.

    ¡°Well, what do you think of the groom?¡± I whisper to David, with whom I am attending the reception.

    ¡°He seems to be a decent man." He replies. ¡°It''s hard to say from just one encounter, of course. But, in my opinion, he''s worthy of the bride.¡±

    I skeptically purse my lips. My impression of the Marquis is not so positive. Though not quite too bad, I could not say the same. In general, the Duke did not lie: Lord Dorion is indeed handsome. Tall, solidly built, he has blond hair and blue eyes; he could probably even be called beautiful. But something prevents me from using this adjective. The point is the first thing I look for is a sign of intelligence in a person''s eyes. In this case there are distinct problems in this field. Anyhow, that is my first impression. The Marquis looks parochial. This is how it is when you look at a person and wonder: why did the gods choose for him to be born an aristocrat? It seems that he would look much more in his element as a peasant somewhere in a village.

    However, I refrain from sharing these reflections with David ¡ª what for? Surely he''d accuse me of being too critical, the way he already has a couple of times in such cases. So we just once again pass the groom surrounded by courtiers and sit next to Ilona, who is poking her spoon around in a bowl of jelly with a very sour look on her face.

    ¡°Did a cockroach crawl into your bowl?¡± I ask, noting the expression of disgust on my friend''s face.

    ¡°It would be better if it did,¡± Ilona does not hesitate to answer. ¡°At least that would bring me some entertainment. You know some people say you can read cockroaches and foretell your future betrothed.¡±

    At the same time she throws a short look at David, and I at the Marquis.

    ¡°You know, it¡¯s better to avoid landing a betrothed like this one,¡± I chuckle. ¡°But what is wrong with the jelly?¡±

    ¡°It is sweet,¡± Ilona disgustedly drawls.

    ¡°What do you think it should be?¡± I am surprised. ¡°It''s a dessert.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Completely disillusioned with the vase''s contents, Ilona puts it and her spoon aside. ¡°Whatever, just not so sugary. The taste is making me nauseated.¡±

    David''s eyes widen for a second. The poor man is clearly not prepared for such vulgar statements from the mouth of a noble lady. I quietly stretch my foot out and gently nudge my friend¡¯s toes. She smiles, but refuses to take my hint. Ilona prefers to communicate with others as is most convenient for her.

    However, this time it is not that important. Glancing at the clock, David apologizes and bids us farewell.

    ¡°What ¡ª you''re leaving already? So early?¡± Ilona asks in surprise.

    ¡°I have to,¡± David smiles. ¡°I promised my mother I would not return home too late.¡±

    ¡°Is she going to sing you a lullaby?¡± knowingly asks my friend.

    This time I kick her more thoroughly. But David does not take offense, just smiles at the joke and says:

    ¡°She was not feeling well. I promised her to sit with her a little and read to her before bedtime.¡±

    ¡°And how does she regard your frequent visits to the Duke''s palace?¡± Ilona asks curiously.

    ¡°Positively,¡± David says. ¡°Extremely positively.¡±

    ¡°Well, that''s wonderful. I wish your mother a speedy recovery.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    David leaves, and Ilona and I continue to observe the reception.

    ¡°Does he love his mother so much?¡±

    ¡°Who?¡± I did not even realize that we were talking about my young man. ¡°Oh, David. How should I know? Maybe he lied, and he is going to visit his mistress.¡±

    I cannot understand the reason for my own irritation.

    ¡°You know, maybe that wouldn''t be so bad,¡± Ilona remarks.

    ¡°Fie, what cynicism!¡± I wince. ¡°Okay, yes, he loves his mother. Why, is that bad?¡±

    ¡°It''s good.¡± Ilona retorts, however, she looks a bit grim. ¡°It is very good. For his mother. You know what, my friend? If you need a man who loves his mother, get a son, not a husband.¡±

    ¡°In short, you just do not like David,¡± I conclude

    ¡°Why do you say that? I like him, ¡°Ilona says, pretty indifferently . ¡°He has virtually no bad qualities. He doesn''t scheme, nor abuse alcohol, is not a womanizer, loves his mother. Doesn''t sniff tobacco even.¡± My friend opens her eternal snuffbox, sniffs while closing one nostril and sneezes with relish. ¡°In general, he consists of a continuous absence of flaws.¡±

    ¡°Okay, let''s talk about Mireya''s groom." I wisely choose to change the subject. ¡±What do you think about the Marquis?¡±

    Ilona responds to this question less positively than about David.

    ¡°Good looking, narrow-minded, but secretive.¡± She issues her verdict. ¡°In essence, a dime a dozen.¡±

    ¡°The main thing is that Mireya isn''t thrilled with him,¡± I say.

    ¡°Mireya would not be happy even if the God of Love Himself kneeled before her,¡± Ilona replies. ¡°Just because he was chosen for her by the Duke.¡±

    I have to agree with my friend there. It is unlikely that the groom has any chance to catch Lady Almikonte''s fancy.

    ¡°Anyway, he''s really not the best match for her,¡± acknowledged Ilona, absently tapping her knuckles on the lid of the snuffbox.

    ¡°Now the question is how to thwart the wedding.¡± I cut to the chase.

    ¡°Do you have any ideas?¡±

    ¡°I have a few. But first, I''m thinking we should try the easiest way.¡±

    ¡°Which is what?¡±

    I take a sip from my goblet and look thoughtfully through the transparent glass.

    ¡°Only I don''t know whether this is the correct move or not. I would try to talk to the Marquis himself. Just to tell him that Lady Mireya does not wish to enter into this marriage. Then there are two options. Either he will turn out to be an honorable man and won''t want to marry a girl against her will. In this case, all our problems will be resolved by themselves.¡±

    ¡°Or he won''t.¡± Ilona easily guessed the second option.

    ¡°That''s right.¡± I confirm the obvious. ¡°Therefore, then we''ll have to play against him, as was expected. But in my opinion, we should not discard the elementary outright. First, we should try to make the Marquis our ally. The only thing that I''m unsure about: if he refuses, it means we have shown him our hand. What do you think?¡±

    ¡°This is hardly important,¡± says Ilona. ¡°The Duke knows anyway that Mireya just will not give up. While in a discussion with the Marquis you won''t reveal any specific plans.¡±

    ¡°That''s for sure.¡±

    I sit back and look closely at the Marquis, who is in conversation with the Duke. I am already planning the upcoming conversation. Of course, it will be necessary to talk with Mireya beforehand and get her to approve the initiative.

    ¡°What does this one want from us?¡± Ilona asks in amazement. ¡°Did he really manage to guess the topic of our discussion?¡±

    I frown and turn my head just in time to meet the eyes of the approaching Estley.

    ¡°Lady Inessa,¡± he says to me, after greeting Ilona with a polite nod. ¡°Well, are you going to visit me tonight as well as yesterday?¡±

    Ilona''s gaze suddenly loses all traces of boredom.

    ¡°Why do you ask, Lord Cameron?¡± I ask caustically. ¡°Do you miss me that much?¡±

    ¡°I don''t really care, one way or another,¡± he says. ¡°But Robert is very interested. Since this morning he has pestered me with questions. ¡°Will Lady Antego bestow her visit upon us today? Or maybe the gods will be merciful, and she will pass by?¡±

    ¡°You should pray, Lord Cameron,¡± I advise. ¡°Ask the gods for mercy. They say it helps.¡±

    ¡°Thank you. I will be sure to do so.¡±

    With these words he retreats, but Ilona, on the contrary, moves up her chair even closer to mine, until they are flush against each other.

    ¡°Nessa, my dear,¡± she says gently. ¡°How should I interpret that?¡±

    ¡°Very simply,¡± I mutter. ¡°Last night because of all the talk of marriage I was very shaken up. As a result, I burst into Estley¡¯s bedroom.¡±

    ¡°A great way to treat shaky nerves!¡± Ilona laughs. ¡°My friend, you are not hopeless after all! And how did it go?¡±

    ¡°Wonderfully,¡± I state grimly. ¡°But not too productively. Although not quite. I inadvertently contributed to the strengthening of the institution of family and marriage. I kicked Baroness Lastly out of his bed. You know, in addition to all his other affairs, the scoundrel also takes married women to his bed.¡±

    ¡°Well, Lady Lastly he doesn''t need to take,¡± Ilona points out seriously. ¡°She''ll come all on her own. Oops, what did I just say?¡±

    Her last exclamation makes me throw up my head. I see the same Baroness virtually glued to the elbow of Estley, who is speaking to Dorion.

    ¡°No, will you look at that!¡± I whisper indignantly. ¡°This Lady Lastly is lusting after him as if he were the last man on earth!¡±

    My clever pun for some reason pleases me to a great extent.

    ¡°You know,¡± muses Ilona, ¡°maybe you should get married, so as to take a lover like Estley.¡±

    I just snort in response, but my friend obviously likes her own idea.

    ¡°Perhaps, Nessa, I was wrong. David is a good candidate for a husband. He will make a very convenient husband. As convenient ¨C she squinted slyly ¡ª as Baron Lastly.¡±

    ¡°Personally, I''m interested in something else right now,¡± I answer dreamily. ¡°Namely, how to go over this villain and destroy his plans for Mireya''s wedding.¡±

    Then I smile tenderly at Lord Cameron, who seems to have sensed we are talking about him.

    Yes, I am going to try to negotiate with Marquis Dorion on good terms. However, attempts at amicable agreements aside, you should be always ready for war, and, if possible, even before it begins. Therefore, before paying a visit to Mireya''s groom, I take my cloak and veil, leave the palace and head to a familiar address.

    Officially, this is a bookstore, which sells manuscripts exclusively devoted to geographical science. In fact, the man who owns the shop, Antoine Safie, is a first class specialist in gathering information. This man knows everything about everyone, and if by chance he does not know something, he can discover it very fast. For a small fortune, naturally. But it is quite normal: high quality work deserves great reward. Especially when the work is very delicate, and is not always legal.

    I do not want to even imagine how many informants work for this man, and I prefer not to know who from Mireya''s circle is among them. I have no doubt that they exist. Simply because the ducal palace is a place where someone like Safie must have his own ears. Otherwise he just would not be worth the price of the bread he eats.

    So now I am sitting across from him in one of the interior rooms of the shop. The room is spacious, but feels small, as it is crowded with a huge amount of furniture and belongings. A table, one chair for the host and two for visitors, a couch close by, several cabinets and shelves laden with books and littered with piles of papers, dusty maps hanging on the wall, some even spilling from the desk onto the floor, and a couple of globes to top it all off.

    I have no doubt that all of these simply serve as props. The really important documents are not stored in plain sight. More to the point, they are not stored here at all. Safie prefers to work without leaving any traces. He simply gathers information and conveys it to the client verbally. That way, he trades in things which cannot be touched, tracked or presented in a court of law. He doesn''t even collect evidence for his clients. He only informs them precisely where this evidence can be found. But the client or someone the latter hires will need to actually go and physically collect it.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    Across from me sits a short, stout man, with dark hair that is desperately losing the battle with baldness. The hair shamefully recedes, retreating away from the top, but still lingers on the head in a kind of a wide ribbon, as though still waiting in the wings, hoping to re-conquer the lost summit. Sly smile, small oily eyes. One would think that my companion is looking at me like a cat at a bowl of cream, and while we''re talking he''s only thinking about how to get that cream. But I know perfectly well that behind this deceptive exterior hides a cold mind, the tranquility of a boa constrictor, and top level professionalism.

    ¡°So, Mr. Safie, I need dirt on Marquis Gustave Dorion.¡± No need to beat around the bush, pretending at first that I came here solely for small talk and mean nothing untoward. What for? We have known each other well for a long time. I have repeatedly used Safie''s services on Mireya''s behalf. ¡°Any evidence that might compromise him.¡±

    ¡°Compromise him under what circumstances, and to whom?¡± the shopkeeper asks busily. ¡°Before the law, the priests, high society?¡±

    I nod understandingly: the nature of the information required is directly dependent on the purpose for which I need it.

    ¡°To clarify, it is necessary to obtain information that would break off his engagement to Lady Almikonte.¡± I formulate the problem.

    ¡°I see. I will try to do my best. But there are difficulties.¡±

    ¡°What kind of difficulties?¡±

    His words make me anxious. Has Estley really managed to put a spoke in my wheel here as well? But no, as it turned out, it is something else entirely.

    ¡°I have already had the opportunity to gather some information about the Marquis,¡± Safie explains. ¡°He is, after all, a noble man, and therefore fairly well known in certain circles. Alas, I have nothing of real value for you and Lady Almikonte among the information available to me. In a manner of speaking, the Marquis is a surprisingly boring man. He has never committed anything seriously defamatory. He hasn''t broken any laws. Well, really, the fact that he used to spend an occasional night at the brothel with two girls at once cannot be considered compromising!¡±

    ¡°No, it cannot,¡± I am forced to recognize after some thought. ¡°If it were to happen now, when he actually has a bride, then yes. But not before. Although if these girls were fourteen years old...¡±

    Safie shakes his head with a knowing smile, smashing my fragile hopes to pieces.

    ¡°All the girls were of age at the time.¡±

    ¡°So, no," I throw up my hands.

    ¡°Of course, I will try to dig up some more,¡± promises Safie. ¡°But perhaps there are other directions?¡±

    I consider, staring with unseeing eyes at one of the old maps.

    ¡°Let''s put it this way.¡± I decide. ¡°I need any information that could drive a wedge between the Duke and the Marquis.¡±

    ¡°I understand.¡± Safie bows his head. ¡°I do not promise, but I will do my best.¡±

    ¡°How much?¡±

    I reach for my blue silk purse, embroidered with silver threads. The embroidery depicts an owl sitting on a branch. I like this pattern; in the palace I have a cushion decorated in the same way.

    ¡°Fifty.¡± He names quite a tidy sum.

    I am, however, surprised by something else.

    ¡°So little? This is less than usual.¡±

    ¡°For regular clients, I sometimes make discounts,¡± grins the "shopkeeper".

    I shake my head.

    ¡°Oh, no, Mr. Safie. I do not need any discounts from you. I need a guarantee that the information about the purpose of my visit will not reach your other clients. For that I am ready to pay well. So I will give you fifty now, and another fifty at our next meeting.¡±

    My companion gratefully bows his head. As though he would refuse that! A handful of coins migrate from my wallet to the table, where, incidentally, they do not stay for long either.

    ¡°I''ll notify you as soon as the information gathering is complete. I''ll try to make it happen as soon as possible,¡± promises Safie. ¡°Of the results, as usual, I will inform you at the meeting itself. I hardly need to tell you about the importance of security and secrecy.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡±

    I myself don''t relish the prospect of Estley intercepting a letter containing such interesting data.

    At that we part, and I proceed with a good conscience to attempt to reach a peace agreement with the Marquis. It is frequently better to enter into these agreements, just in case, carrying a large gun.

    Marquis Dorion welcomes me into the living room assigned to him by the Duke for the duration of his stay in the castle. It is all decorated in shades of brown ¡ª upholstery, carpets, curtains, vases, picture frames. The designs are based on the contrast of dark brown to light beige. We sit down on comfortable, deep armchairs with wide armrests.

    ¡°So, Lady Antego, what brings you here?¡±

    The Marquis is the very embodiment of courtesy and hospitality.

    I sigh and look down shyly, as though not daring to start a conversation concerning such a delicate matter.

    ¡°You see, Marquis, I am here on behalf of Lady Almikonte.¡± Judging by the look, his interest in the conversation clearly increases after that admission. ¡°There is one important thing that I have to discuss with you.¡±

    Again I pretend to be "embarrassed."

    ¡°I am all ears, milady.¡±

    The Marquis'' tone is encouraging. I hesitantly look at him askance.

    ¡°And ... you will not be angry with me?¡±

    ¡°Of course not, how can I become angry with such a charming girl? So what are else are you authorized to say to me?¡±

    Now, the politeness of his tone conceals impatience. Well, let''s get to the point. I look at the Marquis with a straight and honest gaze.

    ¡°The fact is that Lady Mireya does not want to marry you.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    It seems that this confession stuns him.

    ¡°Please don''t take it in the wrong way.¡± I hurriedly continue. ¡°It is not you personally. Milady does not want in any way to hurt your feelings with this statement. After yesterday''s reception, she said that you have made a very favorable impression, and, are no doubt, a noble gentleman. However, Lady Mireya does not intend at this stage of her life to be married. This is not included in her plans. The Duke decided to make life arrangements for her without as much as letting her know of his plans. It is extremely... upsetting for Lady Mireya.¡±

    ¡°What then, if that is the case, do you want from me?¡±

    This time his voice sounds much colder.

    ¡°Milady is asking you for cooperation.¡± I feign the begging look of a "lady in distress." ¡°If you refuse to marry her, the Duke could not insist on it any further. Such action on your part would show generosity and nobility. Lady Mireya''s gratitude would know no bounds. I assure you that you would find in her a good friend and would be able to count on the assistance of Miss Almikonte in all areas within her influence.¡±

    The Marquis grins, looking at me with a grim curiosity.

    ¡°But what of her dowry, Lady Antego?¡± he asks. ¡°I doubt that help from Miss Almikonte in any areas could replace such an impressive sum. After all, I suppose she does not plan, after renouncing the marriage, to allow me to manage the money?¡±

    From this point on, of course, it is clear to me that continuing this discussion would be pointless. Dorion has already given his answer. But the conversation should come to its logical conclusion.

    ¡°I don''t think so,¡± I say understandingly.

    The Marquis laughs softly.

    ¡°In this case, you understand that this is not a serious conversation. I would be a fool if I were to agree to do Lady Mireya''s bidding.¡±

    ¡°Does it not bother you, marrying a woman who does not want you as her husband?¡±

    It is now my turn to look at him without hiding my curiosity, this time without feigning fragility and vulnerability.

    ¡°Not really,¡± not at all ashamed, the Marquis admits. ¡°Her dowry more than compensates for this inconvenience. Also, she has not had time to really get to know me. I have no doubt that after a longer acquaintance her opinion will change.¡±

    I smile. You certainly do not lack self-confidence, Marquis. But one thing you do not know for sure: from now on there will be a war waged against you, in which the other side knows no mercy and takes no prisoners. Sooner or later you will regret that you did not choose to seek your profit elsewhere.

    ¡°Well, anything can happen,¡± I reply with a false smile. ¡°In this case, I think our conversation has come to an end. I should go. Relax. I hope you enjoy your stay in the palace.¡±

    To this remark Dorion replies with a curt nod, but hastens to detain me, expressing his interest in a different circumstance.

    ¡°Tell me, Lady Antego, when Lady Mireya moves to my palace, will you accompany her?¡±

    I hesitate with the answer, fearing a trick question. Why would he care about that? Of course, if Mireya is forced to marry after all, I would never leave her. I would go with her, even if it were not to the palace of the Marquis, but to a peasant''s hut. But to phrase it that way outright would be unwise. After all, we are talking about the house of my interlocutor.

    ¡°It is hard to say yet,¡± I reply vaguely. ¡°It is too early to make such a decision.¡±

    ¡°Nevertheless, please consider my question.¡± The Marquis leans forward, and his fingertips touch my hand. ¡°I would be glad to see you in my palace. Do believe it; I know how to be hospitable.¡±

    ¡°I have no doubt,¡± I beam, pulling my hand back ¡ª supposedly simply because I just stood up from my chair. ¡°I wish you all the best, my lord.¡±

    I return with mixed feelings from the wing allotted to the Marquis and his retinue. On the one hand, I am angry at Dorion; at the same time ¡ª as we often do in such cases ¨C I curse the entire male sex. On the other, the last part of the conversation could be beneficial to me. Maybe I can take advantage of it to prevent Mireya''s wedding. However, first I should check to see what Safie has been able to dig up.

    I am still not far from the living room, when I see Lord Cameron in the hallway. The Earl walks towards me, so he is probably on his way to visit the Marquis. Obviously, this encounter does not improve my mood.

    ¡°Lady Inessa!¡± If Estley''s radiant smile were to be believed, his mood is just perfect. However, I never believe that smile. ¡°What brings you here? Wait, I think I can guess. You tried to dissuade the Marquis from marrying Lady Almikonte? And, judging by your expression, the attempt has been unsuccessful?¡±

    I almost grit my teeth; this bastard with his damn insightfulness once again manages to throw me off my game. Anyway, now my mood is ruined completely.

    ¡°Lord Cameron, your jealousy goes beyond the bounds of decency.¡± A caustic smile beams from me. ¡°Honestly, what do you care what exactly I was doing in the chambers of the Marquis? After all, we are both adults still unburdened by family ties, are we not?¡±

    ¡°I think your mistress would be very pleased to hear such a confession,¡± says Estley, raising an eyebrow.

    Is he really trying to threaten me?

    ¡°Would you like to visit her right now and see how she reacts?¡± I suggest.

    ¡°It is tempting,¡± responds Estley. "But alas, I need to speak with the Marquis. I suppose that he will accept my business proposal more readily than yours.¡±

    ¡°As long as at the end of the conversation he refrains from making you the same business offer he made me,¡± I cannot help but comment.

    ¡°Which was?¡± asks Estley.

    I shake my head teasingly.

    ¡°Let it be a surprise.¡±

    A short curtsey on my part makes it clear that this conversation is over.

    ¡°I hope that nothing terrible happened to the Marquis or his butler?¡± Estley shouts after me.

    ¡°Not yet.¡± I reply optimistically, without turning or slowing down.

    ---------------

    More chapters come soon. The whole book here - https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88</a>

 Chapter Eight

    "There is nothing in the world like the devotion of a married woman. It is a thing no married man knows anything about."

    Oscar Wilde

    ¡°I see from your face that you have something interesting for me.¡± I say, sitting down in the visitors'' chair.¡±

    ¡°Yes and no,¡± Safie responds, sinking into the seat across from me. ¡°As I expected, I failed to gather any dirt on the Marquis. Nothing the least bit serious.¡±

    ¡°Clean as a whistle?¡± I quip. ¡°Downright perfect ¡ª an ideal groom.¡±

    ¡°He certainly is not perfect,¡± Says Safie, who surely picks up on the irony in my words. ¡±Frankly speaking, he is no angel. Rather, just an ordinary person. Not too ambitious, some would even say lazy. Not willing to take a risk in order to reach greater heights. Luckily for him he was born far from the bottom of the social hierarchy. He has more than enough faults, but only those that society usually condones. So I do not think that you will find anything helpful in this direction.¡±

    ¡°But you have found something else? ¡° I ask hopefully.

    ¡°I have,¡± Safie confirms. He snaps his fingers, stretches his arms and pushes away from the table, forcing the chair to move back a little. ¡°You see, it''s compromising for the Duke, rather than for the Marquis. But I think the information will be useful to you, because if used correctly it could contribute to the termination of the engagement.¡±

    ¡°I''m all ears.¡±

    I am prepared to memorize every word uttered by Safie.

    ¡°Did you know that a few years ago Duke Almikonte lived in the capital for three months? There he met the father of the current Marquis Dorion, Benjamin. But most importantly, he not only met the Marquis, but also his wife. Gustave Dorion is his son from his first marriage. By the time that we are speaking about with you, Benjamin had remarried. His wife was young, much younger than he. As often happens in such cases, she was not very faithful to her husband. In short, she and the Duke had an affair, and as far as I can tell from the fragmentary information that I managed to gather, it was quite passionate. However, the lovers were careful, and this affair never became public knowledge.¡±

    ¡°So?¡± I frown, translating the information into something I can use. ¡°You mean that the Duke...¡±

    ¡°...Has cuckolded the father of the current Marquis Dorion,¡± Safie finishes for me. ¡°Of course, we do not know how Gustave would react to this revelation. Perhaps Lady Almikonte''s dowry draws him so much that he would turn a blind eye to such a minor matter. Nor can we rule out the possibility that Gustave already knows. However, if it became known to the public, the Marquis would have no choice. His family honor would be at stake.¡±

    ¡°Mr. Safie, you are brilliant!¡± I declare. ¡°I knew that I could count on you.¡±

    ¡°Well, in this case the merit is not mine, but rather the Duke''s¡± smirks Safie.

    ¡°But this is not everything!?¡± I half-ask, half-state, while looking curiously at him.

    ¡°Unfounded rumors do not help the cause. People can yap about anything. We need evidence that would back up these rumors. Although I can hardly imagine what it could be, since such a long time has passed.¡±

    ¡°And yet, such evidence exists.¡± Safie grinned. ¡°Leaving such evidence was extremely careless on a certain someone''s part. But believe me, as a man with a wealth of experience: in such matters people very often act carelessly.¡±

    ¡°So?¡±

    ¡°As I said, the affair was short, but passionate. Before parting, the Marquis'' wife gave the Duke her portrait as a keepsake.¡±

    ¡°Portrait of a married woman, kept by a single man¡­ It is certainly not much, really.¡± I drawl in disappointment ¡°In my opinion, it''s not exactly incriminating evidence. In the end, you can never know how the portrait ended up in the Duke''s possession.¡±

    Safie smiles in such a way that I realize not all is lost.

    ¡°There are a few lines written on the back of the portrait,¡± he explains. ¡°Of a fairly¡­ special content. In the marchioness'' handwriting.¡±

    I breath in loudly through my nose. Needless to say, this turn of events is proving to be quite fortunate.

    ¡°As I understand it, you do not have this portrait?¡± I ask.

    I should have expected that nothing in real life would ever be so easy.

    ¡°No,¡± with a smile, Safie shook his head. ¡°You know the rules of my job. Information only.¡±

    ¡°But I think you can inform me where I should look for this portrait?¡±

    ¡°Approximately. As far as I know, the Duke still has the portrait,¡± Safie tells me in a business-like tone. ¡°Where exactly, I cannot guarantee, but with a very high level of confidence I can assume that it is in the private office of Conrad Almikonte. That''s where the Duke keeps these kinds of things. More precisely I cannot say. He has many safes, so in which one he keeps the portrait, I cannot guess.¡±

    ¡°Understandable,¡± I nod, feeling slightly gloomier.

    Whichever way you slice it, the task has become more complicated. Retrieving evidence from the study of the Duke will not be an easy task, to put it mildly, and will be a risky one. The incident with the seal is still fresh in my memory. And then there''s the hiding place, finding which will not be easy. Especially if there are a lot of hiding places. While I search all of them, both the Duke and Estley will have time to look into the room a hundred times over.

    ¡°Thank you, Mr. Safie.¡±

    My companion, any way you look at it, has done his job well. I put the promised sum on the table, fair and square.

    ¡°Lady Antego, if I may, I would give you one piece of advice,¡± he says, collecting the coins in his hand. ¡°Be very careful. If you are going to distribute this information, make sure that these rumors are not associated with your name. The Duke is not someone with whom one can afford an outright war.

    ¡°Thank you ¡ª I value your advice,¡± I smile. ¡°You can be sure I will act very cautiously. My goal is to disrupt the wedding, not to quarrel with the Duke. Although this is not to say that today we are the best of friends.¡±

    ¡°Well, good luck to you, and come again.¡±

    Safie beams like a person talking to a regular customer.

    I smile in return, like a customer who is very satisfied with services rendered.

    ¡°I''ll be back, with pleasure. You can be sure of it.¡±

    On the way to the palace, I hardly notice anything around me, I am so intensely contemplating the situation at hand. I cannot help but draw a comparison between the intended theft of the portrait and the recent incident with the ducal seal. At the time, I refused to participate in that risky enterprise. Although in the end I was sucked in. But now something has changed. First: stealing the seal is a crime against the state, while stealing a portrait is a private matter. If the King found out about the first incident, he could have allowed the Duke to punish the noblewoman with the utmost severity. With the portrait there is no need to fear that. In that case the Duke would do everything in his power to hush up the situation. (However, he would try to take revenge anyway, so it''s best not to get caught). Second: then it was about money, now Mireya''s future is at stake. In this situation, I am ready to take a much greater risk. Just to help her get rid of the dubious advantage of the excessively lustful and improvident Marquis Dorion. Well, and, third: now I have in mind a reliable person for the job. But more about that later.

    By the time I return to the palace, it is already dark outside. After going into my room to freshen up a bit, I go into to the familiar, half-empty, and rarely used room. I light a candle and hold my hand out as usual, summoning the ghost.

    ¡°Who hath sent thee to beg a boon of me?¡± Maya asks, yawning.

    This greeting causes me to cough so hard that I almost blow out the candle. The ghost is quite pleased with the effect it has on me.

    ¡°Why does everyone think that ghosts can only scare people?¡± She drawls philosophically. ¡°We can play jokes on people as well.¡±

    ¡°It''s just a little difficult for people to associate ghosts with a sense of humor,¡± I say, clearing my throat.

    Today she is dressed in traditional white. From beneath a wide dress with many ruffles, seductive stockings are peeking. Her hair is covered with a lace veil, but it does not hide her face.

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± snorts the ghost. ¡°A sense of humor is a constant trait. If a person has one when they''re alive, it won''t disappear after they die.¡±

    ¡°You know, this is actually encouraging,¡± I say sincerely.

    ¡°There, you see! Ghosts can be useful too!¡± Maya announces in a moralistic tone, quite giddily circling the room. Obviously, without her feet touching the floor.

    These words set me on a business footing.

    ¡°Maya, I have a request for you,¡± I proceed bluntly. ¡°I really am uncomfortable. I know that you ghosts would prefer to lead a parallel existence to living people and not to interfere in our lives. I understand all that very well, but... Please, help me!¡± I clasp my hands imploringly. ¡°I will do anything in return, whatever you say! If you want, I will bring down here all the jewelry of the ladies in waiting, or for a week without a break I will retell you the palace gossip, and describe in detail who wore what to the last ball. If you want, I will go to the cemetery at night and dig up someone dead. Or, conversely, bury someone alive...¡±

    I don''t know if I manage to convince her, but I succeed in amusing her.

    ¡°If you are ready to gossip for a week, then it''s definitely something serious,¡± she states.

    I note to myself that she did not consider the proposal to bury someone alive in the cemetery to be a convincing argument.

    ¡°Very,¡± I admit.

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    I tell her about the latest developments. The Duke''s plan to marry off his sister, my acquaintance with the Marquis and the portrait Conrad kept that we could use as a bargaining chip in this struggle.

    ¡°But you know much as I would like to, I won''t be able to bring you this picture?¡± Maya reminds me. ¡°We cannot touch the physical world.¡±

    ¡°I know. But you would do me an enormous favor if you could simply figure out where the portrait is. After all, walls and castles are no obstacles to you. You can look inside any safe. Then I will deal on my own with retrieving the portrait from there.¡±

    I am holding my breath, waiting for her answer.

    ¡°Of course, it''s against the rules, but I think I can help you,¡± the girl says finally. ¡±Although unspoken restrictions exist, they are mostly theoretical. In practice, almost none of us can talk to people, and almost none of you can hear us ¨C aside from random rustles and eerie howling. Therefore, the intervention in human life usually just doesn''t come up... Yes, I''ll try to help,¡± she continues, thinking a little more. ¡°I am in favor of your plan. We women need to support each other, even after death. This is the only way to survive in a man''s world. I do not wish Mireya such a fate, marrying a man completely unattractive to her, whose sole interest is her dowry. It reminds me of a very unpleasant story that happened once upon a time to Elvira Almikonte.¡±

    ¡°Elvira Almikonte?¡± I frown.

    No matter how I strain my memory, the name does not ring a bell.

    ¡°It happened during my life time, not yours,¡± Maya smiles. ¡°So do not strain yourself. Elvira Almikonte was a relative of Mireya. I think her three times removed great-grandmother or something like that... Frankly, I''m not very well versed in all these family trees. All in all, a woman from the Almikonte family who lived in my time. She was older than I. At that time her story had all of high society in turmoil.¡±

    ¡°What happened to her?¡± I ask, genuinely interested.

    ¡°She was engaged.¡± Maya says with sudden harsh laugh, which sends a cold shiver down my spine. ¡°To a man from a good family, by the way, also a Marquis, approved by all her relatives. Then it turned out that he had a permanent mistress, and that he had married Elvira just to get her impressive dowry.¡±

    ¡°So what happened next?¡±

    ¡°The wedding took place. He received her dowry. Then he got rid of Elvira, so he could be married again, this time to his mistress. His plan failed because of some minor error on his part. Now I don''t even remember the details anymore. Some evidence came to light, he was suspected of the murder, and then, of course, there was an uproar, they organized a serious investigation... He was eventually executed.¡±

    ¡°But it did not bring Elvira back¡­¡± I mutter.

    ¡°That''s right,¡± Maya nods. ¡°It¡¯s all history now, of course; it happened a long time ago ¡ª moreover, Elvira did not belong to the main branch of the Almikonte family. It was her cousin who inherited the title of the Duke, not her brother. As you know, in general aristocratic families prefer to forget the unpleasant past, especially when it does not reflect positively on the victim''s relatives. So do not be surprised if now the details are all but forgotten.¡±

    I contemplate this. Maybe they''ve been forgotten; it really is quite likely. I, in any case, have never heard even a hint of anything like that. It would be even more absurd to fear that Marquis Dorion, with all my dislike for him, would even think of repeating the crime that Elvira''s husband once committed. Yet I keep thinking: maybe Mireya knows this story! And remembers it from the beginning, from the moment that the Duke showed up with his announcement. But she just might not be willing, or not consider it necessary to talk about it out loud. True, Mireya is usually not a secretive and reserved person. But we often are silent about things we fear the most.

    Maya does not delay fulfillment of her promise. I wait in the room while she leaves for the office of the Duke, and then returns fifteen minutes later, looking quite happy with the result.

    ¡°The portrait is there,¡± she says, seeing that I am in a state of extreme impatience. I sigh with relief. ¡°Hidden simply, behind a picture. To the right of the entrance, there is some landscape painting, I could not see it properly. I cannot touch it, but I think you just have to tilt it a little, it usually works that way. Inside is an empty space ¡ª that''s where the portrait is kept. There''s nothing else there, everything else is in the other hiding place. Oh, and there are so many of them there, let me tell you!¡± Maya shakes her head enthusiastically. ¡°Simply unbelievable. Either your Duke is a great politician, or just a maniac, afraid of his own shadow, or maybe an amateur collector. But he has safes scattered throughout the office, every possible kind, with and without locks, with different tricks... In general, it was a very interesting excursion. But I won''t tell you any more details: even if I am already breaking the rules, I''d like to keep it to a minimum.¡±

    It does not even occur to me to object, as she has found exactly what I need. All I have left to do now is to somehow retrieve the portrait from the office.

    I assign this task to Samantha. The thing is that shortly before the aforementioned events took place, the palace maid staff was expanded and the maids'' responsibilities were redistributed in a certain way. As a result, some of the women who previously exclusively cleaned the quarters of Mireya and the ladies in waiting were transferred into "male territory". That meant, among other things, that they were closer to the Duke''s chamber. We ¡ª how should I put it ¡ª fruitfully collaborated with one of the maids ¡ª this very Samantha. A maid can sometimes find a way in where a lady in waiting cannot enter, and hear what does not reach the ears of the noble ladies. For a noble lady like myself it can be extremely useful to be aware of everything ignoble, so as not to eat my cake as the first lady-in-waiting for nothing.

    So I explain to Samantha what is required of her and where the sought-after item is, and wait for her in my chambers. I pace from corner to corner. After reminding myself that I have to be more calm, I sit down, but almost immediately get up and continue pacing. This cycle repeats several times. After about ten minutes I finally break down and decide to take a walk through the corridors, in order to intercept Samantha on her way back. The main thing is not to get too close to the territory of the Duke or, God forbid, attract any unnecessary attention to this fact.

    Mentally limiting the promenade area, I walk back and forth, when I hear a noise from the direction I am interested in. I turn around (at that moment I am walking towards my own chambers) and wait tensely. The stomping steps are approaching. When those responsible for the ruckus emerge from around the corner, I barely restrain myself so as not to grind my teeth, and feign a naive expression of bewilderment.

    Lord Estley is descending to the level of a lowly maid, and is marching by, personally holding Samantha''s arm. It looks nothing like a gallant courtship. Even from a distance it is obvious that he is holding her tightly; the same is confirmed by the way the maid time and again clenches her teeth in pain.

    ¡°Oh, Lady Antego!¡± he exclaims, in his own way delighted to see me. However, his joy does not bode well for me, which is quite obvious not only from his angry gaze, but also from the way the Count addresses me. He rarely calls me by my surname. ¡°I was going to hand off this girl to the butler, but I think you are an even more suitable candidate. Is she a maid from your staff?¡±

    ¡°She''s from Lady Mireya''s staff,¡± I correct. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°What happened?¡± repeats Lord Cameron, giving me a look that clearly states that I am a hypocrite, and he knows it. I make my conclusions and begin playing even harder, batting my eyes in amazement. ¡°This woman,¡± Samantha winces as he tightens his fingers on her arm. ¡°Was snooping around the Duke''s office. Would you be so kind as to tell me what were you doing there this time? I''m warning you outright: the seal is no longer kept in its previous place.¡±

    The astonishment in my stare changes to understanding. I sternly frown.

    ¡°Samantha, how dare you look for something in the office of Duke Almikonte?¡± I ask coldly.

    ¡°I just wanted to wipe the dust from the pictures!¡± the maid pitifully whines.

    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Estley cuts her off. ¡°The dust was wiped from the frame as recently as yesterday. Besides, a different girl cleans the Duke''s room. And do not try to lie, saying she was ill, and you were replacing her. These things are very easy to check.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Samantha, lies will not save you!¡± I second angrily. ¡°You''re fired!¡±

    ¡°But, Madame...¡±

    ¡°This conversation is over! You''ll get the settlement from the treasurer. I''ll write you the appropriate document. This is all. Get packing.¡±

    I look away from Samantha to Lord Cameron, making it clear that my conversation with the girl is over. The maid slumps her shoulders and walks away, dragging her feet. Estley squints, then nods, not bothering to hide his irony.

    ¡°When you fire her, make sure not to overdo it with the generosity,¡± he suggests tartly. ¡°It''s just that I have a feeling that the poor thing will receive a tidy sum of money all of a sudden that will enable her to live comfortably in some village.¡±

    ¡°I do not know what you mean,¡± I shrug. ¡°Although people do sometimes suddenly become rich. For example, receive an inheritance. You understand that I cannot keep track of such things. By your leave.¡±

    I curtsy and return to my room.

    It is dark in the Small Library, and I hurriedly light a candle. After listening to what is going on in the hallway and making sure no one is there, I lock the door. Taking the candlestick, I pass between the bookshelves. However, the books are not what interest me today.

    Reaching the window, I put the candlestick on the windowsill and hastily take off my coat. I do not need it any longer; rather it would hinder me, so I fold it as tightly as I can and hide it on one of the lower shelves. Well, everything seems to be ready. Now, the window.

    The Small Library is suitable from all standpoints. The books selected with excellent taste, comfortable armchairs, and the atmosphere of peace and tranquility. But this evening its main attraction for me is the location of its windows: next to the window of Duke Almikonte''s office. I intend to take advantage of this fact, although this method of travel is new to me.

    I open the window and lean out. Fortunately, the moon is full and the wind has dispersed the clouds. Otherwise, I could easily fall off and break my neck. Then again, what am I thinking? I can still easily fall off and break my neck. But there is no other way. If I try to enter through the door into the office, I have no doubt I will be turned around, just as Samantha was recently. Moreover, I would be lucky to get off as lightly as she.

    Taking a deep breath, I climb up on the windowsill. I wonder who will receive my inheritance in case of my untimely and ignominious demise beneath the windows of the palace? Probably my parents. However, what inheritance am I even thinking about? Since I severed my relationship with my father and mother, I don¡¯t really have an inheritance worth mentioning. I wouldn''t be surprised if they had cut me out of their wills. So, what kind of stupid thoughts are running through my head? It must be the full moon, no doubt about it.

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    Climbing on the ledge and walking on it in conventional palace clothes would be completely crazy, so I am wearing a simple house dress. The bodice is in the form of a vest, the skirt is not too wide, and does not constrain movement. I am not wearing any petticoats at all. I know, I know, it is highly scandalous, but it increases my chances of not falling to my death. In the palace wearing a negligee is frowned upon, and these dresses are usually worn by housewives at home, which is why I wear the cloak to hide the inappropriate attire on the way. It is late: on the way here I encounter very few people; one could hope that I might be as lucky on the way back from the library.

    Sighing heavily for the second time, I feel that the phase "you never know what you can do," may be considered over with and I can with a clear conscience move to the "until you try" phase. I look out into the garden that the window overlooks to make sure nobody is out taking a walk in it, and climb out onto the ledge.

    It is terrifying. The ledge turns out to be narrow, slippery and generally uncomfortable. What were these builders thinking, for gods'' sake?! But, fortunately, the journey is short. So, after almost falling a couple of times, I open the window and smoothly enter the forbidden office.

    A solid half of the moon looking through the window lights the room, not allowing it to drown completely in darkness. Just in case, I have brought a candle with me: I don''t want to light the ones in the office, in case somebody would notice that they have burned longer than usual. But for now I prefer to do without additional light altogether. So, what do we have here? The door is to the right of the window. Two paintings hang on the opposite wall: a portrait and a landscape. Apparently, the second one is exactly the one I need.

    Trying not to make any noise, I move towards the landscape and gently take hold of the narrow frame. An attempt to rotate the picture to the left fails, but it turns to the right easily. My heart is beating very fast as I slip my hand into the hole. No, not because I suddenly realize the gravity of my actions. It is just because at moments like this for some reason I always imagine that there is a snake or some nasty insect inside. Which is going to bite my hand as soon as I reach within. However, it is necessary to ridicule and possibly overcome one''s own irrational fears. I, at least, adhere to this view. Therefore, with a malicious smile on my lips, I start working.. I begin to feel around the hiding place, and almost immediately find the corner of a thick sheet of paper.

    I bring my find to the window and examine it against the light. It is the right one! Finally, fortune has smiled on me.

    But as soon as I think that, I hear footsteps outside. My quick reflexes are what save me. I rush back to the wall, put the landscape painting back in its original position (in any case, I very much hope so) and quickly rush back to the window. Unfortunately there is no time to climb out: someone is already turning the doorknob from the outside. So I just duck behind the curtain, which luckily reaches the floor, and is made of very dense fabric. I hope that no one would think to draw it back. But this is, frankly, very unlikely.

    The door swings open, and again I hear the sound of footsteps, this time sounding much closer and therefore louder. I hold my breath, hoping desperately that that it just feels like the curtains are still barely noticeably swaying. Good thing I had the sense not to light a candle!

    ¡°For this purpose you can spend a tenth of tax proceeds,¡± states the voice, the sound of which sends a pang of nervous ache through my stomach. I wonder if Lord Cameron would be pleased should he learn of my reaction to his appearance? ¡°Perhaps even a twelfth¡±.

    He comes very close to the window, and I clasp my hands tightly, in an attempt to stop my nervous shudders.

    ¡°Do not forget that last month we held back part of the taxes.¡± The Duke is a little further away; it seems near the desk. ¡°So this time we will have to send more than the normal amount to the capital.¡±

    ¡°You think we might be short of money?¡±

    Estley looks out the window, as if the money they are discussing is spread out in handfuls in the garden, and he could count right there whether there is enough of it or not to achieve their goals. I clench my teeth, unable to decide what curse would fit the Count more. But fortunately, a few moments later, he moves back into the room. I allow myself to exhale slowly.

    ¡°We shouldn''t rule out that possibility. What do you think?¡±

    ¡°I''ll see to it that it is examined thoroughly. In any case, we can afford to wait another month. During this time, nothing fundamental is going to change.¡±

    With a loud thud some drawer is slammed shut. I hear steps again, this time heading toward the door. Or is that just wishful thinking on my part? For a few seconds I hold my breath in tense anticipation. I feel myself breaking out in a cold sweat on my forehead. Finally, the door opens ¡ª and closes. The key turns in the lock. A few minutes later I hear the muffled steps fading away down the corridor.

    I carefully, very slowly, peek out from behind the curtains and look around the room. No one is there. Leaning against the wall, I breathe deeply and exhale noisily through my mouth, pursing my lips. My hands are noticeably shaking and my knees feel weak. Untimely, I must say. I cannot allow myself to relax yet. It would be a shame after a successful outcome to such a venture to fall off the ledge so mundanely.

    That was close! I reach the library safely. Just in case, I pick up a book, and after a moment of deliberation hide the portrait between its pages. Hurrying to the door, I realize that I left evidence behind, and dart back to the shelves to take my cloak. I wrap myself in it, so as not to show my outfit to everyone I might meet. Finally, I hasten back.

    I reach my bedroom without incident. I unlock the door with my key (just a precaution against people who like to rummage around other people''s chambers; there are quite a few of those in the palace!), turn the key in the lock again, and only then close my eyes in relief. I stand there for half a minute. Then I take off my coat and pull out the elusive portrait out of the book. I then throw the book carelessly onto a nearby chair. I start looking for the best place to hide the trophy for the time being.

    ¡°Bravo, Lady Inessa. To be honest: this I did not expect, even from you.¡±

    I shudder and nearly stumble over nothing, when I suddenly hear his voice in the nighttime darkness of the room, which I previously thought was empty. Lord Cameron steps away from the wall and comes out of the darkest corner, like a ghost materializing out of nowhere. Only a ghost could never scare me like that.

    ¡°No, really.¡± Estley continues, while I am unable say a word, slowly recollecting myself from the shock. ¡°Even I almost fell on my way here.¡±

    He glances at the open window. The wind plays with the curtain. So that''s how he managed to enter the locked room! Well, if I were to keep standing still with my eyes bulging, Estley might decide, gods forbid, that I had turned to stone and became a monument to myself. No need to provide him such joy! I firmly step to the table, planning to light a candle. But then I stop, realizing that the damned portrait is still in my hand!

    ¡°I can''t even imagine how you managed to do it in all these skirts!¡± Lord Cameron continues to pour forth his admiration.

    Well, there is really only one skirt, but I was certainly not going to make such an indecent confession. God forbid, he''d want to check.

    ¡°To what do you I owe the pleasure of such a peculiar visit?¡± I ask dryly, inwardly rejoicing that I have finally regained my voice.

    ¡°This item which you hold in your hand.¡± The Count readily responds. . ¡°Yes, the one you just hid behind your back. Be so kind as to give it to me.¡±

    I grit my teeth, but realize that any attempts to deny or resist would be futile this time. Thus under duress I hand the hard-won portrait to Estley.

    ¡°That''s better,¡± he says contentedly, making me feel a strong bout of hatred towards him. Then, shaking his head, he adds: ¡°How did you even find out about this story?¡±

    ¡°I know how to gather information,¡± I reply coldly, and this time do light the candle. I do not stop at just one candle, and light all five in the chandelier. There is no need to remain in an intimate setting with this monster.

    ¡°Of that I have no doubt,¡± Estley nods, looking at me with frank interest. ¡°Interesting dress,¡± he says, and I blush, realizing that maybe I have gotten ahead of myself with the lighting. However, I am not going to give him the satisfaction of exposing my embarrassment.

    ¡°Do you like it?¡± I twirl around with demonstrative arrogance. ¡°It was made by a very good seamstress. She managed perfectly straight stitches.¡±

    ¡°Yes, that''s exactly what I meant.¡± Lord Cameron nods, looking at my chest, unrestricted by a corset, and at my legs, which can be seen through the fabric, due to the lack of hoops. ¡°The stitches.¡±

    That''s it. Enough is enough.

    ¡°Lord Cameron, why the Hell are you bothering Lady Mireya?¡± I ask angrily, putting my hands on my hips for emphasis.

    ¡°I? Lady Mireya? May the gods protect me from that!¡±

    ¡°Do not pretend you do not know what I''m talking about. Why do you care so vehemently about her marriage? Just leave her alone! And then,¡± I pointedly glance at the portrait, ¡°there would be no need for all of this!¡±

    ¡°Lady Inessa,¡± Estley says with fake weariness. ¡°I have already told you, nothing unusual or bad is happening to Lady Mireya for a woman of her status. It is a normal engagement, a normal marriage.¡±

    "Normal," I snort. ¡°This is just like you! You have very strange ideas about what constitutes normal. Are you at least aware that she is a living person, not a toy and not an image from some history book?¡±

    ¡°Lady Inessa,¡± Estley sighs. ¡°I have made inquiries into how you came into the service of Mrs. Almikonte. I realize now that you are comparing her engagement to the episode from your own past. But you have to understand: those two cases have virtually nothing in common.¡±

    He needn''t have bothered saying the last couple of sentences. About the comparison, about the difference between me and Mireya. All that does not matter, because I simply am not listening to a word he is saying. The beginning is more than enough for me. My fists clench painfully, and colored spots swim before my eyes, I am so furious.

    ¡°Oh, you made inquiries.¡± I hiss like a snake. I do not know how I manage to restrain myself from scratching his face with my manicured fingernails. ¡°I warn you that this is none of your business! Do you enjoy digging through other people''s dirty laundry, huh? Did you dig through mine? Did you like it? Or is there something I need to correct? Some spots need to be washed? Some hair needs to be shaved?¡± The encompassing rage makes me completely forget about decency; moreover, I receive some kind of morbid satisfaction from treading on it. As if I were treading upon the lifeless body of my interlocutor instead. ¡°Don''t be embarrassed, you can tell me! I''ll take it all under advisement!¡±

    ¡°You should not react so painfully to my words.¡± Judging by his tone my tirade doesn''t really impress him. ¡°This story does not in any way besmirch your reputation. Yes, it casts a shadow on people from your surroundings, but not on you. I can perfectly understand your reluctance to remain in contact with your parents. By the way, I also made inquiries and found out that your suspicions were more than justified. It seems as though already back then you had mastered the extraordinary ability to collect information.¡±

    ¡°Life left me no choice,¡± I snap.

    ¡°Rubbish,¡± Estley frowns. ¡°Life leaves many no choice, but all the same very few do the right thing.¡±

    ¡°Maybe we should leave alone my humble person and return to talking about Lady Mireya?¡±

    I am still extremely angry. His small compliment on my detective abilities could not extinguish the conflagration of anger that overwhelms me.

    ¡°Very well." Estley, unlike me, is still impervious. ¡°I just want to say that Lady Mireya''s situation is completely different from yours. Marquis Dorion is not a maniac, nor a pervert, nor a murderer.¡±

    ¡°Well he''s not a ray of light in the realm of darkness either,¡± I say.

    ¡°None of us are,¡± Estley says, showing some modesty.

    Oh, on that I was ready to agree with him, more than anyone else!

    ¡°Certainly not you, Lord Cameron.¡±

    ¡°You see, one point in favor of the Duke: he didn''t choose me as a husband for his sister.¡±

    I''m not sure that''s a point in his favor. Well, quite frankly, I think Estley is still a better candidate than the Marquis. But I would rather eat my own hat than say it to his face.

    ¡°You see, Lord Estley, even the Duke understands what kind of person you are," I snap, still downright angry with him for digging into my past. "The only reason he keeps you around is because he finds it useful. You after all, unlike the Marquis, do know how to kill, and are very creative at that. Would you kindly tell me how you drove the unfortunate Count Kroyton to suicide?"

    Estley¡¯s eyes narrow and darken, as though all the night''s darkness is seeping from the corners of the room into his eyes. Such a radical change in the demeanor of the usually unflappable Lord Cameron makes me back away. But that does not stop him from catching up with me in two steps, grabbing my shoulders and shaking them.

    "Do not talk about what you do not understand," he hisses, and then drops his hands, regaining control.

    I step away and Estley sharply turns and takes a few steps around the room. When he looks back at me, his gaze is still gloomy, but no more than that.

    "You know how people addicted to the purple dust die?" he asks in a hollow voice, but does not wait for an answer. "I will spare you the details. I''ll only say that by the end those people lose half their body weight, and only a faint echo remains of their minds. You, Lady Inessa, have faced the dirty side of life only once. I am not denying that the danger passed you by a hair''s breadth. But there are still a lot of horrible things out there, that you ¡ª living in the palace and weaving intrigues for the Duke''s sister ¡ª cannot even imagine."

    Completely bewildered, I watch him dashing about the room ¡ª and just in case, try to remain as still as possible. What has come over him, and how was it triggered by my mention of the suicide?

    "Count Kroyton established an entire network of production and distribution of purple dust across the Duchy," Estley says, apparently reading the unspoken question in my eyes. "At the time, a person close to me became addicted to this stuff. Just do not romanticize this: we are not talking about a relative or my lover. Just a good friend. By the time I found out about everything, he was beyond help. But I could find the person distributing the powder. That is what I did, and believe me, with great zeal. By the way, that was when I began to actively cooperate with the Duke. We wove an intricate spider''s web which unexpectedly led us to the very top. To a hereditary Count, no less."

    "So you decided to make him commit suicide, to hush it up?"

    Estley looks closer to me, trying to understand the motive behind the question. But in the expression on my face, as well as in my intonation, there is no condemnation, no fear, and no sarcasm. I don''t feel the least bit sorry for Kroyton.

    ¡°Not at all."

    This response surprises me.

    "His suicide had nothing to do with you?" I am surprised.

    "Not nothing, of course. He chose it when he realized how soon I was going to catch him. And that he could not escape unpunished. But I did not want him to commit suicide. I wanted him to be held accountable according to the law: and this, believe me, would have been a much more painful death. And then, since it happened, and there was no chance for a public execution anyway, the Duke decided not to make public Kroyton''s involvement in this case, so as not to denigrate the title of Count."

    I grin wryly. It was in Almikonte''s style, and indeed our whole aristocracy''s. Take for example the story of the late Elvira, which everybody preferred to forget. However, Estley, it seems, was not so happy with that resolution either.

    "Both of us encountered the dirty side of life very early on, Lady Inessa," he says. ?But Mireya Almikonte is one of those people who do not see this side at all. That is why it is typical of her to blow altogether petty problems out of proportion.

    "An unwanted marriage is a petty problem?!"

    The short truce tacitly established between us under the influence of Lord Cameron''s story is again at risk.

    "I generally understand your devotion to Lady Mireya," he continues, as if he hadn''t heard my words. "But don''t you think, Lady Inessa, that for the sake of this devotion you are willing to run a risk that is too great? First, during your years of service at the court you have fully repaid Lady Almikonte for her help. Second, her behavior was certainly commendable, but not exceptional. Many people in her place would have done the same."

    "But in reality she was the only one to help me," I snap.

    "Because those were the circumstances."

    Have I imagined it, or do I hear regret in his voice that it had not been him instead of Mireya at the time? No, I am probably imagining it.

    "Look, Lord Cameron!" The shock has passed and I have regained the desire to act. I take a step closer to Estley, showing him the beauty of a negligee dress and looking ingratiatingly into his eyes. This technique is called "the look of a hungry but charming puppy." "Give me the portrait. I promise you that Lady Mireya will not disclose the secret of the Duke. She will just threaten him inside the family, so that he no longer insists on this wedding. Well, really, won''t you meet me halfway?"

    And now ¨C the look of a very hopeful puppy, eager to be patted on the back and taken home.

    "You are incorrigible, Lady Inessa." Judging by the fact that Estley takes a step back, the negligee had a chance to break through his armor, but, alas, in the end cold reason prevails over instinct. "You will not get this portrait. It belongs to the Duke, not to Lady Mireya. Moreover, allow me to doubt that in such a tempting situation she would choose the honorable path."

    "So, you are not going to give me the portrait?" I conclude.

    "No."

    My gaze turns from that of a puppy to that of a cat. The look of a wild cat, with its claws out and ready to pounce. However, ready to wait as long as is necessary, before attacking its prey at the right moment.

    "I will have it in any case," I promise, unkindly squinting. "No matter what you do."

    Estley gives me a measuring look.

    "That is true," he concludes.

    Unfortunately, I do not understand right away what he has in mind. It becomes clear only when, coming to the table, he brings the corner of the portrait to the candle flame. I rush for the trophy, but it is too late. Estley steps back and holds his hand up, blocking me from reaching the paper being rapidly devoured by the flames. Very soon he throws the piece of paper, wrinkled and ready to crumble to ash, into an empty thick glass vase.

    "The Duke will never forgive you," I growl.

    "We''ll find a way to come to an agreement," Estley counters.

    "You are a real scumbag!" There is nothing to negotiate, so I don''t consider it necessary to hide my feelings any longer. "Get out of my quarters!"

    "As you wish."

    Lord Cameron steps to the door.

    "Oh no." I move, blocking his path. "You''ll go the way you came!"

    I pointedly look at the open window.

    Estley impressively arches an eyebrow, and then bows his head composedly.

    "As you say."

    Without hesitation, he turns and walks to the window.

    "I hope you fall and break your neck!" I venomously yell at his back when he climbs out onto the ledge. Then for a long time I listen to what is happening outside. Of course, he does not fall.

    -------------

    The whole book is available here - https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88</a>

 Chapter Nine

    ¡°Alcohol is a very necessary article... Even if it does not heal the sick, it assists the doctor.¡±

    George Bernard Shaw

    I envy Baroness Laimon, David''s mother, with all my heart. No ¡ª not her strong, some may even say indomitable character, not her business acumen nor her iron constitution, although she had all of that in abundance. I envy her because Lady Laimon is a widow.

    Not because of my natural bloodthirstiness or my callous soul. The real reason lies in the fact that in our society the only way for a woman to be independent is to be married and then widowed. Before marriage a woman depends on her parents, or if she is an orphan, on her guardians and next of kin. After she marries, she depends, naturally, on her spouse. It is only after the untimely death of the latter that her status suddenly changes dramatically. Having inherited her spouse''s estate, she receives financial independence, and with it independence in other spheres as well. She has the right to manage her own finances, invest in various enterprises at her sole discretion, and even start her own projects. She can go to any event alone, without the need of a male escort. She can even voice her opinion in matters of economics and politics, although that is discouraged.

    On the day I visit, Lady Laimon is actually busy with her financial affairs. Apparently they are not very prosperous. In any case, she leaves the living room, where the three of us sit, in high spirits, but returns half an hour later in a gloomy mood.

    "Ah, Lady Inessa, you are still here?" she asks sarcastically, and then, without looking at her son, goes into the next room.

    I feel blood surging to my face, and hurry to rise from my chair.

    "I think I really have to go."

    David is extremely upset and volunteers to accompany me to the palace.

    "Nessa, you should not be angry with her," he says unhappily, as we walk along the street, paved with dark gray slabs. "She likes you a lot. Really, she didn''t mean anything by it. She was just in a bad mood."

    "Yes," I nod absently, thinking: since when has a bad mood turned into an excuse for a violation of elementary etiquette and a lack of hospitality?

    "You''re angry with me then?"

    It seems that David is able to read my thoughts. However, it is unlikely that it is especially difficult to do so. At the moment I do not really bother to hide my emotions behind a mask.

    "At you?" I look at him in surprise. "Of course not. Why would I be angry with you?"

    These words calm the young man down a bit. But not completely, because I clearly am hinting that I have a bone to pick with his mother. This obviously jars his perception of reality.

    "Come visit the day after tomorrow for tea," he suggests as he takes my hand when we stop at the main gate of the palace. "I''ll talk to my mom and settle everything with her."

    "I am not sure." Going to visit them after today''s humiliating treatment by the Baroness doesn''t sound at all appealing to me. "I do not think it''s appropriate."

    "It would be very appropriate," insists David. "I want you to reconcile."

    "Well, we didn''t exactly have a quarrel," I mumble, still unwilling to agree.

    But he insists further, meanwhile appearing so upset that in the end I accept the invitation.

    There are not too many people in the Hall of Flowers, and they are mainly concentrated around two card tables. Eight people are playing ¡ª four at every table ¡ª and about ten more enthusiastically watch the game. Apart from them in the room there are only six or seven others who are strolling around the room, some slowly sipping wine, someone leafing through a book, some ambling around looking at plants.

    Strictly speaking, the Hall has that name because it is full of tubs of plants. Initially the idea was to grow only potted flowering plants, but that was gradually abandoned. As a result, trees liven up the stone hall. Mostly there are fig trees of different kinds, interspersed here and there with some exotic palms ¡ª rather stunted, however. Apparently, our climate is too cold for tropical plants.

    I notice Marquis Dorion among the group which is not too keen on the card games. He sits on the couch sipping wine and gazing serenely first at the players, then out the window, and then at the tapestries that adorn the walls. I quickly think of a plan for eliminating the unsuspecting Marquis as a groom. Well, frankly, only half a plan. The first part I imagine pretty well, but the second only vaguely. But it does not matter; I''ll have time to think through the final stage in the process of implementation.

    Having made sure that not a single strand escapes from my perfectly styled hair, that the neckline of my dress plunges deeply enough to reveal an exciting view and my smile is dazzling, I rush to the Marquis.

    "Lord Dorion!" I bow in a deep courtesy in front of him, giving him ample opportunity to ogle my cleavage. He gallantly jumps up from his seat to greet me. I note with satisfaction that he does not miss his chance to take advantage of this opportunity.

    "Sorry to bother you. Did you by any chance happen to see Lady Almikonte?"

    Of course, if the Marquis were smarter, he would likely suspect that something is amiss. How could the first lady in waiting of the Duke''s sister not know that the latter had no plans to come? Cameron Estley, for example, could pinpoint such a detail, but sure as hell not the Marquis.

    "Unfortunately, she is not here," he shrugs his shoulders.

    "Oh, really?" I pretend to be upset. "For some reason I thought I would be able to find her here."

    "I am afraid that Lady Almikonte shuns my company," the Marquis sighs ostentatiously. "It is extremely disappointing, because I had hoped we could spend some time together, and mend our relationship."

    "Oh, I''m sure that''s not because of you," I touch his hand reassuringly. My fingers tremble, as if from excitement, and my breasts jiggle emotionally. I do not remove my palm from his for two whole seconds. Despite the fact that I really want to: his hand is unpleasantly warm and sweaty. "It''s just that today milady is feeling a little tired."

    "I see. Perhaps you would like to keep me company?"

    Mireya''s groom certainly was not about to grieve her absence for long. That plays into my hands.

    "Oh, with pleasure!" I pretend to be terribly pleased by this proposal. "To tell you the truth, I''ve been on my feet all day. I''m so tired. I''ll gladly drink a little wine. By the way, what are you drinking? No, wait!" I try to smile shyly. "I want to guess. Do you mind?"

    I raise my hand to the Marquis'' goblet. He smiles and hands me the glass, which is half full of deeply crimson liquid.

    I cup my fingers around the long crystal stem. I hope the Marquis at least is free of any diseases. I ought to take a sip from the side opposite to the one he drank from. But I cannot tell where that would be. After all, the goblet is round.

    Resigned to the inevitable, I take a small sip, trying to make the process look as sensual as possible.

    "Red, from Reston?" I suggest.

    "Bravo!"

    The Marquis laughs and even claps his hands a few times, applauding me.

    Come on, what is there to "bravo" about? At this time of day, only three varieties of wine are served, and all of them can be distinguished by color... But of course I do not say that aloud; on the contrary, I beam a triumphant smile at him and hand the goblet back to the Marquis. Coquettishly I put a finger to my lips, and then lower my eyes shyly.

    "Hey!" Dorion motions to a servant. "Do you like this wine?" he verifies.

    "I do," I confirm.

    The waiter understands everything without further instruction and half a minute later hands me a glass filled with the same raspberry colored drink.

    "Have we toasted our acquaintance?" I ask, raising my goblet and looking at the Marquis through the glass.

    "I don''t believe we have," Dorion eagerly supports the initiative.

    "In this case, bottoms up?"

    "Bottoms up!"

    We continue in the same manner. I sit next to the Marquis and begin chatting animatedly, carefully plying him with one glass after another, while at the same time teasing him with my fingertips, languid looks, and eye-catching neckline. I of course also have to drink, to keep up the pretenses, but not as excessively.

    Truth be told, his physical proximity is quite unpleasant. It seems there is nothing out of the ordinary, but I strongly dislike the smell of the Marquis'' perfume, his facial expressions annoy me, and his slightest touch is unpleasant, especially given that he is becoming more and more insistent as the evening progresses. But I bravely endure, only occasionally turning my head away, to take off my fake smile for a moment. Like a diver coming up momentarily to the surface, in order to draw a deep breath, and then going head down again into the murky water.

    I ask the Marquis about his childhood, about the service at the court, about his ancestral palace, although listening with only half an ear, or maybe even a quarter. Instead, I deliberate over how to proceed. The general scheme is clear and certainly not new to me. Make the Marquis drink so much that he forgets all caution, and is no longer in control of himself, and then create a compromising situation for him. For example, make sure that he is caught in my bedroom under quite clear circumstances. The Duke would never forgive him such a dishonor to the whole family.

    The only problem is that I do not want in the least to remain alone with the Marquis under the said circumstances. If I find the simple physical contact with him that is taking place at the moment so distasteful, what would happen if we went to bed together? Brrr, just the thought of it gives me goose bumps! However, there are other ways. If he is drunk enough, I can portray an indecent scene without actually participating in anything of the sort. The main thing is to bring the Marquis exactly to the desired condition: that he could get to my quarters on his own feet (I am not going to drag him there all on my own after all!), and then he''ll immediately fall into a deep sleep. Guests, I think, will not even need a special invitation to the event. The audience here is numerous enough. The good people can always be found here, and they will make sure that everyone else knows. On the other hand, some variations could be introduced to that scenario. For example, I could quickly find a couple of girls who would agree to take my place in the Marquis'' company. Or, if he has drunk enough, a couple of manservants. I''ll just have to pay them well. Or... what sort of perversion did Estley mention at the ball? I wonder how many mice and roaches would I have to promise our iguana for it to spend a night with Dorion? However, I was losing sight of the matter at hand.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    "Come on, Marquis!" I urge him, watching as my companion empties another glass. "Don''t be shy! Honestly: what size is it? Is it the same size as the Duke''s or bigger?"

    "It is... What is ''it''?" Marquis asks, looking at me with eyes cloudy from downing all that wine.

    "What do you mean?" I feign surprise. "Your palace."

    "Ah, my palace!" In his eyes disappointment flashes through the drunken haze.

    "Then smaller."

    "Excuse me, Marquis, would you let me borrow Lady Antego for a moment? I promise to return her soon, safe and sound."

    I lift my head, nonplussed, and purse my lips. Estley is the last person I want to see right now! What, pray tell, could he want from me?

    The Marquis, too, does not seem too happy, but he understandably refrains from arguing.

    "Well, of course, Count."

    "Thank you."

    Estley aggressively reaches out to help me up. As if I had the slightest desire to do so. And what really drives me up the wall: men discuss everything between them, but nobody seems to care about my opinion.

    However, there is no point in making a scene. Especially because I am trying to make a good impression on the Marquis. So I present my hand to Estley, dutifully stand up and walk with him to the nearest potted palm. Only then do I allow myself to show what I really feel.

    "What the hell do you want from me?" I whisper loudly. "And why is it so urgent?"

    "Why, is it a bad time?" Estley looks surprised. But seeing my eyes flash with anger, he immediately retreats. "Okay, do not get angry. I will not take much of your time."

    "What is it?" accepting the inevitable, I sigh.

    "I want to ask for your forgiveness," he says seriously.

    I say nothing, since speaking while slack-jawed is somewhat difficult.

    "Yesterday in your bedroom I really did behave improperly," continues Estley. "I have to admit that I got a little carried away."

    "So now what?" I mutter, not so much angry as still surprised. "Are you going to re-draw the portrait, to make amends?"

    "Unfortunately, the gods have not bestowed a gift of painting on me. Still, I¡¯d very much like to believe that you will forgive me." Lord Cameron takes my hand in his and looks into my eyes. "Will you, please?"

    In contrast to Dorion''s palms, Estley¡¯s hands are dry and cool. His index finger seemingly randomly traces a circle on my palm, lightly touching me with the tip. I shudder. Damn ¡ª what''s happening to me? Palms, cool ones, so what? That''s no reason for a rapid heartbeat. The exhilarating scent of his perfume is also not an excuse. Neither is the fact that his eyes are a little sarcastic and at the same time penetrating, which in combination with the alcohol makes my breath quicken even more. And he seems to have been trying to purposely hypnotize me with his gaze, and his face is coming closer and closer to mine.

    A second later, I throw my head back and close my eyes, allowing his lips to do with mine whatever they want. They want to do a lot. He kisses me for a long time, skillfully, with feeling... God, how much I''ve missed those kisses, since that unfortunate incident near his office!

    Cameron''s hands confidently settle down on my waist, and my own eagerly cling to his shoulders. I open my eyes again to meet his again... and in my peripheral vision I see the Marquis, very upset, sneaking past us out of the hall.

    Understanding washes over me like a cold wave, making my blood run cold. I abruptly push Estley away. What a bastard! He orchestrated the whole thing just to ruin my plans!

    "You are an incredible scoundrel!" I gasp indignantly, trying not to raise my voice in order not to attract the attention of the public. Fortunately, we are hidden from the view of the players and their audience by the same potted palm. "What the hell are you doing?"

    "Saving you from doing something very stupid," calmly responds that bastard, not even trying to deny the accusation. "You could thank me, by the way. Interesting ¡ª how far were you willing to go?"

    "None of your business," I snap. "Are you attempting to instill solid moral principles in me? My parents, as you can see, have failed to do so. You think you can do better?"

    "Gods forbid!" Lord Cameron says dismissively, as if he had seen a ghost. "What kind of person do you think I am?"

    "I''ve already told you, a total scoundrel," I helpfully remind him. "And a person capable of forcibly kissing a girl in front of witnesses."

    "No, don''t even try to attribute that to me!" He is indignant. "I didn''t force you. You were quite willing! Besides, you know I had to get you back for the incident near my office! You did not seriously expect me to just forgive and forget about it?"

    I hear mocking notes in his voice again, and would have liked to be very, very angry at him. But gods damn it, the white scarf is really becoming on him... Many courtiers with these new-fangled scarves look as if their heads start directly from their torso. On him everything looks great: that scarf, those long pants that seemed ridiculous before, reaching down almost to the ankle...

    "But do not worry: I''m not going to put forward an accusation against you for kissing me against my will," adds Estley, and then my delicate nature just can''t take it anymore.

    "Bravo, great idea!" I silently clap my hands, pretending to applaud. "If you want to expose yourself to ridicule, go ahead! What do you allow yourself, Lord Estley? At first, like a romantic fellow you climb into my room through the window, and now this! Do you realize that I have a young man?"

    "Indeed? Who''s that? Oh yes, apparently you mean Baron Laimon," Lord Cameron chuckles. "I''m sorry, I did not realize. It''s difficult to take the likes of him seriously."

    "The likes of him?" I ask caustically. "Decent? Honest? Reliable?"

    "More like a rabbit," corrects Estley.

    "You know, Count, your train of thought is quite difficult to follow."

    "You know, a lot of girls like to keep rabbits," the Count starts to explain. "Soft, fluffy, gentle, warm. They cause no trouble and never bite. Do not have claws or their own opinion. They''re a lot of fun to hold in your palms, cuddle and feed carrots to. You know what''s the problem? Mistresses are easily bored with their rabbits. Girls begin to look for new toys and, well, hopefully don''t forget to regularly feed their pets. Otherwise, the latter are not to be envied."

    "Very subtle." My voice drips venom: Estley¡¯s words somehow manage to strike a chord. "But David is not a rabbit, and I don''t like cuddling."

    "Haven''t you had enough of this boy yet?" my companion somehow ominously squints. "Maybe I should arrange for him to be denied entry to the castle?"

    "Why would you do that?" I am taken aback. "What does it have to do with you? What kind of person are you, eh? Do you enjoy playing dirty tricks on everyone around you?"

    "Well, first of all, you''re also quite an expert on playing dirty tricks," says Estley, not one to tarry with an answer. "Second, do not try to deceive me. You responded to my kiss quite eagerly. Consequently, you must feel at least a bit of affection towards me."

    "My affection", I reply, carefully enunciating my words "is called ''three goblets of red wine''." A few goblets more, and I would have felt affection for this stone sculpture." I casually gesture to one of the statues decorating the room.

    "But not for the Marquis," astutely notes the Count, earning a very disapproving look from me.

    "To feel any affection for the Marquis I would need a lot more," I admit. "Say ... " I try to mentally figure out how drunk I would have to become, but quickly give up.

    No, the ducal wine cellar would empty first, I admit, which causes Estley to roar with laughter. "Quiet, you!" I grimace, seeing people around us turn to look at us.

    "Why did you drink in the first place?" asks the Count, after he stops laughing. "If you yourself admit that you weren''t trying to make yourself feel passion towards Dorion?"

    I roll my eyes. What doesn''t he understand?!

    "How do you think I could have gotten him drunk without having a few myself?" I answer with a question.

    To my surprise, this answer does not lead to a new explosion of laughter, nor to a lecture on morality.

    "Next time leave the Reston red to your companion, and drink ''Verso Rose'' yourself," Estley advises.

    "Why?" I am surprised. "What''s the difference, what to drink? ''Verso Rose'' is even a little stronger."

    "It is stronger," the Count confirms. "But it has one important characteristic. It intoxicates you ¡ª but not immediately, rather, the effect is somewhat delayed. Therefore, you have a chance to get away from your companion with everything you need before you lose the ability to think and act appropriately."

    Really? I never considered this property of the "Verso Rose".

    "Thanks for the advice. Only, why are you telling me all this?" I ask suspiciously.

    Estley seems to find my suspicion amusing.

    "Who knows?" he says mysteriously. "Maybe I expect that in the foreseeable future, we will cooperate productively. But you may consider it to be a spell of nobility and generosity on my part. "

    I fall silent. Both versions lead me to have a spell of my own disease ¡ª skepticism.

    "By the way, Lady Inessa" Estley changes the subject, seeing that I am not going to respond," would you like to have a drink with me?"

    I look at him askance and inquire warily:

    "''Verso Rose''? Or Reston red?"

    Estley laughs heartily.

    "Well, of course, Reston red," he winks.

    The answer sounds utterly ambiguous.

    "I am not drunk enough to drink with you," I mutter.

    This statement makes him laugh even harder.

    "Well, in that case I''ll take my leave before you decide to smash this stone statue on my head." He nods at the statue that I had promised to make out with after another couple of goblets.

    "Don''t worry, I won''t. I''ll take pity on the statue," I quip.

    He gallantly kisses my hand, as if not noticing the last statement.

    "Try not to do too many reckless things while I am away."

    Then he leaves before I have a chance to respond to that comment.

    ---------------------

    The whole book is available here - https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88</a>

 Chapter Ten

    ¡°Nothing reveals a person¡¯s character like his preparations for suicide.¡±

    Michal Viewegh

    "So, you, Nessa, will be dressed in Lady Mireya''s wedding dress. On your head you will wear a wig, as you did during our outings. A veil will cover your face. And you will go to the altar instead of her."

    The sun glances into the room, only occasionally yawning behind the clouds. While Mireya¡¯s personal hairdresser works on her hairdo, Loretta, one of our ladies in waiting, entertains those present with her own plan to disrupt the wedding. We listen with great interest. In any case, everyone has put whatever they were doing on hold, and only the hairdresser, who has apparently heard practically everything during her years of practice, continues her work, methodically curling strand by strand.

    "And then?" I ask curiously.

    To me it was most interesting, because, you know, to me the plan had a direct bearing.

    "Then, at the beginning of the ceremony, you lift the veil!" victoriously finishes Loretta. "Dorion will realize that he has been deceived."

    A tense silence descends on the room; only the tools in the hands of the hairdresser rustle and jingle quietly.

    "And then?" Ilona wasn''t afraid to be unoriginal.

    "What do you mean?" Loretta is amazed. "The wedding will be canceled!"

    "Yes," Ilona agrees. "But who will prevent the Duke from rescheduling the wedding for the next day, only this time making sure to verify the identity of the bride?"

    Loretta thinks. She had not considered such a possibility.

    "Well," she decides to alter her original plan somewhat. "In this case Nessa will lift the veil not at the beginning of the ceremony, but at the very end!"

    She literally glows with pride now.

    "At the end?" Ilona asks thoughtfully.

    "Yeah!" Loretta nods triumphantly.

    "Excuse me, Loretta. I''m sorry to interrupt," I murmur modestly "but I''m just a little curious. In the end ¡ª it means after the wedding ceremony is over and done with?"

    "Yeah, that''s right!"

    The lady in waiting is becoming irritated by how slow we are being on the uptake.

    "That is, by the time I become the Marquis''s wife?" I continue to annoy Loretta with my meticulousness.

    "Yes, and that''s why he will not be able to marry Lady Mireya the next day!" She finally gets her simple, as all brilliant things are, message across.

    Ilona laughs, and then throws open the snuffbox, to disguise further giggles as sneezing. To me it is no laughing matter.

    "Loretta, my dear, how about the fact that I do not want to marry Dorion?" I ask softly.

    "No?" Judging by her tone, Loretta doesn''t think that such a small detail could ruin her perfect plan. "Well, after all, what we are concerned about here is thwarting Lady Mireya''s wedding. The wedding will be off. All the other problems can be solved separately some other time."

    Another short silence ensues, and is broken by Ilona''s loud sneezing.

    "Loretta," Mireya takes control of the conversation "this is a very interesting plan. I do not think that we will resort to it, but certainly we will keep it in mind just in case."

    This attempt to marry me off in so eccentric a manner, fortunately ends. Chuckling, Ilona takes me aside, while I am still in a state of shock, pressing my hand to my heart and looking in front of me with wide eyes.

    "Calm down," suggests Ilona. "Take it easy. Some people just have a wild imagination, but that is no reason to be frightened."

    "Well even given the type of fantasies that enter her mind?¡± I almost had a stroke.

    "Do not be so sensitive. What if a man imagines you in his bed, will you become pregnant from that?" snorts my friend. "Tell me, how was the tea party at David''s house?"

    "Okay, I guess." I shrug. "That is, as usual. Fine."

    "So, his mother did not act all high and mighty again?"

    I wince at her choice of expressions.

    "No, everything was calm and peaceful. She generally behaved as if nothing had happened. As if the previous meeting had never taken place," I shrug. "Maybe her memory is failing."

    "I''m afraid not," Ilona retorts. "It seems as though the Baroness really does like you, but she thinks that sometimes it''s nice to put you in your place. I am not even sure which one of you first and foremost ¡ª you or David. Probably mostly him. You still want to date him?"

    "What do you all want from him?" I am indignant. "Are you saying that he is responsible for the behavior of his mother?"

    "I''m not saying that. He is responsible for his own behavior. He can''t stand up to his mother ¡ª isn¡¯t it obvious?"

    "Standing up to your parents is not an easy thing to do,¡± I mutter, generally realizing that she is right.

    ¡°There are very few easy things in life,¡± Ilona continues relentlessly. ¡°If we all were to neglect doing things that are not easy, we would not get very far.¡±

    "In short, you don''t like him." I decide to make things clear.

    "That is not the important part," my friend grimaces. "The main question is this: Do you like him?"

    "Yes," I say, trying to sound more confident than I really feel. "He is one of those who would never stab anyone in the back. He won''t lie to me ¡ª well, at least, beyond measure. He won''t hurt me, won''t be jealous, stalk or try to deceive me..."

    ""Won''t", "won''t", "won''t "," says Ilona at a measured pace, as if reciting poetry. ?Did you notice? No word about who he is. Only about what qualities he lacks."

    "What do you mean by that, Miss Analysis?" I snort.

    "I think that you are too heavily influenced by the experience of your engagement," Ilona says seriously. "So now you''re looking for a husband who would be as different as possible from the previous candidate. Meaning an absolutely harmless one."

    "So you think that''s a bad thing?" I ask doubtfully.

    I don¡¯t want to keep arguing with my friend: more likely than not she is right in her reasoning. But if my future husband were to be the complete opposite of the former fianc¨¦, in my opinion, that would only be something to celebrate.

    "It''s not bad," Ilona shakes her head. "What''s bad is that with all those ''won''ts'' you don''t even consider what you really want. Oh no!" She slaps her hand on her forehead, and then, obviously feeling her information requires more emphasis, slaps her hand on the window sill. "I can''t believe I forgot to tell you! You haven''t heard the news about Baron Luzhe?"

    You would think after such a long time I would be over it, but I still shudder at the mention of his name. I very angrily look at my friend.

    "No, I have not heard. Why do you think I care in the least what happens to this bastard?"

    "I just thought that specifically this you would like to know. You see, recently he has had an accident."

    I freeze, becoming all ears.

    "They''re saying that he was walking through the woods, when he stumbled and fell into a ravine."

    "So what, he broke his leg?" I ask mechanically.

    "No. His neck."

    "Oh, really?"

    Now it is my turn to put my hands on the windowsill and look out the window. The sky is clear and some clouds slowly float above the trees from time to time. How suddenly things can change. What once was an all-consuming problem simply ceases to exist. Strange... And I can still remember very well how I was prepared to die. How, with the thoroughness typical for me at the time, I read books on poisons. And now...

    "I know!" I whisper, excitedly raising my head.

    "What do you know?" Ilona asks, with some concern responding to such a sudden change in my mood.

    "I know how to thwart the wedding!" I exclaim.

    "So, Nessa, what''s your plan?"

    Mireya settles comfortably into an armchair with dark green upholstery and prepares to listen. Instinctively I note that although the chair is not an accessory, it goes perfectly with her red hair.

    "Suicide," I answer simply.

    "What?"

    Mireya frowns and leans forward, turning her head to one side, as if assuming she misheard and hoping this time to parse my words more accurately.

    "Suicide." My reply dashes her hopes. "It will be a great way to avoid the wedding."

    Mireya sits back and blinks, wondering what she has done to deserve such fortune in the form of two ladies in waiting with wild imaginations.

    "Attempted suicide," I clarify, trying to redeem myself in Mireya''s eyes, along with the rest of my listeners. "Or rather a re-enactment of such an attempt."

    "What do you mean?"

    Mireya motions for me to continue. Now she no longer regards my idea with quite the same skepticism.

    "No matter how complicated your relationship with the Duke is," I eagerly launch into an explanation, "he still loves you. Well, in his own way," I correct myself, seeing the glances of some of the people in the room. "Deep down. Yes, he is ready to fight with you, to quarrel, to act contrary to your interests, but he certainly does not want you dead. You are, after all, his sister. If he realizes that because of marriage to some Marquis you are ready to commit suicide, then he''ll give up on this idea."

    "You think?" doubtfully drawls Mireya.

    "I am absolutely sure of it."

    The Duke''s sister shifts her gaze to Ilona.

    "I think she''s right," Ilona admits. "Although I''m still not sure what the essence of the plan is."

    Mireya taps her fingertips on the armrest.

    "Perhaps I am inclined to agree with you," she addresses me. "My brother wouldn''t want his idea to have such a tragic outcome. So what do you suggest?"

    "We will choose the method of suicide which is most convenient for our plan, and arrange things as though you have resorted to it, but unsuccessfully" I enthusiastically explain my plan to Mireya. As if we have caught you in time and stopped you. Only we need to arrange everything to be as plausible as possible. After all, Lord Estley will surely try to butt in. He has to find convincing evidence of a suicide attempt.

    After that your brother will cancel the wedding himself.

    In the end, Emma arranges the chairs in a semicircle opposite the fireplace; we sit and take turns coming up with various methods of suicide, so as to choose the most suitable one. Each idea is more elaborate than the last.

    "You can stab yourself with a dagger," enthusiastically offers Loretta, eyes wide from a mixture of delight and terror.

    "Drowning. We could fish Lady Mireya out of the nearest pond."

    "There are frogs in there!" Lady Mireya exclaims indignantly.

    "Besides, it would be quite difficult to go under in there: the water is waist deep at best," Ilona raises her own objections. "By the way, if not water, then what about fire? Self-immolation. We will very quickly put out the fire. You''ll get away with only a couple of burns. Besides, there will be no frogs in the fire. Maybe only salamanders."

    "Are you laughing at us?" Mireya and I ask in unison.

    "No. I am being ironic," corrects Ilona.

    "I think the surest way is poison," I state. "You just need to choose the best option. That will be the easiest way to create a convincing picture. You, Lady Mireya, actually will take some poison, but the dose will be small, not enough to be fatal. No one would be able to tell how much poison had been in the vial, while the symptoms will give a definite indication to the physicians that it was indeed an attempt at poisoning.¡±

    "So what exactly will those symptoms be?" Mireya asks tensely.

    "Well, it all depends on the poison," I reply evasively, already knowing that this part of the plan will be met with hostility.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.Well, what do you do when you cannot convincingly dramatize poisoning without suffering at least a little? In my opinion, it is a small price to pay for an escape from the unwanted wedding. However, Mireya, it seems, does not share my conviction.

    "Which one, for example?" she asks, frowning.

    This question does not stump me. As it turns out, my memories of four years ago are still very fresh in my mind. Back then, I learned a lot about poisons. Besides, not only did I read the relevant literature, but I also spoke with some pharmacists.

    "I recommend ravenberries. We do not need a poison that''s too potent or acts too quickly. Ravenberry juice is just right. To kill an adult you need at least twenty berries. We''ll take ten."

    "And what will I feel?" Mireya continued to insist on the details.

    "Stomach ache, nausea. Possibly vomiting," I explain.

    Loretta puts her hand to her lips, horrified. Ilona looks at her with a sneer.

    "Then it''s out of the question," Mireya shakes her head. "What other poisons are there?"

    "You can brew the radont root," I suggest after a short contemplation. "You won''t get a stomach ache from it."

    "Radont? Isn''t it used as a sleeping aid?" recalls Loretta.

    "It is," I say. "But in large doses it is deadly. A person falls asleep never to wake up again."

    "Then the Duke will not believe that Lady Mireya tried to commit suicide," Ilona ponders. "He will think that she was just having trouble sleeping, and decided to take medicine for it."

    "That''s why you will need to take a higher dose than usual," I point out. "But, again, not a fatal amount. Of course, there will be some side effects in this case too," I add, glancing at Mireya.

    "What kind of side effects?" she asks dryly.

    "First, you will sleep for more than a day. Then there will be weakness, dizziness, and spots before your eyes. It may cause nausea."

    I spread my hands as if to say: I understand, but nothing can be done.

    Mireya purses her lips.

    "No, it''s no good," is her final verdict. "Look, girls, I have to go visit Lady Demer. Meanwhile, please think how we can stage a suicide without such unpleasant side effects."

    Half an hour passes, but Ilona and I are still sitting in Mireya''s chambers, each slowly sipping her drink of choice ¨C I drink wine, she favors brandy ¡ª and we still cannot think of anything the least bit convincing, and at the same time not accompanied by pain of one sort or another.

    "No, I do not understand," Ilona exclaims with feigned indignation. "Why can¡¯t one commit suicide by lying in a bath with rose petals, drinking a glass of strawberry juice, eating a bar of chocolate and dying of sheer bliss?! I am sure that option would suit Mireya perfectly!"

    "Because in this case, the world population would just plummet," I reply with a sigh. Then I quite inelegantly pull on my earlobe and suddenly exclaim: "Hey, maybe we should try hanging!"

    Ilona stares suspiciously at me sideways: while she is still sitting, I jump to my feet with excitement.

    "Are you suggesting hanging Mireya, once and for all solving the problem of her marriage?" she asks. "Or are you suggesting we hang ourselves, so somebody else will have to deal with this problem?"

    "You know perfectly well what I''m suggesting!" I even laugh with joy. "We will stage a hanging attempt. As if at the last second we have pulled Mireya out of the noose.

    Everything will be real: the rope, the chair on which she is allegedly standing. Even the heel prints on the upholstery. Mireya in tears. And I''ll throw such a fit for Estley, as if to say, look what your actions caused! Really, he will have no other choice but to believe me."

    "I''m sure you will throw one, but Mireya in tears¡­ I have some doubts," says Ilona.

    "I''ll bring a few raw onions," I wave away her objection. "She''ll cry, don''t worry ¡ª she can''t stand them."

    This time Ilona deliberates longer. She drains her glass, and then thinks some more.

    "Fine," she says, although she does not sound very confident. "We can try."

    We decide to start setting the stage. For the pretend suicide attempt we choose a small room in Mireya''s chambers. The main reason for the choice is the hook sticking out of the ceiling. The hook was left there from the chandelier, which has been removed. They never hung a new one, deciding that a room so small could do without. And now came the hook''s truly finest hour, as we are going to use it in order to secure the rope.

    In practice it turned out that hanging is not an easy feat. It only seems that all you have to do is take a rope, tie the noose, put your head through ¡ª and you''re done. Unfortunately, each of these stages requires skill, which, as we know, comes only with experience. It turns out that it would take about twenty attempts before one figures out how to hang oneself successfully. However, Ilona and I have a chance to acquire the necessary skills while getting off easy, so to speak. We set to work with alacrity. Rather, I do. Ilona mainly just watches the process, giving advice and offering ironic remarks.

    The first noose turns out to be too small, as if I were planning to hang a rabbit. The second one would not tighten. Then it turns out we let out too much rope. As a result, in order to stick her head in the noose Mireya would have to crawl on all fours. Re-fastening the rope is, by itself, not a simple matter. In order to reach the protruding hook in the ceiling, we have to build a whole precarious tower of furniture.

    Finally, the loop hangs beautifully over a chair we have placed underneath it. Ilona and I move a little further away and begin to scrutinize critically the site of the potential suicide. Shaking my head, I go back to the chair, move it a couple of inches to the left, and then take a few steps back again.

    "I think this is fine," I say , and then look questioningly at Ilona.

    "It''s hard to say," she drawls. "Do you not think that it is a little too high?"

    "In my opinion, it is balanced just right," I retort.

    However, Ilona continues to look skeptical.

    "Okay, it''s not difficult to check."

    Throwing off my shoes, I climb on the chair and look at the noose. It is indeed too high. I would have to jump, or at least to stand on tiptoe to fit into it. This is very uncomfortable, even though of course later you wouldn''t have to push the chair from under yourself.

    "You''re right," I admit, frustrated.

    Will we really have to re-hang the rope? Again?

    "Wait, maybe not," my friend reassures me. "Remember that Mireya is significantly taller than you, and height plays a fundamental role in this case. Perhaps for her this length of rope would do."

    "We need to check that."

    This time I am not going to judge by guessing. But how can we check it? Ilona, like myself, is shorter than Mireya; thus, she cannot test the height either. The Duke''s sister herself would certainly refuse to try on the noose. And of course, we have no desire to involve outsiders in this story.

    "Heels," I find a possible solution. "If I wear high-heeled shoes, I''ll be almost the same height as Mireya barefoot. We shall leave her shoes on the floor, as if she took them off, and take a different chair, without shoe prints."

    No sooner said than done. Ilona glares at me gloomily, as if in disbelief, watching my frenzied activity, as I quickly run to fetch the shoes with the highest heels, put them on, and, not without difficulty, climb onto the chair. Now standing on the soft seat is very uncomfortable. I look at the rope, disturbed by my movements and now gently swaying before my eyes.

    "Wonderful!" I state. "It''s exactly what we need. Here, look!"

    I pointedly fit the noose around my neck.

    "Damn!" Ilona suddenly swears, when her skirt is caught on the elaborate andiron.

    At the same moment, an unstable heel of mine decides that upholstery is not enough of a reliable support for it, and starts to slide. I sway and realize that I am about to lose my balance. I would like to say "fall down", but no, the prospect of falling down is not what frightens me. But the prospect of being left hanging picturesquely in the old chandelier''s place is. Ilona is not likely to come to my aid in time, as she is still fighting the fireplace, stuck in place.

    Oddly enough, all these thoughts manage to pass through my mind in a split second. Rather, they are not really thoughts but the awareness of a succession of facts, for which there is not even enough time to transition to words. But my whole life does not at all bother to pass before my eyes.

    In the next moment, someone''s strong hands grab me and support me, preventing me from completely losing my balance. I only have time to realize that this is not Ilona. He continues to hold me, neatly jumps up on the chair behind me and pulls the noose off my neck before I can figure out what is happening and how to proceed.

    "Are you crazy?!" Estley snaps, pulling me to the floor. "How the hell did you even get this idea into your head?"

    From the shock, I fail to find the words to respond. Therefore, without reacting to Lord Cameron''s words, I just sit on the floor and wrap my arms around my knees, trembling. Estley squats down in front of me and tries to look into my eyes, but I carefully avoid his gaze.

    Oh gods, now I have to figure out how to get out of this idiotic situation. After all there is no way I could him the real motives behind what''s happening. Another thing that upsets me tremendously is that the whole plan with the suicide attempt goes down the drain. Honestly, it would be strange if two people tried to hang themselves in the same room within a couple of days of each other. And, most important ¡ª both unsuccessfully! Rumors would spread that this room is unlucky!

    With that thought I burst out laughing. I try to restrain myself, knowing that laughter is not exactly normal behavior for a person who has just tried to take her own life, but could not do anything. I fall silent for just a moment, then let out a sob, and start laughing again. The hysterics last until Estley slaps me across my face. It hurts a lot, not to mention the offensiveness of such an action.

    I lose any desire to laugh; I grab the chair and stand up quickly.

    "You... You... How dare you?!" I yell, feasts clenched, ready to pounce on Estley, who stands in front of me. "What do you think you''re doing, gods damn you?"

    "That''s better," says the Count, then, not even batting an eye, completely ignoring my righteous anger, and turning to Ilona.

    "Lady Dennis, look after her and do not leave her alone for a second," he orders in a rather commanding tone." And call here all the maids, friends, and everyone you''re supposed to call in such cases.

    He gives me another quick glance, then climbs onto the chair, grabs the rope and yanks it with such force that the hook falls out with a small piece of the ceiling. I barely have time to jump to the side to escape the shower of plaster. Then Estley, apparently having nothing else to say, leaves the room clutching the rope in his hand, the hook trailing on the floor behind him. Ilona, who was also in a state of shock the whole time, stirs for the first time since my rescue and comes closer.

    "What were you laughing at?" she asks in a trembling voice.

    I listen to the steps dying away behind the door, and then regale my friend with my thoughts about the unlucky room where no one can commit suicide successfully. Fortunately, by the time I finish Estley must have gone far enough not to hear the renewed laughter, this time as a duo.

    -----------

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 Chapter Eleven

    "Do not be in a hurry, the right man will come at last.¡±

    Jane Austen

    A week before the expected wedding, the Duke left the palace for as long as a day and a half, accompanied by a number of his courtiers, including Estley. It was a gift of fate, and I realized: now or never. Dorion, as we have already managed to determine, did not have a very sharp mind, and I should take advantage of it now, when potential advisers are out of his reach.

    Thus, at the moment I, as ten days before, am sitting in a comfortable chair across from the Marquis. Only this time we chat sitting at the desk in the office. This was at my initiative. I wanted the atmosphere of our conversation to be as business-like as possible.

    "So, lord Marquis, I have come to you on behalf of Lady Almikonte to discuss some details of the upcoming wedding."

    "I see. You''re going to talk to me again about how Lady Mireya doesn''t want to marry me." The Marquis does not show much enthusiasm towards the topic of conversation, nor does he appear very alarmed by it.

    "Not exactly," I say slowly, pleased that my words cause him to perk up a bit.

    "What are you trying to say?"

    "Lady Mireya is not opposed to your marriage in principle," I begin to explain. "Rather, there are certain circumstances that frighten her, and make her feel somewhat apprehensive about the wedding."

    "What circumstances?" Dorion leans forward.

    I put on the table the book which I had previously held in my lap.

    "I don''t know if you''re familiar with this story. It is likely that you''re not, since it''s usually swept under the rug. You see, there was a woman who was married off to a certain Marquis among the ancestors of Lady Mireya. The decision was made by her relatives. She had never met her fianc¨¦ prior to the engagement, so it was not a marriage of love. Rather, it was more of a mutually beneficial alliance, in which the groom received a massive dowry, and the bride''s family ¡ª some land and much needed connections. Does this story remind of you anything?"

    "Suppose it does," reluctantly says the Marquis. "So what?"

    "Well, her groom ¡ª or rather, her husband ¡ª killed his wife shortly after the wedding. He was only interested in her dowry. After receiving the money, he hastened to get rid of the woman, in order to be able to marry another. This time for love."

    The Marquis purses his lips, turns his head toward the window, then back to me.

    "So what?" he repeats. "Even if something of the sort happened to that woman, what does it have to do with me and Lady Mireya? Such cases are extremely rare, and I do not have any relation to that groom."

    "But Lady Mireya is related to the bride," I retort. "By the way, if you have doubts about anything I said, you are welcome to read this book at your leisure." I point with a nod to the volume now lying on the table. "This is the historical records that describe some details from the Almikonte family''s past. The story I told you is included in the seventh chapter. Lady Mireya has known it since childhood. Of course, she can''t help but notice the obvious similarity of her own situation to that of the poor woman. Some even say that Lady Mireya looks like her. Is it really surprising that she is afraid to repeat the fate of her relative?"

    "So what do you suggest?" frowns Dorion.

    "I do not know." I shrug expressively. ?Think about it. Find a way to convince Lady Mireya that nothing like that will happen to her. Provide some sort of guarantee. Then she will offer you her hand herself on the way to the altar."

    The Marquis frowns, not sure where I am going with this.

    "Are you asking me to talk to her?" he suggests at last.

    I chuckle skeptically.

    "I do not doubt your eloquence, my Lord, but words are not enough. It is unlikely that they would serve as a guarantee."

    "What then?"

    "Well..." I shrug vaguely. "For example, you could give her a guarantee in writing."

    Flashing me an unhappy look Dorion rises from the desk. The chair he pushes back responds with a protesting squeak. Hands behind his back, the Marquis takes a few steps toward the window. The prospect of providing any promise in writing is obviously not filling him with delight.

    "So what do you think I could write that would be so special?" he grumbles. "That I will not kill lady Mireya after the wedding? Honestly, Lady Inessa, it sounds ridiculous!"

    "Of course," I agree. "Most important, it is completely pointless. What kind of guarantee does such a statement provide? None whatsoever. Clearly, if you were to commit a murder, you would definitely attempt to arrange things so that no one would suspect you. And if you were to be caught, the presence of such a document would not improve your situation; it would only make things worse."

    "In that case I do not understand what you want from me."

    "Let''s think together. We need to find an option that will suit both sides. For example, you can promise that you will not marry again. This, of course, does not guarantee complete safety for Lady Mireya, but in any case it significantly reduces the risk. If the death of your wife does not clear the way to a second marriage, you will not have an incentive to murder her. In any case, the incentive which Lady Almikonte fears."

    A few vertical wrinkles form on the Marquis'' forehead.

    "No, that''s too much," he concludes after thinking about it for a bit. "How can I know what the future holds? We are all mortal. One of us will die first, without any murder ¡ª either Lady Mireya or myself. What if she dies from some disease twenty years from now, and I would like to remarry? Do you think it would be logical for me to sign a document that would deprive me of this possibility? Just because of the passing fancy of a whimsical girl?"

    "This girl could find a way to avoid this marriage altogether, in which case you can kiss the dowry goodbye," I remind him bluntly. "But you are right to some extent. Of course, depriving you of the possibility of ever remarrying is not exactly fair either. We could work on adjusting the conditions..." I snap my fingers loudly. "Oh, I know! Our contract will grant you the right to re-marry. But you would promise that if you were to enter a second marriage you would give up Lady Mireya''s dowry. Then she can be sure that you would not get rid of her for the money. Well, are you happy with this version?"

    I sit back ¡ª all smiles.

    "Not really," Dorion disappoints me. "Let''s go back to my example. If I were to become a widower and after twenty years I decide to re-marry, I would then have to give up the dowry that is rightfully mine?"

    Pursing my lips, I pretend to mull it over.

    "Well, then, let''s set a time limit on the arrangement. We''ll add to the document the date of your wedding and you''ll promise to renounce the dowry in case you remarry within, say... ten years?"

    Marquis mulls it over for a bit, but then he shakes his head again.

    "Ten years is still a long time," he grimaces. "Please believe me; I''m not going to kill your Lady Almikonte. I won''t ever lay a finger on her, but you never know what can happen in so many years!"

    I take a deep breath, as though urging myself to be patient.

    "Well, what period of time do you suggest?"

    "Two years.'''' says the Marquis, innocently looking up at the sky.

    That''s too little time," I reply in a tone I learnt from our cook that I once heard bargaining with a vendor . "Your hypothetical lover could very well agree to wait for two years.

    "How much do you want?" The Marquis joins the bargaining, and I''m not even sure that he is reluctant about it.

    "Let''s go with the middle ground: five years," I suggest. Yes, I know the average of the two proposals is six years, but is it worth arguing with the Marquis because of such trifles? "Theoretically, of course, you could nurture such an ambitious plan, but it is still unlikely. Your mistress would hardly be willing to wait for you for so long. During this time, you may well become tired of her. In short, I take it upon myself to persuade Lady Mireya to agree to marry you on these terms."

    "Fine ¡ª let''s agree on five," Dorion surrenders.

    Apparently, he estimates that the probability of re-marriage in such a short period of time is highly unlikely.

    "Excellent. So we are in agreement. You''ll sign the paper, according to which you will not remarry within five years after you swear the oath before the altar, or, if you do, you will then give up lady Mireya''s dowry. Right?"

    The Marquis nods.

    "I''ll immediately instruct our secretary to draw up this document," I say briskly. "Then he will give it to you, you will look it over to see whether you are satisfied with everything, and if everything is okay, you will sign."

    "There remains one question ¡ª the date," reminds the Marquis.

    As if I had even for a moment forgotten about it! I shrug.

    "A week from today, as originally planned? Although... in your place I would hurry. You know, Lady Mireya is quite a temperamental woman. She might change her mind. So long as she agrees to this proposal, it is better to seize the moment. Who knows, she might dissuade the Duke about the feasibility of your marriage during that week. However, it is up to you. I absolutely do not care what date the secretary puts in the agreement."

    "I''ll think it over," says the Marquis with an air of importance. "If we want to speed up the process, what are the options?"

    I shrug, still indifferent.

    "Whenever you want ¡ª even today. Basically, Lady Mireya is ready. Her attitude towards the wedding is down-to-earth, without extravagant romance, so she doesn''t need a lavish celebration with a multitude of guests and ceremonies. When you decide, just let me know."

    The Marquis decides fairly quickly. Certainly I make sure to take care to ensure this ¡ª incidentally, it costs Mireya a tidy sum. However, the money comes from the treasury of the Duke, so who cares? In short, I make sure the Marquis receives some information that the Duke has allegedly been planning to break off his sister''s engagement, because he has found another candidate for a husband. Hence, that is the reason for his departure ¡ª to negotiate the potential marriage with a foreign duke.

    Upon hearing this, Dorion realizes that the dowry is about to slip through his fingers, and starts to worry. Because he is worried, he begins to hurry. So I do not find it surprising when barely two hours after our conversation the Marquis wishes to speak with me. By then I have already prepared the document about the waiving of the dowry with a blank space for the date.

    "Lady Inessa, I''ve been thinking..." Dorion tries very hard to sound casual, but his whole appearance radiates nervousness. "Truly, why waste time? We have agreed on everything. And as you have rightly pointed out, Lady Mireya indeed might change her mind... Why don¡¯t we hold the wedding today?"

    "Today?" I feign surprise. "Well, I do not know... But what about the Duke? He''s out of town. Getting married in the absence of her brother... it would be bad form, don''t you think?"

    "Oh, Lady Inessa, such trivial details, for the gods¡¯ sake!" the Marquis strongly protests. "The Duke will only be glad that everything has ended in the best possible way. On his return he''ll have a pleasant surprise waiting for him, that''s all. Besides, you yourself have said that the relationship between the siblings is very strained. Is it so important to Lady Mireya that the Duke attend the ceremony?"

    I press my fingers to my frowning forehead and stare at the mosaic floor.

    "You know, you might be right. The presence of the Duke is making Lady Mireya nervous recently. It is possible that his absence at the ceremony of marriage will help her feel more at ease. Well, you have convinced me." I smile at Dorion coquettishly. "I do not know how you manage it. Of course, I''ll have to ask Lady Mireya if she agrees to speed up events in this manner. But I think she''ll be happy to accept your offer."

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    "Well, that''s good." The Marquis is visibly relieved. ?And where will the ceremony take place?"

    "Wherever you want," I respond. "We can do it in the temple of the palace. Or in any other temple in the city."

    "I believe in the palace would be better," decides Dorion.

    "Oh yes, of course!" I nod. "After all, here the wedding cannot be concealed from the many relatives of Lady Mireya. They''ll descend upon us as soon as the preparations begin. Most important, it is the only place in the city where we can accommodate them all."

    "Oh, does Lady Mireya have so many relatives living nearby?" Dorion asks warily.

    "Oh yes!" I cheerfully reassure him. "Didn''t you know? Seriously, their names are legion! In particular, there are many elderly aunts, old maids, cousins, uncles who love to edify everyone within a radius of ten miles. Lots of little nieces and nephews from two to ten years old ¡ª you know, they like to scream so amusingly when they all get together, like a little gang of bandits. I''m sure you will love it! Besides, you will need to become acquainted personally with each and every family member. Dear Marquis, you cannot even imagine what a big friendly family you''re about to marry into!"

    Marquis looks so miserable that it makes me think that maybe we came up with this whole wedding plan for nothing. We should have just painted him a colorful picture of the perspective of the meetings with the numerous (and nonexistent) relatives that awaited him. Put a bit of pressure on him, and he would have canceled the marriage himself!

    "You know," the Marquis hopefully looks me in the eye," maybe we should be married in the city after all? There are in fact many beautiful temples there. Not that I care either way, but perhaps the bride will find it more romantic?

    "You think so?" Again I frown and purse my lips." Well, why not. There is a very good temple, with a really romantic atmosphere."

    "That''s good!" The Marquis squeezes my hand to celebrate. His hand is again warm and sweaty; however, under the current circumstances this is hardly surprising. "And let''s not invite too many people. You said yourself the town temple will be too small for all the relatives. After all, you must agree, it would be not good if some of them come and there is no space for them."

    "Oh, yes, it would be quite awkward," I agree." Very well, lord Marquis. I take it upon myself to persuade Lady Mireya. As you can see, I try to go along with your wishes as much as possible."

    We arrive at the chapel around six o''clock in the evening. Hasty preparations are being made, but we are assured that we will not have to wait for a long time. Both the groom and the bride are accompanied only by the people closest and most loyal to them, including some from their retinue. The document we have brought along with us is signed directly under the echoing arches of the church.

    I observe the commotion from my seat in the last row, in the corner, as the flowers are being arranged and the passage down the aisle between the pews is cleared. The church is drowning in shadow and a pleasant chill wafts from the walls. Despite the noise of the preparations, a sense of calm and tranquility emanates from the building itself.

    "Lady Inessa!"

    Audrey settles next to me and disturbs my solitude. I turn to her and nod, indicating that I am listening.

    "Be careful," whispers the lady in waiting, "It seems to me that Lord Estley suspects something. He called me in before leaving."

    "What did he say?"

    That is quite interesting, and a little alarming.

    "He told me not to let you out of my sight," the girl replies. "To follow you around at all times."

    "At all times?" I ask.

    "Yes," Audrey nods. "I guess he didn''t mean it literally. But in any case, this has never happened before. This is something very unusual. I even tried to protest, saying that if I were to be always by your side, you would figure out what my assignment was."

    "So what was his response?"

    "He shrugged it off dismissively and said that it''s not what''s important at the moment. In short, I think he is waiting for you to make a move. Maybe he suspects that you are going to find a way to get rid of the Marquis."

    She looks pointedly at the back of Dorion, who is nervously pacing between the pews.

    "I see."

    In actual fact, I see exactly nothing. Is it a suspicion on his part that I would be able to take advantage of the absence of the duke? Or can he read minds?

    "Thank you, Audrey. You may go."

    "What should I tell Lord Estley when he returns?"

    "Say that you followed his instructions. You can tell him what I was doing and with whom I met. The contents of all my conversations you could not hear. In addition, I hope that by the time he returns this information will not be relevant to changing anything."

    As soon as Audrey rises from the bench, I see the priest approaching, traditionally dressed in a green robe.

    "Everything is ready," he says.

    "Thank you, Father. In this case, we should start."

    The wedding ceremony goes off without a hitch. It is traditional, solemn and measured. The priest''s words resonate under the arches of the chapel. Words of prayer float towards the ceiling and light echoes of them return to the group of people gathered at the altar. Do you agree... Do you agree... As expected, the bride and groom both give a positive answer.

    "I pronounce you husband and wife, now and forever!" loudly says the priest.

    Then comes the time for congratulations, which are rather subdued. A small problem arises when the groom attempts to kiss the bride. Mireya replies curtly and a bit maliciously, "Not in front of everybody" and hastens to lower her veil, so that it covers her face. Dorion does not insist too much. After all, the most important ¡ª namely, the bride''s dowry ¨C he has attained, and everything else can wait.

    We return to the palace close to nightfall. The newlywed bride immediately rushes off to hide in her chambers, separately from her husband. Then, half an hour later I pay a late visit to the Marquis, allegedly suffering from loneliness.

    I do not come alone. I am accompanied by Audrey (I decide to give the lady in waiting the opportunity to fulfill Estley''s orders), two guards (just in case, for general security) and a dapper young man dressed in a long coat. His tight trousers are tucked into high jockey boots.

    It is too early for the Marquis to have gone to bed, but he does not look very alert, which is not at all surprising considering the busy day he has had. In addition, it seems, he has already managed to help himself to a generous portion of wine.

    "What is the matter?" he asks after I enter, accompanied by the young man. The rest of my companions are waiting outside the door. "You came to tell me where my dearest spouse is?"

    "Not really." My voice sounds calm and businesslike. "Lord Dorion, allow me to introduce you to Leonard Mathieu; he is a novice artist of the theater, but shows great promise. You must know that Lady Mireya patronizes the theater and artists?"

    My companion smiles, his whole facial expression making it clear that he considers the praise excessive, and politely bows to the Marquis. The latter reacts to the new acquaintance quite indifferently.

    "So what?" he asks, looking only at me.

    "Look closely," I say. "It is not the first time you are seeing Mr. Mathieu. As recently as two hours ago, he brilliantly played the role of a priest in a wedding ceremony held in one of the city''s chapels."

    The Marquis looks annoyed at first, not understanding why he should have an interest in some kind of a theatrical presentation in which some unknown actor played some priest. Then it dawns on him. Dorion gathers himself, straightens his back, clenches his hands into fists and frowns, as he begins to see the whole situation.

    "So what did you hope to accomplish by that?" he finally asks grimly. ?Tomorrow the Duke will return, and I will still marry Lady Mireya. Only this time the Duke himself will make sure that there is no fraud."

    "That''s quite a possible course of events," I nod, modestly clasping my hands in front of myself. "Absolutely possible. Lady Mireya will be very sorry. Only I would like to remind you that if this were to be the case, you would have to marry her without any dowry. But, of course, if you love her so much, to take such a step..."

    I spread my hands wide, indicating that in this case, all options really are on the table for the Marquis.

    "Wait," he shakes his head. "What do you mean ''without any dowry?''"

    "Let me remind you about the document you signed..." I begin, but I am interrupted sharply by Dorion.

    Nervous tension is not conducive to following the rules of etiquette.

    "I remember the document!" he snaps. "But according to this document, I waive the dowry only when marrying a second time! And thanks to your efforts I''m still not married!"

    "I''m afraid you do not quite understand," I shake my head. "Re-read the document. It says that you will not receive the dowry if you marry within five years of today''s ceremony, during which you and Lady Mireya did voluntarily say "I do" before the altar. Oaths were successfully and voluntarily exchanged, to which there are a lot of witnesses. Whether a real priest performed the ceremony or not, whether you have become as a result her legal husband, or did not ¨C there is nothing about that in the agreement."

    From the expression on the face of the Marquis, it is clear to me that he is going to argue. He even opens his mouth to say something, but in the end still says nothing. He remains silent for a long while, mentally assessing the extent of the disaster.

    "So, what do you want of me now?" he asks hoarsely.

    "Generally speaking, nothing," I shrug. "You only have two options. You can create a scandal; complain to the Duke, alert the whole palace. In this case, a storm will break which will not soon subside. It will not improve your situation, but the details of this story will become known to everyone. Your fake wedding will be the main topic of gossip everywhere, from high society salons to taverns, and your name will become a laughing stock. But there is a second option. You can just leave quietly. Then practically no one will learn what has happened. Unless, of course, your people talk, but that is your responsibility. For my people I can vouch. There are plenty of rich brides in the world whose dowries are accessible to such a nobleman as yourself."

    Marquis Dorion leaves the palace the next morning. He does not wait for the Duke, but has a letter left for him. The latter, of course, fumed and raged, especially considering the long time it took him ¡ª with the help of Cameron Estley of course ¡ª to find out the true motives for the sudden departure. However, by the time he finally figured out the details, the dust had settled, and while it was not a friendly relationship, still a kind of uneasy truce was established between brother and sister. The Duke did not wish to destroy it for the sake of a groom long gone.

    End of part two

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    More chapters will be published soon. The whole book is available here - https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88</a>

 Part Three. Chapter Twelve

    ¡°I like the duchess very much, but I don''t love her."

    "And the duchess loves you very much, but she likes you less.¡±

    Oscar Wilde

    "Lady Inessa!" Cameron Estley opens the top button of his shirt, leans with both hands on the tabletop, and angrily glares at me. "If you firmly intend to drive me up a wall, you definitely have a chance. But you won''t be able to achieve anything more than that. This is the main school of the capital, moreover the primary school of the Duchy ¡ª if not the entire country! Its director will be the person the Duke has chosen for this role!"

    "Lord Estley," I respond, copying his tone: "I by no means want to drive you up a wall. How could you think so badly of me? It''s just that we''re talking about the main school of the Duchy, and for this reason its director will be the person Lady Mireya chooses!"

    "Why on earth would that be, allow me to inquire?" asks Estley, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.

    "Because Lady Mireya has assumed responsibility for the development of culture and art in our duchy. She aids the theater, organizes literary readings, patronizes musicians, artists and actors."

    "Lady Mireya patronizes half the male population of the Duchy," snorts Lord Cameron.

    "Such a statement is unworthy of an aristocrat," I retort.

    "Are we going to discuss my morality or focus on the school?"

    "Let''s get back to the school." I am being generous. "The director will be the person who has been chosen by Lady Mireya."

    "Lady Mireya''s candidate does not have the necessary professional qualities," Estley says in a tone that brooks no argument.

    "Lord Almikonte''s candidate does not have the necessary moral qualities," I retort in the same tone.

    "What do moral qualities have to do with anything?!"

    "They have to do, Lord Cameron, with the fact that this is a school. The Director shall serve as a personal example for his students. Lord Conrad''s prot¨¦g¨¦ is a real womanizer and philanderer. Also, there were married women among his mistresses. No, I understand you are completely unaware that this is wrong," I grin. "But we do not want the pupils of the school to develop the same moral qualities that you have, do we, Lord Cameron?"

    "Lady Inessa, you are unbearable." These words sound like a compliment. It seems that a little more, and he would have kissed my hand. "Fortunately, I have taken some measures. The fact is that Lady Audrey works for me and promptly informs me about your plans. You bribed a member of the Education Commission, which makes the final decision on the candidacy of the director. I for my part saw to it that this man was expelled from the Commission."

    "Poor Ansilen," I sigh. "He suffered for absolutely no reason. You see, Lord Estley, from the beginning I knew very well that you recruited Lady Audrey. All the while I have made sure that through her you receive only the information that benefits my purposes. Thus, you have miscalculated. We really did bribe one of the Commission members, but not the one you had thought."

    "Lady Inessa," Estley cocks his head. "From the beginning I knew that you knew that I recruited Lady Audrey. Accordingly, I treated the information which I obtained through her with a grain of salt. So when she told me the name of the bribed member of the commission, I realized that there were two options. Either you bribed someone else, or you bribed this particular one, but you expect that since I am aware of your game, I would decide that it is not he but someone else, but that I would still keep up my game as if I do not know, and ultimately ..."

    "Stop!" I beg, shaking my head. "You know, I am completely lost now."

    I look up at Estley plaintively.

    "You know, I think: me too," he says, flopping into a chair.

    "So what should we do?" I frown.

    "Let''s have a drink?"

    "Let''s!" This offer suddenly strikes a chord. I squint slyly. "Only, you drink Reston red, and I will stick to ¡°Verso Rose¡±!

    "Actually, I was just going to suggest we do exactly the opposite," Estley laughs. "But since you are already ahead of me, I propose an alternative ¡ª we both drink the same."

    "Reston red or Verso Rose?" I ask suspiciously.

    "Your choice," he replies nonchalantly.

    We end up agreeing on the Reston red. Estley calls a servant who fetches us a bottle and glasses. He uncorks the bottle, pours the first batch of wine, and then leaves the room.

    "So, what do we tell our employers?" I ask after we take the first couple of sips.

    "What does it matter?" Cameron shrugs dismissively. ?Let¡¯s say that we had a long argument, but nothing came of it. You tell Lady Mireya that you almost scratched my eyes out, and I will tell Lord Conrad that I barely resisted the urge to spank you."

    "Sounds reasonable."

    I reach out again to clink our glasses and sip a little more this time. The wine warms me from the inside and gently lifts my spirits.

    "Lord Cameron, may I ask you a question?" I glance at him, wondering how unseemly of me it would be to pull my feet up into the chair. I decide that it would be not exceedingly unseemly, and settle in comfortably. "How did you know I was in the office of the Duke? Then, with a portrait?"

    "Oh, that!" he chuckles. "You missed some things, but then I do not think you had a choice ¡ª you had to act very fast."

    "So what were they?"

    I lean forward with interest.

    "First, the painting hung unevenly. It immediately caught my eye." I bit my lip in annoyance at the words. "It became clear that someone was interested in the safe, and there was only one thing kept there. Then, the window. When the Duke and I left the office it was almost closed. And then ¡ª wide open."

    "Damn it, I should have thought of that!"

    I angrily slap my thigh.

    "Finally, the curtains were swaying."

    "They did sway after all!" I almost groan.

    "Perhaps, in other circumstances, considering the open window, I would not have attached any importance to this. But the whole thing fit together. The office had been firmly locked; therefore, no one could have entered through the door. Climbing through the window from the garden was also unlikely. But climbing along the ledge from a nearby window was, however risky, still a possible feat. I know only one girl who could find out about the portrait, and then would be able to use this information to her advantage. Besides being sufficiently crazy to crawl along the ledge in the middle of the night."

    "The moon was full!" I try to explain myself.

    Judging by the look Estley gives me, these words only serve to amuse him.

    "Do you seriously believe that this clarification makes your behavior seem more normal?"

    "Okay, okay," I shrug, not wanting to quarrel, although I still see nothing crazy in crawling along the ledge. "Then why didn''t you immediately draw back the curtain? Why didn¡¯t you turn me over to the Duke?"

    Estley pauses, looking as if he expects something from me. I respond by arching my eyebrow in surprise, as if to say: I''m the one who has asked him a question, and not vice versa. He raises his glass, holding it by its stem, studies it and looks at the liquid that sways like the sea in a storm.

    "How could I pass up the chance to make such a spectacular appearance in your bedroom?" he chuckles.

    "Yes, it was a spectacular appearance, that''s for sure," I admit after taking another sip. "But ¡ª I point at him ¡ª no more than my appearance in yours."

    "It''s difficult to argue with that," Cameron readily confirms. "Your appearance created a furor, especially in Robert''s eyes. Also, how could I possibly turn you over to the Duke? If he were to kick you out of the palace, life here would become incredibly boring."

    "Then pour us more wine." Without waiting for an answer, I brazenly hand him the empty glass. "We need to drink to the health of your poor Robert."

    I have to hand it to Estley; he voices no complaints about my forcefulness. He rises from his chair, takes my glass and fills it to the required two-thirds. At the same time he refills his own. Then he sits down again, moving his chair closer to mine.

    "Since we started such a personal, heartfelt conversation," Earl says a little later, looking into my eyes questioningly, "can you answer one question for me?"

    "What is the question?" I ask curiously.

    I cannot guarantee that I will respond without knowing the question, of course, but overall the wine makes me more willing to cooperate.

    "Why were you trying to commit suicide, and especially in such a peculiar way?"

    I bite my lip. Should I tell him or not? Then again, why not? After all, this is, as they say, ancient history. Well, maybe not ancient, but it''s still history.

    "You will not start a fight?"

    I shrink nervously in my chair.

    Cameron''s eyes widen from such a promising foreword.

    "I''ll try to restrain myself," he says.

    "Well, keep in mind, you promised."

    Then I tell him about our plan of staging suicide, about the calculation of the optimal length of rope and about how the noose, by a freak accident, almost tightened around my neck.

    While telling the story, I closely follow Cameron''s reaction, in case I have to quickly jump out of the chair and run to the door. But this turns out to be unnecessary. When my story is completed, my companion throws back his head and laughs heartily.

    "All this time I racked my brain, trying to figure out what came over you, and whether I, gods forbid, had somehow contributed to it by my actions." He smiles again, shaking his head. "I even assigned Lady Audrey to you in case you decided to try again."

    "What?!" From this confession, I almost fell out of the chair. And not because I was touched." While I racked my brain as to why you sent her to spy on me and which one of my secrets you had set out to uncover! I went over all the options ¡ª even the most improbable ones!"

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    I throw up my hands and sigh loudly.

    "I even allowed you to beat me in the case of this stupid wedding, just so you would calm down a little!"

    Estley seems determined to prove that he was more affected than I by the prevailing confusion.

    "What? Not at all!" I am indignant. How dare he attribute to himself my achievements? "You didn''t let me do anything. I got rid of Dorion myself."

    "Did I ever!" responds Cameron. "It''s no laughing matter: right before the wedding I took the Duke away from the palace for more than a day."

    I blink on hearing this revelation.

    "So what?" I finally come up with a retort. "It wasn''t you who found a way to send the Marquis packing, was it?"

    It was extremely frustrating to realize suddenly that I did not win by myself, but only because the enemy happily yielded to me.

    "Well, if in such a long time you did not find the means to get rid of him, it would be entirely your fault," shrugs Cameron.

    "That''s not fair," I pout.

    "Don''t worry," he laughs. "You should treat losses and victories philosophically. Besides, I can reassure you: in the case of Lady Mireya''s dowry you beat me to the punch masterfully."

    I look down modestly. However, I quickly tire of modesty, so I look up, raising my glass.

    "To cooperation?" With a sly squint, I suggest.

    "To cooperation!" The Count seconds my toast.

    We clink our glasses and drink up the rest of the wine. And then I find Cameron''s lips very close to my own.

    "Hey, what are you doing?!"

    I hurry to move away as far as possible in my chair. Too fresh is the memory of our last kiss, which Cameron used in order to undermine my plans to take the Marquis out of the game. Say whatever you like, but he knows how to manipulate people almost professionally. Besides, who knows, with this manipulator, what dirty trick he has up his sleeve this time?

    "Sorry." Cameron pulls away completely, leaving me to my personal space. "Force of habit." He smiles disarmingly. "I''m drinking wine with a lady, which leads to a certain pattern of behavior."

    "Keep your habits to yourself," I suggest with a scowl.

    "I will try."

    We don''t revisit this subject. But we have a wonderful time.

    By the time I leave, I am quite shaky on my feet. Nevertheless, I am able to pass through the corridor relatively steadily, without disgracing myself in front of the people I encounter along the way. But when I see a translucent hand stick out from a dark room and beckon me inside, I nearly walk past, chalking up the vision to the amount of wine I had consumed.

    "Maya?" At the last moment, I realize that I have caught a glimpse of a ghost, and enter the room. It takes me longer than usual to light a candle with not very stable hands. "What are you doing here?"

    "I am waiting for you" the girl replies bluntly. "I need to talk to you."

    I don''t bother asking her why she is waiting for me here, counting on catching me on my way, and not directly in my bedroom. I am well aware that there is a sort of blocking system built into the castle, which prevents ghosts from entering courtiers'' private quarters. Once upon a time, people who knew a thing or two about this issue had considered it necessary to make sure their personal space was protected. The majority of the courtiers cannot see ghosts, but still just the thought that an intelligent creature who is completely unfamiliar to you can watch you while you''re sleeping or, for example, making love, is quite unpleasant.

    "I''m listening," I nod graciously, plopping into a chair with a sweep. I almost miss, but still manage to stop myself from sliding down to the floor, and settle back, gripping the armrests in case the chair becomes unruly. "Just keep in mind that I''m a little drunk."

    "The best condition for a conversation with a ghost," Maya assures me. Then she frowns and asks: "Whom were you drinking with?"

    "You just have to know everything, don''t you," I say grimly. Her words hit too close to home. "Cameron Estley."

    "O la la!" says the girl. "That''s new!"

    "There is nothing new about that," I snap. "Just tell me what happened."

    The ghost''s face immediately turns serious, and I realize that the topic of conversation is nothing to laugh about.

    "I want to talk to you on behalf of a friend of mine," says Maya. "She is also one of us but, unlike me, she can''t talk to people, so she can''t speak to you directly. "

    "Did something happen to her?" I frown. So far I fail to see how I can help her ghost friend. Yes, I am able to see ghosts and talk to them, but that is the limit of my abilities concerning their world.

    "Rather, her good friend," said Maya. "His name is Baron Grondezh."

    "Is he a ghost as well?" I clarify.

    "Yes. But they knew each other when they were alive. The Baron died as recently as six weeks ago. My friend is not able to communicate with him, because each of us is tied to their own house. My friend lives here in the palace, and the baron lives in his mansion. But we''ve heard rather strange rumors about him."

    "Which means?"

    From a living person''s point of view any rumor concerning ghosts falls into the category of ¡°strange¡±. I am curious as to what kind of rumors may be deemed strange by the ghosts themselves.

    "You see," Maya winces, "rumor has it that the Baron terrorizes the inhabitants of his mansion. Mainly his relatives. He was survived by an adult son and a daughter, Alexander and Yolanda. The daughter is four years older, and she was the one to inherit the house. Well, you know, the eldest child of the baron inherits the estate, regardless of the sex. So, every night, she hears howling, moaning, creaking floorboards ¡ª despite the fact that the house is made of stone ¨C in short, the usual set. The only sounds that people who do not have a gift allowing them to communicate with ghosts can hear. She is very frightened, and once all this nearly ended very badly. From fear, she ran out of the room, and after another shrill sound almost fell down the stairs. Hardly managed to hold on to the railing."

    "But even after that the Baron would not calm down?" I am surprised.

    Pranks aside, very few people would like to actually cause their daughter''s death.

    "No," Maya shakes her head. "Everything is still continuing; moreover, it has intensified. In addition, the Baron has begun to frighten his son. And his grandson too."

    "Grandson?"

    "Yes, Alexander has a son of his own. He is only eighteen months old. Alexander is raising the boy himself, having never been married. Anyhow, the groans and howls are heard at night even in the nursery."

    Things are going from bad to worse. After all, can''t the Baron spare his grandson''s nervous system? What did the baby ever do to him?

    "Is the boy very frightened?" I ask glumly.

    "No, the boy sleeps soundly and does not hear anything. But his nanny has been scared so badly that part of her hair turned gray."

    "Looks like your buddy''s deceased friend is quite a jolly ghost," I grimly summarize. "It is possible of course that his family harassed him during his lifetime. Maybe they even conspired to send him into the next life. But it seems quite unlikely to me that a year and a half old child would be part of such a conspiracy."

    "The fact is that the Baron was not jolly at all in life," Maia explains. "These jokes are absolutely not his style. He was a serious man, solid and responsible. An old school aristocrat ¡ª held his family''s honor very dear. Also, he loved his children, although, again, because of his nature, he didn''t show it openly. Moreover, he doted on his grandchild. Therefore, my friend finds his behavior extremely surprising. Surprising and disturbing. In particular, given the fact that the consequences of these "pranks" can be very serious. That''s why she wants to ask you for help."

    "But what kind of help?"

    I still have no idea how I could help.

    "You are one of the few who can communicate with ghosts. The only one in this palace. We would like to ask you to visit the house and talk to the baron. It is not far from here ¡ª just one day''s journey."

    I frown skeptically.

    "You really think I could call to order the Baron who has suddenly turned unruly? Frankly, I very much doubt it. Why would he listen to me?"

    "It''s not that. My friend believes that the Baron must have a reason for such atrocious behavior. We just ask that you find out what it is. And then we can think about how to solve the problem later."

    I still do not think that any good could come out of this ploy. On the other hand, Maya has never asked me for help before. But she helped me with the portrait, breaking the unspoken rules prohibiting ghosts from interfering in the affairs of the living. It would only be fair to return the favor. Especially since the trip is really not that long, and the task looks quite simple.

    "Wait a minute: can the Baron even talk to people?" I ask.

    "He can," Maya nods. "As far as we know, after death he has acquired this ability."

    "Oh well. In that case, I''ll try to talk to him."

    Who knows? Maybe if I had drunk a little less wine that evening, I would have made a different decision. However, it is unlikely. Anyway, two days later I arrange with Mireya to take a short vacation, and set out for the Baron''s mansion, Torenhall.

    ----------------

    24-hour discount! On July 7, 2016 Half a Step Away from Love by Olga Kuno for only 0.99$

    https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88</a>

 Chapter Thirteen

    "Marriage, whatever may be said against it, is an excellent remedy for love sickness."

    Charles Perrault

    Shaking in the carriage ¡ª I borrowed one of Mireya''s to travel to Torenhall ¡ª I spend some time pondering how to explain my visit to the owners of the mansion. After all I couldn''t just state from the doorway: "I hear you have a ghost around here, do you mind if I have a chat with him for a bit?" Likely the best case scenario at that point would be a visit to a doctor for the mentally ill at the expense of the hosts. But the far more likely scenario is that I would not even be allowed beyond the threshold.

    After weighing a few options in my mind, I settle on the one that seems the least far-fetched. I will say that I''m touring the local nobility in pursuit of a noble goal, which is to organize a charity ball. I only need to think in whose honor it will be. But I can solve this minor problem further on. It is likely that after my initial acquaintance with the owners it would be easier to understand what strings I should pull in order to soften their hearts. My objective is to make sure that they agree to let me stay the night. In this case, I should be able to calmly speak with the Baron''s ghost and head home in the morning with a clear conscience.

    The rest of the way I mostly spend my time envying men. Not good naturedly, either. The reason is that the carriage is, as it commonly happens, shaking mercilessly. It jumps at every bump, swaying to the right and to the left and almost collapsing on its side at every turn. Do not think that men often prefer to ride out of chivalry, or to give more room to the ladies in the "cozy" carriage. You should not attribute the whole affair to their excessive love of exercise. Even the laziest would prefer horseback riding to the extremely unpleasant rocking and the consequent feeling of nausea that accompany traveling in a carriage. Anyone would choose horse riding over that ¡ª except women. Because we, damn it, have to seriously care about our appearance. Because the female attire which is considered suitable for horse riding is deemed unacceptable to wear when you are visiting someone. Because the clothes will certainly crumple and the hair will become messed up. In addition, most likely it will spoil the makeup. In short, I now more than ever agree with Ilona, who passionately hates these conventions, and often shocks high society by choosing to ride and therefore appearing in public looking rather improper.

    Unsurprisingly, I hurry to jump out of the carriage as soon as we drive up to the house, leaving the driver to his own devices to deal with finding a place for the horses, and head to the porch on foot. The mansion is quite impressive. It could be hardly called a mansion: rather, it looks like a castle, albeit relatively small. But I soon have to give up the contemplation of architectural beauty, opting for another spectacle: another carriage is parked at the porch. Another guest has managed to arrive only a minute ahead of me. I am quite curious: who could that be?

    Either way, the presence of another visitor is more likely to thwart my game than to help me along. My story is far from being perfect as it is, and now is far more likely to fall flat. People receiving guests are certainly not likely to care about unfamiliar ladies obsessed with a charity cause.

    Nevertheless I hurry, in order to have a chance at least to catch a fleeting glance at the unexpected guest before we meet the owners of the house. I catch up with him on the second step ¡ª by the way, there are twelve steps leading up to the threshold.

    "Lord Cameron?!"

    "Lady Inessa?"

    Estley''s voice sounds more relaxed, but from his highly arched eyebrows and astonished look, I conclude that my appearance has surprised him.

    "What are you doing here?" I gasp, almost making it sound like an accusation.

    "Me?" It looks like my question amuses him. "I came at the invitation of my distant relatives. What are you doing here?"

    "I¡­ have an important matter to attend here." I lose my confidence at once.

    After all, what could I tell him? I am dropping in at the request of a friendly ghost? No way! I could already imagine the evil look he would give me after such a declaration! No, I''d rather cut off my own arm.

    The only problem is that in Estley''s presence my story about the charity ball would also go down the drain! He would instantly see through my charade! What should I do? I could turn around and go back to my carriage. But retreating in such a manner is against my principles. Especially considering that doing so in front of Estley is not really possible either!

    Meanwhile, we are already at the top step. We are greeted at the door by a servant dressed in blue livery.

    "Lord Estley," he says decorously, bowing deeply: "very glad to welcome you to Torenhall."

    "Hello, Brice," Estley kindly responds, from which I conclude that this is not his first visit to the mansion. "Is Mr. Grondezh home?"

    "Oh, yes, he is looking forward to your visit very much. And the lady?.."

    The servant gives me a polite but questioning look. He thereby does not violate the rules of conduct: it is his duty to present visitors to his employers. In these mansions the servant acts both as a doorkeeper and usher.

    Well, should I give the version about the charity ball? Or retreat in shame before I am thrown out in a manner no less humiliating? Or should I state my name and only that, delaying further clarifications until I meet the hosts?

    I drag my feet, and the butler looks at the Estley, as if silently referring the question to him. I suddenly realize: he thinks we''ve arrived together.

    "Lady Inessa Antego" I introduce myself, confidently taking the Count''s arm ¡ª to the surprise of the latter. "Lord Estley''s fianc¨¦."

    I carefully avoid looking at the Count''s face. The servant bows respectfully once more.

    "Allow me to congratulate you. Please: after you."

    He gestures for us to come into the house. The ceiling in the first floor hall is very high. A narrow strip of light falls in through the high gothic windows. Brice solemnly marches in front, showing the way."

    "I must say it was the hastiest engagement that I have ever attended," Estley says sarcastically, bending to my ear.

    "You should be grateful that is not a wedding," I retort. It is known that the best method of defense is offense. "Because I could''ve claimed to be your wife."

    "Yes, really, thank you very much that you didn''t claim to be my widow," the Count continues with alacrity, taking me by the elbow. "I hope you do not mind that did not bring a ring with me? Somehow, you know, I had not foreseen such an occasion."

    I allow myself an almost guilty look.

    "Do not worry, it''s not for long. I know how much all men are afraid of marriage. So you can be absolutely calm. Just give me time until tomorrow morning. In the morning, we will break off our engagement just as quickly. You can tell your relatives the truth, or if you want you can say that you changed your mind about marriage. You can even come up with a reason ¡ª be my guest. For example, declaring that you caught me with another man. I will not be offended."

    "Your generosity knows no bounds!" For some reason, he laughs.

    "Sh-sh-sh!" I unceremoniously shush Estley, seeing the servant turn his head slightly, as if listening to our conversation. "Let''s discuss this later, in private."

    "You meant to say ''in the family''?" the Count retorts, openly making fun of me.

    I have no time to respond. Brice walks into the living room first, to inform the owner of the arrival of guests, but we do not wait outside for long. The doors open and we are greeted by the owner of the house.

    More precisely, it is the younger brother of the current mistress, Alexander Grondezh. Twenty-four years old, blonde, of medium height with a nice open face. He immediately takes a step towards us and stretches out his hand to Estley for a handshake.

    "Lord Cameron, I am very glad to see you," he says, as far as I could tell, quite honestly. "Lady Antego, it''s nice to meet you. Congratulations. In difficult times it always nice to hear good news."

    "Thank you," I smile frostily.

    "Unfortunately, my sister cannot greet you right now: she is feeling a little under the weather," Alexander apologizes. "But she will come down and join us for dinner."

    "What has happened to her?"

    Estley''s voice sounds quite indifferent, as if he is just asking a question out of a sense of duty, standard in such cases. But something in his appearance ¨C his posture, the turn of his head, the way his eyebrows are drawn together ¡ª makes me feel he is very interested in the answer.

    "It''s mostly nerves," Alexander says with a grim smile. "Recently, she does not sleep well at night. But let''s not discuss the bad news right now," he continues, turning to me and smiling warmly. "I''m sure you''re tired of the road and prefer to relax and not to listen to stories about our troubles. Ricardo will take you upstairs. Dinner will be served at seven o''clock in the evening.

    Ricardo, unlike Brice, is not dressed in livery, but in ordinary clothes, of a relatively strict style. The dark tone goes well with his pitch black hair. I estimate he is no more than thirty, and this despite the fact that his serious, even cold expression certainly makes him appear older. He makes sure to keep a distance between himself and the guests, acting and speaking with detached politeness.

    "Here are your quarters, Lord Estley," he says, opening the door to one of the rooms on the second floor. "All the bedrooms are located here."

    Cameron goes inside. Ricardo stands there, apparently waiting for me to go inside as well.

    "Oh¡­ do you expect me to share the room with him?" I ask tensely.

    "We did not know that Mr. Estley would not be traveling alone, and did not have time to prepare," Ricardo responds. "Please accept my apologies. Mr. Alexander assumed you''d agree to take a rest from the journey in the room prepared for Lord Estley. By the end of dinner we will have prepared some quarters for you. But, of course, if you would prefer not to, we will try to find a solution immediately."

    "No, this is fine," I shake my head. I do not feel the slightest hint of enthusiasm about sharing a room with Estley. Especially considering that the latter is smirking evilly, which Ricardo fails to notice, but which is very obvious to me. But of course I cannot throw a tantrum over it in an unfamiliar house, especially considering they believe us to be bride and groom. We live in liberal times, and no one expects chastity from people at that stage of their relationship. "It''s fine."

    The servant bows.

    "When you need a maid or valet ring this bell."

    He retires with another bow. I look at Estley warily. And immediately realize that my concerns are not unfounded.

    "Well, Lady Inessa, don''t you want to rest before dinner?" he asks, sitting down on the bed and quite brazenly pointing to a spot next to him.

    I grit my teeth. No, it''s not that Estley''s actions embarrass me. I am not that easy to embarrass or scare. Rather, I am simply angered by the fact that I am being forced to endure his ridicule. What is especially galling is that I only have myself to blame for the situation.

    "Do not forget, Lord Cameron," I say, trying hard not to show my discomfort. "We are a bride and groom, not a husband and wife."

    "Oh, come now, who cares nowadays about such conventions?"

    He is absolutely right, which makes me once again grit my teeth.

    "Well, you do whatever you want; I personally intend to change for dinner."

    Rising from the bed, he takes off his coat and begins to deliberately casually unbutton his waistcoat buttons. I glumly watch this process.

    "Are you going to change your pants too?" I ask acidly, when the vest falls on the bed following the doublet and the top three buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned.

    I do not know what angers me most: the obscenity of the process or the fact that I am starting to enjoy watching it.

    "Of course!" Estley is surprised at my question. "Do you take me for a bumpkin who would offend his hosts by coming to the table in his road trousers? Okay, okay," he feigns compassion, seeing as I begin to move my lips in silent indignation. "So be it, I will continue changing in the bathroom."

    Trunks with our things have already been delivered to the room at this point. When Estley leaves, I sigh with relief, and secretly wipe my forehead. Then I sit in a chair and stretch out my legs with a sigh of pleasure. After all, the road was tiring. But I do not have long time to relax: Estley is surprisingly quick. Looking through my eyelashes at his white shirt, light gray jacket, matching trousers and new neckerchief, I can only wonder how quickly he managed without the help of a valet.

    "So," Estley sits down in the chair and crosses his legs "will you now deign to tell me what you could possibly need in this house?"

    "I will not," I reply laconically.

    The Count''s gaze becomes predatory and his face shows signs of discontent.

    "Lady Inessa, I strongly advise you to re-think the answer to my question."

    To say that I feel silly would be an understatement. At least if I had plotted something nefarious or devious! Then I certainly would be able to answer any questions. But no, I was planning to do nothing of the sort, and I still cannot tell him the reason for my visit!

    "Look, I just can''t tell you!" I cry out, wringing my hands in despair. Then I fold my hands pleadingly. "Lord Cameron, how about this: I will not answer your question, but instead I will owe you a favor."

    Estley cocks his head.

    "Sounds tempting." he admits in a tone that promises no good.

    I feel my skin crawl.

    "A small favor," I correct.

    Estley nods.

    "Now I see you have regained at least some of your sanity. Owing a favor to a man like me is extremely dangerous."

    "Why are you talking to me as if I were a child?!" I explode. "I know very well what sorts of nasty tricks you can pull!"

    The Count laughs.

    "This is rich, coming from the woman who lied her way into someone''s house and refuses to come clean about her plans."

    "Lord Cameron," I put my hand over my heart and give him my most honest and open look (by the way, a gaze which I have very carefully practiced in front of the mirror). "I''m willing to swear on whatever you want that I''m not plotting anything untoward! My visit isn''t connected in any way to Mireya or the Duke, and will not cause the Grondezh family any harm. Even in the worst case it will not damage their lives. At best I will solve one of their problems. That''s all. Look, I just cannot tell you what the goal of my visit is!" I exclaim, seeing in his eyes that he is still searching for a response.

    "Can you at least tell me why?"

    I hear notes of irritation in Estley''s voice caused by the fact that he is unable to understand my behavior. People like the Count strive to always understand everything.

    "Very well." I give him a look no less annoyed than his own. "The reason is that you will not believe me."

    I think right now I was able to surprise him for real. However, the surprise does not last long.

    "Try me," suggests Estley, showing that he is prepared to listen.

    "I will not," I snap.

    At this point, fortunately, the footman knocks in order to announce that dinner is served. Estley leaves the room, giving me an opportunity to quietly change with the help of a maid, and then we both go down to the dining hall.

    The people who join us for dinner are already familiar: Alexander, his sister, their aunt of seventy years once or twice removed, and Marko, Alexander''s one year-old son and his nanny. Yolanda is a very pretty girl, blonde, like her brother, with a round face, blue eyes and dimples. I do not notice any signs of a nervous breakdown, except for the dark circles under her eyes, which, however, are properly disguised with the help of cosmetics. The other people attending are a footman and a young servant girl who wait on the table, and Ricardo, who stands to the side making sure that both of the junior servants perform their duties satisfactorily.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "So, Lord Cameron, my brother and I are intrigued," Yolanda says smiling, after we have eaten a delicious vegetable soup, and the servants begin to change the dishes. "We have not heard anything about your engagement. Of course, we live here in the country, away from the city, and it takes time for gossip to reach us. Still it is surprising that we have not heard anything about such an important event."

    She is of course hinting at the fact that Estley should have notified his relatives, although distant, of this development, and, furthermore, should have invited them to the engagement. It is easy to understand the girl: living far from the center of social life is surely boring, and an invitation to such an event, especially if held at the ducal palace, would be a real treat for her.

    "The thing is that this engagement was quite unconventional," Estley hurries to explain, glancing at me very sarcastically. "You can say it was very sudden. It was also very recent. Strictly speaking, almost no one knows, not even in the palace. You can say that you are the first."

    "Oh, what a great honor for us!" Yolanda beams. "Isn''t it, Alexander? So, it turns out it was a secret engagement? How romantic!"

    "Indeed," responds Estley, again glancing at me with a smirk. "As romantic as could be."

    "So, how did you propose to Lady Inessa?" Yolanda leans forward, completely ignoring the delicious piece of meat which the servant has placed on a plate in front of her.

    "Yolanda," Alexander grimaces "that''s a very intimate question."

    "But it is interesting!" his sister retorts unabashed. "Can I be interested in something besides..." a shadow runs across her face and the dark circles beneath her eyes suddenly seem much more prominent. "Never mind." She forces a smile. "Besides, if Lord Cameron does not want to answer, he''ll say so."

    "Well, why, I am very pleased to answer," beams Estley. "The thing is that Lady Inessa was the one who proposed to me."

    A piece of chicken, no matter how delicious it was, seems to lodge itself in my throat. I raise a hand to my neck, vainly trying to swallow it.

    "Lady Inessa?" Yolanda clasps her hands in admiration." That is so brave! I admire you! Honestly, I''m not kidding."

    "Tha... thank you," I say grimly, finally having conquered the chicken, which seemed to have come back to life and gone crazy right in my throat. Now, I reach for a glass to wash down the consequences of the struggle.

    "How did you have the courage to do such a thing?"

    Yolanda is the only one who has asked about this delicate topic, but I notice that the others are also eagerly awaiting my answer. It seems that even the one year old baby curiously cocks his head. The level of curiosity written on Estley''s face I cannot even describe.

    "What choice did I have?" I respond, putting the empty glass down on the table. The footman approaches silently to pour me more wine. "These men are so indecisive. You know," I lean towards Yolanda to confide. "Lord Cameron comes across as a brave man, and even a tough one, but when it comes to love, it would be hard to find a creature more reticent. So I had to take matters into my own hands."

    I look triumphantly at Estley, just in time to see the biting smile leave his face.

    "We all behave unusually when we fall in love," thoughtfully comments Yolanda.

    "Indeed!" Estley seconds with suspicious enthusiasm. "For example, it is difficult to decide to propose to Lady Inessa, given that three grooms have already left her at the altar."

    "Really?" Yolanda breathed. "Why is that?"

    "Because of her penchant for initiative," responds Estley. "And her excessive love of rabbits."

    "Of rabbits?" The young woman asks in surprise, for some reason throwing a glance at the dish. "What do they have to do with anything?"

    I open my mouth to take revenge, but at that moment a loud sound breaks, as though someone has slammed a window. Followed by a lingering, melancholy howl.

    Yolanda pales abruptly, Alexander frowns, the aunt whispers words of prayer, and the frightened nanny puts her hand to her chest.

    "It''s probably just the wind," says Alexander.

    "I''d like to believe that." Yolanda sounds uncertain. .

    "May the gods have mercy on our souls!" mutters the nanny.

    "Could it be anything other than the wind?" asks Estley.

    Everybody shrugs and exchanges furtive glances. Finally, Alexander breaks the general silence.

    "Recently, some kind of nonsense has been happening around the house," he explains, frowning. "Strange noises, especially at night. It sounds like howling wind, groans, creaks: it almost seems like..."

    ¡°The house is haunted!¡± cries the aunt.

    Alexander seems happy that he didn''t have to say those words.

    ¡°I do not believe in ghosts,¡± he sighs, ¡°but it does look like it. Anyway, in our house we never had drafts like this. Besides, even when all the windows are tightly shut, it goes on just the same.¡±

    ¡°When did it start?¡± I ask.

    I glance at Estley with displeasure. Of course, my interest has not been lost on the Count, who is now looking at me with his familiar attentive and grasping gaze.

    ¡°Recently,¡± Alexander responds. ¡°About two weeks ago.¡±

    ¡°Fifteen days ago,¡± dully specifies Yolanda. ¡°I remember.¡±

    ¡°So, did anything unusual happen fifteen days ago that could provoke such a situation?¡± Estley asks.

    This time, his interest attracts my notice, and my gaze too becomes attentive and focused.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Yolanda looks helplessly at her brother.

    ¡°I do not remember anything out of the ordinary,¡± Alexander confirms, though it seems to me that he is keeping something to himself.

    ¡°It''s my late cousin.¡± confidently says his aunt.

    ¡°You mean Baron Grondezh?¡± Estley clarifies.

    ¡°Of course, who else? He died six weeks ago, and now roams the house as a restless ghost.¡±

    The woman''s voice sounds solemn.

    ¡°My father died six weeks ago.¡± With irritation Alexander reminds her, and I realize that we are witnessing the continuation of a fight that has been going on for quite a while.

    ¡°That''s right,¡± calmly responds the aunt. ¡°First, he had to appear before the gods. Recall his past life. Then, a month later, after the memorial ceremony, he returned to the house.¡±

    Alexander rolls his eyes in frustration, but does not add any fuel to the fire.

    ¡°All this must probably seem terribly foolish to you,¡± he says apologetically to Estley. ¡°I would not pay much attention to it, but this ghost business already has twice nearly cost my sister her life.¡±

    ¡°Twice?¡± Estley and I ask simultaneously.

    I bite my lip and modestly lower my hands to my lap, as if to say: you hold all the cards, my lord. I just sit quietly on the sidelines. But I''m listening very carefully.

    ¡°Twice,¡± Alexander confirms.

    ¡°Come on, brother, that''s enough.¡± Yolanda is obviously uncomfortable. ¡°Everything is just a result of coincidence and my own clumsiness.¡±

    ¡°Previously, clumsiness was not among your qualities,¡± says Alexander.

    Yolanda shrugs, hiding her eyes.

    ¡°Maybe it''s all the upheaval. Since my father¡¯s death my nerves have been shot.¡±

    ¡°What exactly happened?¡± Estley hurries to guide the conversation in the desired direction.

    How clever of him ¡ª perhaps he deserves a kiss. No, after all, I''ve already kissed him. He''ll have to do without.

    Yolanda forces a smile.

    ¡°I twice nearly fell down the stairs,¡± she admits, studiously examining the tablecloth. ¡°You''ve seen the stairs leading to the second floor. They''re pretty steep. We even wanted to break them down and build new ones, but we never got around to it. Besides, then my father was against it ¡ª he would not change anything in this house.¡±

    ¡°In short: one night my sister was scared by all the moans and howls.¡± Alexander intervenes, realizing that if we let Yolanda go on she would just continue to beat around the bush. ¡°She ran out of her room and almost fell down the stairs.¡±

    ¡°Not right away,¡± she corrects him. ¡°First I stopped at the top step. Outside, I immediately calmed down a little and thought I must have imagined it all. Maybe it was a dream, and I mistook it for reality. You know, it happens. But when I was about to go back into the bedroom, I heard a very loud sound ¡ª I do not know... not a creak ¡ª more like a rasp... right behind me. I was startled and lost my balance. I even slipped down a couple of steps, but I managed to hold on to the railing and stop. Lucky me.¡±

    She takes a sip of wine and stares at the tablecloth again.

    ¡°What about the second time?¡± gently asks Estley.

    ¡°Almost the exact same thing happened,¡± admits Yolanda. ¡°I heard the noises, became frightened, and ran out of my room. My bedroom is the closest to the stairs. But ... that time I felt like someone was pushing me.¡±

    ¡°Pushing?¡± repeated Estley.

    ¡°At least it seemed so. I felt a shove from the back, and would have fallen for sure if not for Ricardo." For the first time since the beginning of dinner, we turn our attention to the servant. He has listened attentively to the conversation, but did not intervene. Even now, when his name came up, he just cocked his head slightly. "He ran out at the noise and managed to catch me. Otherwise I probably wouldn''t be sitting here with you.¡± Yolanda pauses, and then looks up at Estley. ¡°Do you know if a ghost can push a person?¡±

    ¡°It can''t," I reply, instead of Estley ¡ª and everyone looks at me in surprise. ¡°A ghost can neither push a person, nor even cause them physical harm. He can severely frighten them if he tries hard enough. But no more than that.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡± Alexander asks sharply.

    I vaguely shrug.

    ¡°Just a little versed in this matter.¡±

    I think my words calm Yolanda.

    ¡°Let''s talk about something more cheerful,¡± suggests the girl.

    She smiles pleadingly and that smile betrays such a vulnerability that it is impossible to refuse. Perhaps Yolanda belongs to the type of woman that men want to protect. The thought makes me feel a light prick of completely irrational jealousy. Girls like me tend to protect themselves, and arouse more of a combative instinct in men.

    ¡°Suzanne!¡± Yolanda suddenly turns to the girl serving the table. ¡°You do not look well. Are you all right?¡±

    For the first time I take a closer look at the maid. However, even after a second glance she still seems unremarkable. Thin, in a simple dress, sparse blond hair gathered in a ponytail. She really does look very pale.

    ¡°I... may I be excused?¡± she asks quietly, casting a cautious glance at Ricardo, who steps forward.

    ¡°Of course." Yolanda looks at her quite sympathetically, it seems to me. ¡°You are off for the rest of the day.¡±

    Now she, too, looks at Ricardo and nods as if to confirm her words in this way.

    Suzanne curtsies awkwardly and slips out the door.

    ¡°Poor girl,¡± Yolanda sighs, turning back to us. ¡°Her mother died recently. She survived our father by barely three weeks. Apparently his death crippled her. She was very devoted to him. She had served as a cook in our house for more than thirty years.¡±

    I listen more and more closely. It turns out that Baron Grondezh was not the only one who died in this house in the last six weeks. It seems to me that these two deaths may very well be linked. Moreover, I would not be surprised if the connection between them is not that the death of the Baron undermined the health of the cook.

    ¡°Could you tell us a little about court life?¡± Yolanda asks us. ¡°It is so true that news has a hard time reaching us!¡±

    ¡°With pleasure.¡±

    I take the initiative into my hands, and for a while entertain Yolanda, as well as others present, with amusing gossip about our court, trying to avoid stories that are directly related to the Duke or our numerous confrontations with Estley. After all there is no need to test the patience of my "groom" any further.

    My babbling is interrupted by the rustling noise caused by a rather large terrier which runs into the room. The dog, which has, by its appearance, a cheerful and restless temperament, dashes back and forth across the room, rubbing lightly against our feet, checking to see whether something tasty has fallen from the table, finally lets out a bark and rushes to the second door.

    ¡°Oggy!¡± enthusiastically cries out the child, who has been silent until now.

    Stretching out his hand in the direction of the terrier, he excitedly opens his mouth. The nanny, who has been having little success in feeding the baby until now, immediately takes advantage of this chance. All her previous attempts have ended the same way: the child''s lips stretch into a mischievous smile, and close up tightly. Now the nurse, with considerable sleight of hand, shoves a spoon into the gaping mouth. After realizing how shamelessly he has been deceived, the boy looks at the nurse with genuine reproach, but still swallows the mashed potatoes. Nanny becomes still again, in a deceptively relaxed posture.

    ¡°Is the dog''s name Oggy?" I ask in surprise.

    The siblings laugh.

    ¡°No,¡± said Alexander. ¡°In his baby language Oggy means "dog". The dog is actually named Jack.¡±

    Yolanda''s lips stretch into a sad nostalgic smile.

    ¡°I was reminded of Norrey,¡± she explains to Alexander. ¡°At about that age he had a toy poodle, which he called Udi. For a long time he called all animals that.

    Alexander shakes his head and covered Yolanda''s hand with his.¡±

    ¡°Norrey? A relative of yours?¡± I decide to ask.

    ¡°He was our brother,¡± says the girl. ¡°He was a year older than Alexander. He died a few years ago.¡±

    ¡°Oh, please forgive me, I''m very sorry.¡±

    Another death? However, perhaps it happened too long ago to be relevant to today''s strange events. But who knows? Sometimes these stories drag on for many years. Meticulously hidden skeletons sit quietly for a long time in their closets, only to suddenly break out.

    Dinner is coming to an end. Some are still finishing dessert; the others, having set aside the empty dish, are engaging in leisurely conversation. All participants carefully try to avoid difficult topics from that point on. I decide that it is now time to prepare to actually meet the ghost.

    ¡°If you do not mind, I''ll leave you, gentlemen.¡± I smile apologetically. ¡°I''m a little tired from the road. I assume Ricardo will be able to show me my room?¡±

    ¡°Oh no.¡± Alexander''s lips stretch into a mischievous smile. ¡°From the manner of your communication with Lord Cameron, my sister and I realized what a close relationship you have. So we decided not to create any inconvenience for you, imposing unnecessary moral standards. So we ordered that your belongings be left in the same room as before.¡±

    ¡°So you''re saying that Lord Cameron and I will spend the night in the same room?" I babble for some reason, clarifying the obvious.

    ¡°That''s right,¡± Yolanda confirms, obviously pleased. ¡°You shouldn''t separate lovers, even for a short while.¡± Then, leaning close to my ear, she adds: ¡°Believe me, Lady Inessa; I''m just in awe of your relationship.¡±

    I could only swallow convulsively. Coming out of the dining room, I feel Estley biting back a grin.

    ----------------

    24-hour discount! On July 7, 2016 Half a Step Away from Love by Olga Kuno for only 0.99$

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 Chapter Fourteen

    "If you cannot get rid of the family skeleton, you may as well make it dance."

    George Bernard Shaw

    Luckily Estley stays behind with the company downstairs, so I can wash myself and change in peace. Understandably, I do not stay only in my undergarments. Not only because I am going to have to spend the night in the same room as Estley, but also because soon I am going to leave this room. After all I can''t exactly call the ghost right in front of Lord Cameron. I will have to wait until he falls asleep, and then search for an available room. So I decide to put on a negligee, seeing as such a dress is considered quite appropriate for a domestic evening, and besides, the "groom" in any case has already had the opportunity to see me like this. In the meantime, I decide to take advantage of my short-term freedom to talk to the maid about the topics that interest me.

    ¡°Our hosts seem to be very nice people.¡± I say, sitting in front of a mirror, while the maid takes apart my hairdo, removing multiple hairpins. ¡°They are handling the tragedy quite well. It must have been very hard for them to lose their father.¡±

    ¡°Yes, they took it very badly,¡± she confirms, laying another hairpin on the nightstand. Although, frankly, they shouldn''t have. He was a very difficult man.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± I sit up and perk my ears. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°He was very strict,¡± willingly responds the maid, who is clearly not averse to talking. A very common weakness among the representatives of her profession, which for me has often been a blessing in disguise. ¡°He always adhered to all those different rules ¨C every little thing had to be very proper and to his liking.¡±

    ¡°Well, maybe it''s not such a bad thing?¡± I comment ¡ª mildly, so as not to frighten away the girl who is so eager to share information.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± she agrees readily, deftly wielding the comb. ¡°If he had imposed it only on himself. But he did not ¡ª the whole house had to live according to his orders. I''m not talking about us servants ¡ª after all, that''s our way of life, and besides, the Master was a generous and kind man, so I can''t complain. But I felt sorry for the children. Imagine being young, when this isn''t allowed, that is indecent, that way is inappropriate, these you shan''t visit, those you shan''t invite over, don''t wear these dresses, don''t play cards... We could stay here till morning, listing them.¡± She shrugs. ¡°That''s how we lived. He seemed like a good man and loved his children, but in some matters he was as stubborn as a mule. He had very few people over, as though he shied away from people. It''s a good thing that at least he took in his grandson no questions asked, even though he was born in sin. But he wouldn¡¯t let his daughter live her own life.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± I was surprised.

    ¡°Why I don''t know, only he chased all her suitors away,¡± explains the maid. ¡°One he thought wasn¡¯t good enough, one was too poor, another¡¯s family wasn¡¯t proper enough. One was too much of a ladies'' man, and one involved in something suspicious. Well, so on and so forth. Although there were quite worthy suitors, and from rich families and noble ones too ¡ª some nobler than ours,¡± she adds, lowering her voice. ¡°And Lady Yolanda, she is a normal girl, she''s wasting away in this neck of the woods, especially without company. Lord Alexander had a little more freedom, since he''s a man.¡±

    ¡°What about the third son?¡± I fish for more information. ¡°Norrey, I think his name was?¡±

    ¡°Oh, that one,¡± drawls the maid. Her expression becomes disapproving, even disgusted. He died five years ago. Fortunately, I hadn''t started working here yet at the time, so I didn''t get to meet him. It''s for the best.¡±

    ¡°Why, was there something wrong with him?¡±

    She finishes working on my hair and starts to mix ingredients in a bowl for the preparation of a special liquid which I use to wash my face. The smell of lavender and other herbs begins to fill the room.

    ¡°Wrong is a bit of an understatement,¡± she snorts. ¡°He worshiped Orend. The Templers outlawed him and were going to have him arrested. It was then that he was killed while trying to escape.¡±

    I do not have to pretend being shocked: I really did not expect to hear something like that about this family. Orend is one of the gods ¡ª a fallen god, who was overthrown and banished from heaven. He is considered to be the embodiment of evil, cruelty, and the dark side of the soul. Worshipping him is strictly prohibited, and punishable by death. It is believed that his supporters perform terrible and cruel rituals, which include animal and even human sacrifices. Whether this is true I don''t know ¡ª I have never encountered anything like this. If people who worship Orend do exist, they are very few in number and certainly do not flaunt their beliefs.

    ¡°However, some believe that it was not his fault,¡± says the maid. ¡°They say he was just slandered. From her tone it is clear that she herself doesn''t think it to be true. To me it seemed, on the contrary, very likely. It is much easier to believe in a case of slander than in the terrible villain who plunges a knife into the heart of a ritual sacrifice while praying to a dark god. "But I do not believe it," states the girl. "I mean, obviously for the family members, it''s hard to believe their son and brother was guilty. But frankly, if he were innocent, why would he try to escape?¡±

    The last argument does not strike me as all that convincing, but I say nothing. Especially considering that the liquid for washing my face is finally ready. Soon the maid leaves and I am left to ponder what I have heard. Another half an hour later Estley enters the room.

    His mood seems to be better than ever, which makes my own plummet at once.

    ¡°Lady Inessa,¡± the Count announces as he sits down on the bed. ¡°I have thought about it and I have decided to meet you halfway. After all, you did not expect to be in such a delicate situation, and I as a man should exercise tact. So I''ll let you choose. What do you prefer ¡ª to sleep on the left side or the right?¡±

    ¡°I prefer to sleep alone,¡± I respond sarcastically, studiously ignoring the irony of the question.¡±

    ¡°Which is fundamentally wrong of you,¡± says Estley.

    ¡°I know,¡± I reply. ¡°You were kind enough to enlighten me on this subject during our dance together. But let me make my own decisions on this issue. Even if they are wrong.¡±

    ¡°In some ways you''re right,¡± says Lord Cameron. ¡°One should persist in one''s erroneous ways. They tell far more about our nature than our virtues do.¡±

    ¡°Well, if you agreed that I am right,¡± I say softly. "Then maybe you''ll do the gentlemanly thing and go to sleep on the couch?¡±

    I look at the narrow sofa, which was fortunately put in the room in addition to a double bed.

    ¡°No way,¡± Estley snaps. ¡°As we have already established, I do not claim to be a gentleman. Let me remind you, my dear lady, that I''m the one who was invited to this house. You are here on your own initiative and under false pretenses. Almost under a false name. Not only did I go along with your deception, now you want me to give you my lawful bed? If you want, join me. I am willing to offer you any side of the bed of your choice.¡±

    ¡°In this case you will promise not to take advantage of the situation?¡± I ask, tilting my head to one side.

    No, I am not going to sleep with Estley in any case. Gods forbid! Moreover, I cannot guarantee that I wouldn''t take advantage of the situation myself... I am just curious how he will answer the question.

    ¡°Lady Inessa.¡± His lips curl into a shameless smile. ¡±I always take advantage of the situation.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± I smile in response ¡°In that case, I''ll take the couch. And let you be ashamed of yourself.¡±

    ¡°Don''t keep your hopes up,¡± Estley assures me.

    I sit on the couch, every bit as demonstratively as he had sat on the bed a few minutes before. Estley again shrugs out of the coat and proceeds to the vest.

    ¡°At least give me a sheet: you have three of them!¡±

    There really were three sets of sheets, as expected in decent homes. One to spread on the mattress, the second one for a person to cover themselves, the third buttoned to the top of the blanket and spread over the second.

    Perhaps the Count is less than willing to share those linens, but I am faster: even before he realizes what is happening, I pull a sheet off the bed.

    There are pillows on the couch, and as for a blanket, I had time to find an extra one in the room beforehand. I extinguish the candles without requesting the opinion of my roommate in this respect, and allegedly settle for the night. In actual fact, I wait.

    Sometime later, Estley begins to breathe evenly. I wait a few minutes to be sure, slide off the couch, take my shoes in my hand, and walk out of the room barefoot.

    Outside it is very dark: pitch dark. One could easily fall down a staircase without the help of any ghosts. However, a push in the back is a different matter ¡ª darkness is not going to do it. Although if we get to the bottom of it, the darkness in this case could be very helpful. The offender, if there really was one, could lurk behind the door, wait until the frightened girl runs out, push her in the right direction, and disappear back into the night before anyone would notice.

    The question is: what does the ghost have to do with the whole incident? I am hoping to find out firsthand soon.

    At first I just move slowly, relying on touch, taking tiny steps, my hand groping the wall. Then my eyes slowly begin to adjust to the darkness around me. Not that I can see well, but I can make out the vague outlines of the corridor and a row of doors along the left side of it; this helps me to navigate. Fortunately, I have found a room in advance, located on this floor and not used as a bedroom. Going down the stairs in this darkness would be risky, even without anyone trying to push me in the back.

    I slip into the room, which serves, apparently, as a kind of a small living room designed for the owners of the house, and close the door behind me. It is a little lighter than the hallway, due to the moonlight coming through the large window. The thin white curtain doesn''t prove to be a serious obstacle.

    Nevertheless, I light a candle: this is necessary for the summoning ritual. I cannot anticipate the result of this ritual. It is possible that there are several ghosts inhabiting the house ¡ª Baron Grondezh, or his late son Norrey, or the cook who died recently, as well as anyone else about whom I do not know could come to my call. But it is pointless to guess, so I just start working. I run my hand over the candle flame several times. First away from me, then towards me.

    I was right, thinking that the outcome could not be predicted in advance. Nobody answers my summons ¡ª no one at all.

    After making sure that waiting any longer would be pointless, I extinguish the candle, and just quietly slip out of the room. Then I freeze, leaning against the wall, as I hear voices.

    ¡°We need to be more careful. Someone could see us together.¡±

    It is a female voice. I think I know to whom it belongs.

    ¡°Do not worry. Everybody is asleep.¡±

    A male voice this time. This one is more difficult to place, although I have one suspect in mind...

    ¡°Lord Cameron has a very keen eye, and he''s very smart. He leads complex investigations in the palace. I feel as though he took one good look at us, and immediately understood everything. If he finds out everything, I would die of shame.¡±

    ¡°Don''t worry, he didn''t figure out anything. You just believably stated what you are afraid of. I kept a close eye on him. Nothing of the sort even crossed his mind. Come on. You''ll catch cold here in the draft.¡±

    The door closest to me opens. I flatten myself against the wall. The light from the candles burning in the room illuminates the hallway for a few seconds. This enables me to see the profile of the man entering the bedroom.

    This is quite an unexpected turn of events. Lady Yolanda Grondezh and Ricardo. Are they lovers? It is very likely. But how does it help me understand the strange events occurring in this house? Well, as of right now, it doesn''t seem to. It does explain why Ricardo was close enough to Yolanda¡¯s quarters that he managed to prevent her fall. As for the rest, it is rather unlikely their relationship could shed any light on this story. As far as I could tell, Ricardo is not interested in the girl''s death. Quite the contrary. Assuming that he pursued mercantile interests, as a lover, he would be able to get quite a lot out of his mistress: money, privileges, and valuable things. But if she were killed his sweet life would come to an end. He could not count on inheritance: the laws in this regard are strict and very clear. The title, the house and the main property would be transferred to the next of kin, in accordance with clearly established precedent.

    The silence of the dead of night is disrupted by my loud scream. Estley jumps out of bed and, not without surprise, finds me on the floor near the foot of the bed. However, waking him up does not bother me at all. On the contrary, I continue to scream even more loudly, with periodic high-pitched shrieks. Covering my face with my hands, I yell at the risk of losing my voice, while completely ignoring all of the Count''s attempts to bring me to my senses.

    The room quickly fills with people. They run in, wearing practically the same clothes in which they have been sleeping, throwing on top the first thing that came to hand. Yolanda, Ricardo, Alexander, the aunt ¨C who rushes, by the way, just as fast as all the others ¡ª two maids; even the nanny runs into the room.

    ¡°What happened?¡±

    This question is directed either at me or at Estley, but the latter fails to provide an answer. Swallowing convulsively, I finally lower my hands from my face and take a glass of water from Ricardo.

    ¡°It... it was awful!¡± I take a few sips, holding the glass with both hands, as if hugging it to myself, and cling onto it as if it were a lifeline. ¡°I''ve seen a ghost!¡±

    ¡°A ghost?¡±

    This word is repeated by several voices, one after the other.

    I nod and hold out my hand with the glass, looking around disoriented, as if I could not understand what to do with it now. Estley takes the glass from me and puts it on the floor near me.

    ¡°It was a ghost.¡± I say again, pressing my hand to my solar plexus.

    ¡°What did it look like?¡± the aunt asks me almost in a businesslike manner.

    ¡°It was a man. Sixty years old, maybe a little more,¡± I begin to describe, while stuttering periodically. ¡°He was gray-haired. Of medium height. And with a... a dimple in his chin.¡±

    ¡°Cousin!¡± Exclaims the aunt, and the rest begin whispering among themselves in agreement.

    My description corresponds exactly to the appearance of the late Baron.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    ¡°What happened then? Did he say anything? ¡± Yolanda asks excitedly.

    I curl into a small ball, fragile, ready to cry.

    ¡°He was completely naked,¡± I say plaintively. ¡°Had absolutely no clothes on. And went straight at me. And he said...¡± I sobbed. ¡°He said, ''Give yourself to me, maiden! I have not had a woman in such a long time!''" I shrank into the wall, and he went straight at me, and he had such a big...¡± I press my hand to my mouth, and then bury my face in my hands. ¡°It was terrifying,¡± I finish. ¡°Then I screamed and he disappeared.¡±

    I stop and pick the glass back up. I squeeze it so hard that it seems that a little more and the glass will break. I stare at the floor, my lips trembling pitifully.

    Everyone is silent. No one knows how to react to my words. Estley is the first to act.

    ¡°Gentlemen, I apologize. As you can see, my fianc¨¦e is very upset. I think she has had a bad dream. Please leave us. She needs rest.¡±

    These words, though polite, are uttered in a tone that would not bear objections. Everybody leaves the room quickly.

    ¡°Well, now,¡± says Estley after the last visitor closed the door ¡°If you please, Lady Inessa, explain to me what this whole scene was about.¡±

    The Count rises to his feet ¡ª until this point he has been sitting on his haunches beside me ¡ª and stares at me with a demanding look.

    ¡°Why do you think this was just a scene?¡± I ask, setting the glass aside.

    ¡°Are you trying to convince me that you have experienced such a vision?¡± he asks sarcastically. ¡°Of course, I have mentioned that you should not neglect close contact with men, but I had no idea that your situation in this respect was so dire.¡±

    He probably is still saying something, but I stop paying attention to him. Because an unfamiliar man enters the room, right through the wall. About sixty years old, gray-haired, and with a dimple on his chin. And he is very, very angry.

    ¡°Who are you?¡± he exclaims angrily. ¡°How dare you say such nasty things about me? Such nonsense, defaming my good name!¡±

    ¡°I knew that this little performance would make you appear,¡± I respond with satisfaction, rising to my feet.

    ¡°What?" He stares at me. The ghost is, by the way, perfectly well dressed: shirt, vest, trousers, jacket ¡ª all as expected. ¡°Shameless girl! It''s outrageous! How do you even know what I look like?¡±

    ¡°Family portraits.¡± I smile. ¡°They hang on the first floor. I have carefully studied your appearance.¡±

    ¡°You are an arrogant and cunning schemer.¡± The ghost accusatorily stretches out his hand. ¡°What will my descendants think of me?¡±

    ¡°It''s your own fault,¡± I shrug. ¡°You could have come when I called you nicely. But for some reason you ignored my call. Don''t you think that''s inhospitable? You are, after all, the head of the household. Meanwhile, I have come from far away, and for the sole purpose of talking to you.¡±

    ¡°To me?¡± The ghost becomes interested to the point of briefly forgetting that he is still angry with me. ¡°Why is that?¡±

    ¡°A friend of yours asked me to,¡± I reply. Then, seeing the look of surprise on his face, I explain: ¡°She resides in the Duke''s palace in the same way you do in this mansion. She was worried by the news of what is happening in your home. Lord Grondezh, why do you frighten your children and their household? Don''t you think that this is not the way to treat your relatives, even if you are a ghost?¡±

    ¡°I do not,¡± the Baron snapped. ¡°It does not concern you, my dear. Not in the least. You are a stranger in my house, and I do not owe you any information.¡±

    ¡°I am a stranger,¡± I agree. ¡°But as it happens, none of the members of your family have the ability to communicate with ghosts. So I am here to serve as an intermediary between you. An interpreter, if you will.¡±

    ¡°Why would you be willing to do that?¡± he asks suspiciously.

    ¡°I''m telling you: your friend asked me to.¡±

    ¡°It does not matter,¡± the ghost cuts me off. ¡°I''m not going to tell you anything. It''s my house, and I''m going to do what I want.¡±

    ¡°But you understand that this cannot go on.¡± I try to appeal to his common sense. If you do not care about your daughter''s feelings, think about her life. She has twice nearly fallen down the stairs because of your tricks.¡±

    ¡°Nothing could be further from the truth!¡± the Baron exclaims emotionally. ¡°I would not cause harm to my daughter.¡±

    ¡°But you frightened her right when she stood on the edge of the stairs,¡± I insist.

    ¡°No!¡± snaps the ghost. ¡°I tell you, I did nothing of the sort. And that''s it. Kindly refrain from spreading false rumors about me, as you did today. But if you want to pass a message on to my relatives... Tell my daughter to leave this house. It would be best if Alexander and my grandson left too, but it is most important that Yolanda does so. This house is very old, and in many respects not suitable for living. She has enough money to build herself a new, modern and comfortable home. And even better: she could travel and go to the Mirror Valley, or abroad. She can rest, unwind. She has no reason to stay here. That''s all I''m going to tell you.¡±

    He flashes me a final angry look and disappears.

    I purse my lips and turn my back to the place where the ghost was recently present. I shall consider his words carefully. But then I meet Estley''s gaze. Damn! I''d forgotten that all this time he was here!

    ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡± I ask in exasperation. ¡°Yeah, sometimes I talk to myself. So what?¡±

    ¡°God damn it!¡± Estley suddenly explodes. ¡°You are ready to make an idiot out of yourself rather than talk to me like a normal human being?¡±

    He even shakes me by the shoulders, but then almost immediately returns to being his calm and composed self.

    ¡°What did the ghost of the Baron say to you?¡± asks the Count matter-of-factly.

    My eyes widen in surprise.

    ¡°You believe in ghosts?¡±

    ¡°Stop trying to confuse me,¡± winces Estley. ¡°Even though I am not able to communicate with ghosts, I am perfectly aware of their existence. I told you that I''m well aware of what is going on in the palace. Do you think I don''t know that it is inhabited by otherworldly beings? So let''s not beat around the bush. Sit down!¡±

    By the tone it sounds like an order, and I hasten to obey it, for fear of provoking a resurgence of anger. Estley contentedly nods and sits down on a chair, having put it down in front of my couch.

    ¡°Now tell me why you came here. The real reason. My patience is beginning to run out.¡±

    Like a good girl, I put my hands on my knees and begin to tell the story. After all, I have no reason to hide the truth anymore.

    ¡°A friend of mine asked me to do it. She is a ghost,¡± I clarify, glancing suspiciously at Estley, still expecting him to snort in disbelief at any moment. But he does not even bat an eye. ¡°She lives in the palace. Her friend, with whom I spoke, personally knew the Baron during her life. Recently she has heard rumors of events in this house, and she was very surprised and concerned because, according to her, such behavior is not like the Baron at all. After what I have learned about him in the last few hours, I am inclined to agree with her. So here I am.¡±

    ¡°I already understood how you made the Baron meet with you.¡± Estley''s face is unreadable, and I cannot fathom what he thinks of my methods to guarantee the meeting. ¡°What did he say to you? Did he shed any light on the events that have taken place here?¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately: no, he didn''t,¡± I reply, thinking back to the conversation with the ghost. ¡°He indirectly admitted that he is actually the one frightening the household at night. But why he is doing it he refused to explain. In general, he spoke to me very reluctantly, and then only because I gave him no choice¡± I wonder whether I am trying to justify my behavior in some way... I hasten to banish the thought. ¡°Still, he said two interesting things. First, he categorically stated that he did not try to make Yolanda fall down the stairs. He underscored that he had nothing to do with these cases. Second, he told me to convey to his children that they should leave the house as soon as they can. And as I understand: forever.¡±

    ¡°His children?¡± asks Estley.

    ¡°Mainly Yolanda,¡± I clarify. ¡°His son and grandson too, but somehow it is less urgent. But Yolanda, judging by his words, should leave the house as soon as possible and the further she goes the better.¡±

    Estley taps his fingers on his knee.

    ¡°We have two options,¡± I start to say, gauging my companion''s reaction. No negative reaction to my words follows, so I continue. ¡°Either the Baron is trying to warn his children about something, which is why he started the whole nocturnal intimidation thing. He wants them to feel that staying here would be unbearable, or at the very least they should just leave the house because of the constant stress, without questioning it any further. Another possibility is that their presence in the house simply interferes with his own plans, or with the plans of those he''s helping. However, the first option seems much more likely to me.¡±

    ¡°I agree: I am also leaning towards the first option,¡± confirms Estley.

    I simply nod.

    ¡°Especially since a ghost is really unable to push a person in the back.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asks with interest.

    ¡°Absolutely.¡±

    ¡°So, let''s consider as a working hypothesis that someone absolutely material has been trying to kill the young woman. Twice, so far as it seems; while the ghost of the Baron is striving to warn her of the danger.¡± Estley rises from his chair and slowly walks around the room, his hands behind his back. ¡°But if so, why didn''t he just tell you everything? After all, that would be the easiest way to save his daughter.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it really would have been the more logical course of action.¡± I agree. ¡°Unless he has a good reason to shield the killer.¡±

    ¡°You do have a theory.¡± This is a statement, not a question. ¡°Do you know who tried to kill Yolanda?¡±

    ¡°I think I do.¡± I correct.

    ¡°Do tell.¡±

    He sits back again, crossing his legs and prepared to listen. Well, I see no reason to hide my conclusions from him.

    ¡°The principle of "Cui bono[1]</a>" never goes out of fashion,¡± I shrug. ¡°There is only one person who would benefit if Yolanda were to die. After the father''s death the bulk of the estate goes to the eldest child. Therefore, Alexander received only a small amount of money. But in case of Yolanda''s death he, as her younger brother, would inherit everything. The title, the house, the land and the income they generate. It is, after all, one of the most common causes for murder.¡±

    ¡°Do you believe that the assassinations were attempted for money?¡± Estley cocks his head.

    ¡°In most cases, material gain is the motive,¡± I state my point of view. ¡°It could be, of course, that some woman was jealous of Yolanda, and wanted to get rid of the competition. We could also assume that Yolanda was blackmailing someone, and that person is trying to remove the threat in a radical way. But all of that is nothing more than speculation. Besides the fact that all I have learned about Yolanda makes both these options seem extremely unlikely. Whereas in the case of the brother the motive lies on the surface. It''s so convenient to blame it all on a ghost. The girl was frightened, ran out of the room, fell down the stairs. Otherworldly forces plus an unfortunate coincidence. There is another thing. You know that the Baron¡¯s middle son was accused in his time of worshiping Orend? What am I saying? Of course you know.¡± Estley nods, raising an eyebrow in surprise at how quickly I managed to find out such details about the family.

    ¡°Frankly speaking, I have never met any of those people. However, I heard that it is not their religious beliefs that lead them down this path. Rather, we are talking about people with a perverse predilection to violence. The cult of Orend simply gives them the opportunity to express this tendency, giving it a kind of legitimacy.¡±

    ¡°I, too, am familiar with such a theory,¡± confirms Estley, "and I think it is not far from the truth. But what does the middle son of the Baron have to do with anything?"

    ¡°Given that the abnormal inclination for cruelty is often an inherited quality,¡± I explain, ¡°and, therefore, if it is passed on to one brother, it could have easily have been passed on to the second one. But the second one may simply have been smarter than the first, and would not expose himself to the danger of indulging in the forbidden cult. He would allow himself to act only when he had a real goal. Finally, if Alexander is the offender, it explains the Baron''s reluctance to talk. Yes, he wants to save his daughter, but he still cares for his son, in spite of everything.¡±

    ¡°You are right in the fact that all this does sound logical,¡± Estley agrees. ¡°I would applaud you, but in your theory there is one problem, although you could not have known about it.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± I ask curiously.

    ¡°The thing is that it was Alexander Grondezh who invited me here and asked me to find out who made the attempts on his sister''s life and why,¡± says Estley. ¡°You have to agree that to do so just for appearance''s sake, or to deflect suspicion, would be, to put it mildly, quite presumptuous on his part.¡±

    There I have to agree. For appearance''s sake it would make sense to refer to any low ranking officer of the royal guard, who is no one special, and if possible is terribly afraid of ghosts. Inviting to his house the second person in the duchy, well known for his keen intelligence, meticulousness and ¡ª in certain cases ¡ª ruthlessness, would at least have been stupid. While Alexander certainly does not come across as a fool.

    ¡°I agree,¡± I admit. ¡°In this case, his involvement is unlikely. What are the other options? Why are you looking at me like that?¡±

    Estley really seems in no hurry to respond, and instead gives me either an appraising, or just a curious look.

    ¡°You do not dig in your heels, insisting on your own version after it has been proven to be invalid,¡± he says. ¡°It''s a very good quality.¡±

    ¡°In my opinion, it''s just simple logic,¡± I say, pretending not to be flattered by the compliment.

    ¡°It is,¡± Estley agrees. ¡°But if you knew how much effort and time I have to waste because of people who do not wish to follow this logic.... So,¡± he stretches, throwing a glance at his watch, and then looking at me intently. ¡°Let''s think what other possibilities there are.¡±

    [1]</a> "to whose benefit" (Latin)

    ----------------

    24-hour discount! On July 7, 2016 Half a Step Away from Love by Olga Kuno for only 0.99$

    https://www.royalroad.com/amazon/B01GGEWA88</a>

 Chapter Fifteen

    "She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older ¨C the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning."

    Jane Austen

    ¡°There are not so many candidates, in fact,¡± Estley begins to speculate. ¡°It is quite obvious that the offender lives in the mansion. Just in case, I have checked whether an intruder would be able to enter the house at night on a regular basis.¡±

    ¡°What did you discover?¡± I ask.

    ¡°It is extremely unlikely.¡±

    By the way the Count winces, I realize: he doesn''t even consider this option, but he used the word "unlikely" only because he does not like to operate with such concepts as "impossible".

    ¡°So, we can list the suspects,¡± continues Estley. ¡°Family members: Yolanda, Alexander, and the late Baron''s cousin. At the same time, Alexander can be eliminated because of the aforementioned reason. Yolanda is herself a victim.¡±

    ¡°Incidentally, this fact does not guarantee her innocence,¡± I muse. ¡°In the end, she could have made up all of these assassinations. It is unclear for what purpose, but then a lot of things are unclear in this whole case. Let''s just say that it is probably not she; however, I would not cross her off the list of suspects just yet.¡±

    Estley nods in agreement.

    ¡°Let''s continue. Senior servants. Those are first of all the nanny ¡ª she is almost a part of the family ¡ª and the butler, Ricardo Ortalier.¡±

    I bite my lip. Should I tell the Count about Yolanda''s relationship with the butler? On the one hand, it seems as though I shouldn''t. This is the young woman''s private life, her own business, a mystery that I stumbled upon quite by accident, and that most likely doesn''t have anything to do with our case. Besides, Yolanda was extremely afraid of Estley finding out about this. On the other hand, what if this fact is actually important for the investigation?

    ¡°I carefully checked the alibis of the four ¡ª the relatives and senior servants,¡± Estley continues. ¡°None of them have one. This is not surprising, given that both assassination attempts occurred at night. Then there are the other servants. There are more of them ¡ª fourteen people. Actually, fifteen if you count the thirteen-year-old errand boy. I did not delve into their alibis, but it is likely that most of them don''t have one either, for the same reason. In general, there are not too many possible suspects: it is not a palace. We shall certainly find the culprit. But the reluctance of our hosts to be exposed to any publicity is certainly throwing a twist into our work. The need to keep matters private significantly slows down the process.¡±

    ¡°Speaking of publicity...¡±

    Finally casting aside any lingering doubts, I tell Estley of the conversation I overheard.

    ¡°So you think that these two are lovers?¡± he asks, when my short story comes to an end.

    ¡°It seems so, yes,¡± I respond. ¡°Actually, it''s not so surprising, given the character of the late Baron. He would not allow anyone to approach his daughter, absolutely rejecting all suitors as unworthy and inappropriate. What was she to do? In fact, taking the butler as a lover is the most logical move in that situation. In a way, he is not even really a servant. The way I see it, his job is more to look after the other servants, and in the case of the absence of the hosts he remains in charge here. I would compare him to the castellan in the castle. In short, I can understand Yolanda, and I believe that we should not expose her relationship, unless there''s a really good reason.¡±

    ¡°Well, in that case we will have to check Ricardo Ortalier independently, without involving aides,¡± Estley concludes. It''s good that you told me everything. I really was not aware of it. This can be important. The butler had already struck me as suspicious.¡±

    ¡°How are you going to investigate him?¡± I ask curiously.

    ¡°First, I''ll look in his bed,¡± he says calmly.

    My eyes widen in surprise, and Estley laughs.

    ¡°I''ll search his room,¡± he explains. ¡°In most cases, when people do not have a safe, they hide their most valuable things near their bed. Put it under the mattress, arrange a makeshift hiding place in the floor or just very simply hide it under the pillow. It makes them feel that the object is as safe and sound as can be. In fact, they just make the search much easier.¡±

    ¡°So you think Ricardo is hiding something that could compromise him in his bedroom?¡±

    ¡°If Ricardo has something that might compromise him, then most likely, yes. However, until we find it, we don''t know for sure.¡±

    ¡°Do you want to go now?¡±

    Despite the late hour, I am eager for some action.

    ¡°At night? ¡°Estley looks at me incredulously. ¡°When he is sleeping peacefully in his bed? You know, if he sees you in your daring outfit pawing over his bed, he may interpret it incorrectly.¡±

    ¡°He won''t,¡± I grimace in response to his undisguised derision. ¡°Because, most likely, he''s in a completely different bed right now. I''m telling you, I saw him entering Yolanda''s bedroom. Certainly after my performance they returned there.¡±

    ¡°On the contrary,¡± says Estley. ¡°Your performance caused a considerable stir in the house. Not only did Yolanda and Ricardo run out of their rooms, but many others. So those two couldn''t just leave together. The butler was forced to return to his room, so as not to arouse suspicion.¡±

    ¡°He probably went back to Yolanda''s room as soon as the dust settled,¡± I continue to insist.

    ¡°I don''t think so,¡± Estley shakes his head. ¡°Most likely, they decided not to risk getting caught again: what if someone were unable to sleep and decided to walk around the house? So I assume that this night will be a completely chaste one for our butler.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± I sigh, considering his arguments. ¡°When, then, do you propose to pay a visit to his room?¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow morning,¡± Estley responds. ¡°When he is busy with work. And now ¡ª unless, of course, there are any more performances on our schedule ¡ª I propose we go to bed.¡±

    I do not argue: given the length of the trip, the day was tiring. At some point I see uncertainty flash in Estley''s eyes, and it seems to me that he is going to propose that we switch beds. But in the end he says nothing, and each of us tries to settle comfortably where we originally planned to.

    ¡°I''ll quickly search the room while you stand out here on the lookout and give me a sign if anyone approaches,¡± orders Estley.

    We stand at the threshold of Ricardo''s bedroom, which is located on the ground floor, in an empty semi-dark hallway.

    ¡°Well, I will not!¡± I am indignant. ¡°Let''s do it the other way around. I''ll go inside and you wait out here.¡±

    ¡°Why on earth would I do that?¡± Estley frowns angrily.

    ¡°And why on earth should I have to stand here and click my heels?¡± I retort.

    ¡°Because I know how to conduct a search properly,¡± Estley replies. ¡°While you have no experience with such things.¡±

    ¡°Not true at all,¡± I retort. ¡°Quite the contrary. You have a crowd of subordinates, and you most likely do not personally conduct searches. While I am used to doing everything myself.¡±

    ¡°That''s why I suggest,¡± snickers Estley. ¡°That you yourself stand out here in the corridor.¡±

    I purse my lips and put my hands on my hips.

    ¡°Maybe I should remind you who managed to steal the portrait from the Duke''s safe?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps I should remind you who stopped you from stealing it? ¡°

    ¡°Strictly speaking, I still managed to take it out of the office.¡±

    ¡°Strictly speaking, you didn''t have time to use it. Damn! How do you do that?¡± He huffs in a fit of temper.

    ¡°What exactly?¡± I do not understand.

    ¡°Draw me into these stupid, childish squabbles! Damn you, you want to go ¡ª go!¡±

    ¡°Great! I will!" I rub my hands in anticipation, and step over the threshold.

    ¡°Do you have any idea,¡± Estley grabs me around the waist. "What risk you are running? If anyone were to come back here, it would be you caught in a stranger¡¯s room.¡±

    ¡°So what? You will then rescue me.¡±

    ¡°Do not even think about it! I will just pretend that I happened to be passing by.¡±

    ¡°Well, well. In that case, I will climb out through the window. I am used to it after all.¡±

    With these words, I slip into the room, leaving the Count to swear under his breath outside.

    I do not have to look long. Estley was right. It was enough to move the pillow from the headboard and look under the mattress. There I find a folded sheet of paper. I quickly scan the document, which is written in a beautiful cursive handwriting. My eyes widen and I reread it, this time more carefully, just to make sure that my eyes did not deceive me, and that I understood everything correctly. Although it would be hard to misread that.

    ¡°Well, what is it?¡± Estley calls demandingly.

    From where he stands he can see that I have found something interesting. I walk over to him.

    ¡°It seems that we don''t have to look any further.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Quite.¡±

    ¡°Then let''s go. This is not the best place to study any materials.¡±

    With these words, Estley starts walking quickly down the corridor. I try to catch up with the Count, marveling at his ability to control his own curiosity. I would have insisted on knowing the contents of the document immediately.

    "I hereby certify that Ricardo Ortalier and Yolanda Grondezh were joined in holy matrimony on this sixth day of May ¡­", Estley reads out loud.

    Once again we settle in the room allocated to us, which has been converted by this weird twist of fate into a council room of sorts.

    ¡°This fundamentally changes the situation, does it not?¡± I say, crossing my legs. ¡°Now Ricardo is Yolanda''s heir, not Alexander.¡±

    ¡°Thus the principle of ''who benefits'' points to a different man,¡± Estley says, as if to himself. ¡°No wonder he looked suspicious to me. His behavior has not been entirely consistent with that of a servant ¡ª even a higher ranking one.¡±

    ¡°I feel sorry for the girl,¡± I say.

    ¡°Yeah, Lady Yolanda has landed herself in quite a situation.¡± Lord Cameron shakes his head.

    ¡°I''m still inclined to blame her father, first and foremost,¡± I reply, looking around just in case, to see if the Baron has heard us and considers it necessary to express his own point of view on the matter.

    ¡°It''s not about who is to blame, but rather who has to face the consequences,¡± Estley states. ¡°First and foremost Lady Yolanda created problems for herself. Moreover, apparently quite serious ones.¡±

    ¡°It''s true.¡± I agree. ¡°Did you notice the fact that the marriage ceremony took place just a week before the Baron''s death?¡±

    ¡°I did,¡± confirms Estley. Then again, that''s not surprising at all. For a person like him to overlook such a detail? ¡°I have also learned that Ricardo started to work in the mansion only a short while before that.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡±

    My eyebrows shoot up.

    ¡°About two weeks prior to the wedding. At first I noticed it but did not consider it to be of great importance. But the information we have discovered makes the circumstances look quite different. So let¡¯s recap what we have. A man whose detailed background we have yet to clarify is hired to work in the Grondezh family home. Taking advantage of the fact that the daughter of the Baron ¡ª the main heir ¡ª leads a secluded life in a way, and is deprived of male attention, he seduces her and secretly persuades her to become his wife. A week after they are married, the baron dies, allegedly succumbing to an illness. Then after yet another few weeks there are attempts on the young woman''s life. It is quite difficult not to suspect foul play.¡±

    ¡°The only thing that confuses me,¡± I say, ¡°Is the fact that Ricardo saved her during the second attempt.¡±

    ¡°I would not take this fact too seriously,¡± Estley replies. ¡°Maybe he wanted to divert suspicion from himself. After all, he had no doubt that Lady Yolanda would tell the others about the incident. Or maybe... you know, anything can happen. Perhaps, as she was about to fall, she turned and accidentally saw him. After meeting her eyes he just couldn''t go through with it. It sounds absurd, but it happens. Stabbing someone in the back is much easier than having to see your victim face to face.¡±

    ¡°So what are you going to do?¡± I ask. ¡°We cannot tarry: he can finish the job at any time. Should we call the guard?¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Well, no,¡± Estley shakes his head after some contemplation. ¡°I will try to spare her and not raise noise around this case. We can cope with it with the resources we have. I''ll call my guy.¡±

    Lord Cameron¡¯s "guy", whom I had mistaken yesterday for an ordinary coach driver, turns out to be a very strong young man with the habits of an experienced fighter. Along with those habits come a sword, a dagger and shackles.

    The circumstances could not have been more favorable for us. There are practically no outsiders in the living room. Yolanda and Alexander are sitting at a round table, she is embroidering while he is reading. Ricardo is standing to the side talking quietly about something with a servant. We quickly enter the room: Estley, then his servant; I am following them. The men immediately go to the butler. I make a sign to the servant to leave the room immediately. There is no time for Ricardo to blink an eye ¡ª and his wrists are now adorned by shackles.

    Yolanda, with a cry, springs to her feet. Alexander does not expect such a turn of events either, but is not shocked, because he knows the true purpose of Estley''s visit. Remaining indifferent to the emotional reaction of the girl, the Count looks at Ricardo and nods toward the nearest chair.

    ¡°Now, young man, let''s talk.¡±

    The butler, against my expectations, neither rebels nor indignantly claims his innocence. He only angrily glares at Estley, sighs and then slumps in his seat, saying, "Well, maybe it''s for the best."

    ¡°Lord Cameron, release him immediately!¡± demandingly exclaims Yolanda.

    At that moment she looks nothing like the poor intimidated young woman, more than anything else afraid of her family''s disapproval. Her face is flushed; her eyebrows furrowed threateningly and her nostrils flare with anger.

    ¡°Hold on, young lady,¡± Estley interrupts here, not too politely. ¡°Please sit down and wait until we finish handling it.¡±

    Yolanda obeys, although not immediately. Lord Cameron sits across from Ricardo, while the Count''s companion stands behind the alleged perpetrator. I sit down next to Alexander.

    Estley draws the marriage certificate from his pocket and waves it in Ricardo''s face.

    ¡°What is this?¡± says Alexander.

    ¡°This indicates...¡± Lord Cameron quickly looks around the room to make sure there are no unwanted ears: ¡°that Lady Yolanda Grondezh married this young man about two months ago.¡±

    ¡°What?!¡± Alexander could only breathe out. He turns to his sister, expecting her to refute the statement, or at least to offer some explanation.

    But Yolanda just lowers her head, blushing even more than before.

    Estley looks expectantly at Ricardo.

    ¡°I should have told you this much earlier,¡± the latter admits grimly. ¡°But the time was never right.¡±

    ¡°Well, since you didn''t do it in due time, tell me now,¡± orders Lord Cameron.

    ¡°Actually, this is quite unnecessary,¡± states the butler, raising his shackled hands. ¡°Even though I understand that these are the methods you use in your department.¡±

    ¡°I will gladly listen to your criticism of my department later,¡± with an undisguised sneer Estley promises. ¡°But right now we have a more pressing issue to discuss.¡°

    Again, Ricardo does not object. Just casts a sympathetic look at Yolanda. She still sits with her head bowed. He sighs and shakes his head, then begins to speak.

    ¡°Yolanda and I became acquainted when I was passing through the area. For the first time we met in the temple. After the service, we started talking. I walked her to her house. Then we met a few more times at the fair, the temple ¡ª places Yolanda had an excuse to frequent. Her father, to put it mildly, was overzealous in his quest to protect his daughter from lascivious and unworthy men. He strongly believed they were all alike.¡±

    I notice that Alexander nods mechanically at this moment. So he was aware of the Baron''s strangeness, and realized what his sister had to deal with.

    ¡°Several meetings were enough for me to realize that this was the woman I wanted to marry,¡± Ricardo continues. He leans back in his chair and looks very relaxed right now, as if he does not even notice the shackles on his hands. ¡°Knowing the Baron''s nature, I decided to do everything by the book. So my father personally came to the house and asked the Baron for Yolanda''s hand in marriage on my behalf.¡±

    ¡°So what did the Baron do?¡± I lean forward, however, already having guessed the answer.

    ¡°He refused, based on completely ridiculous excuses.¡± Ricardo frowns. ¡°He said that he found my moral character unacceptable, as well as the moral character of my father, and, I think, had it been to his advantage he would have questioned the morals of my dog as well. My father left empty-handed; moreover, he was furious and told me that he wouldn''t want such a relative if you paid him. However, he also calmed down fairly quickly, which could not be said of the Baron. I was not going to give up, though. Sooner or later someone had to take the baron down a peg or two, and I decided that it would be me.¡±

    Alexander frowns at the last words, but Ricardo either does not notice or simply does not find it necessary to apologize.

    ¡°I moved closer to the house and waited for an opportunity. Some time later I was told that at the mansion they were looking for a new butler. The idea just came to me. No, I did realize how absurd it was,¡± For the first time some semblance of guilt flashes in his eyes. ¡°Still, I decided not to dwell on this. Just came here and got the job. Obtaining fake recommendation letters was not difficult. Yolanda did not know about any of this,¡± he quickly adds, glancing first at his wife and then at Alexander. ¡°I think she almost fainted when the Baron introduced me as the new butler.¡±

    ¡°That''s for sure.¡± Yolanda smiles weakly. ¡°At first I could not even understand what was happening: it all felt like a ridiculous dream.¡±

    ¡°Then I was able to persuade Yolanda that it would be best if we were secretly married.¡± Ricardo chuckles again and continues the story. ¡°I explained to her that her father would never give us his blessing under any circumstances. While if we got married and confronted him with the fact that it was already a done deal? Sooner or later he would have to accept it.¡±

    ¡°Lady Yolanda agreed, and you became married,¡± Estley states.

    ¡°Yes,¡± confirms Ricardo. ¡°Actually, I was planning to reveal my identity immediately afterwards. I wasn''t going to play a servant for long. But first Yolanda was afraid to tell her father the truth, and then the Baron died. Yolanda was very upset. For her, it wasn''t even an option to admit that she had married against her father''s wishes. She thought it would be disrespectful to his memory. We decided to wait until the end of the mourning period. The truth is, by that time I had become pretty tired of pretending to be a butler. I could, of course, just leave the house without revealing our secret, and wait until Yolanda was ready to move in with me. But she was very nervous, and I did not want to leave her here alone. Especially after the whole thing with the ghost started. That''s why the deception went on for so long.¡±

    Ricardo stares at Alexander, whom he still apparently feels he had wronged. Then he turns his attention to Estley.

    ¡°Well,¡± he says. ¡°Maybe now you''ll finally take off these toys?¡±

    He rattles the chain connecting the shackles.

    Estley does not even move.

    ¡°I see no reason for that.¡± He says quietly. ¡°While your story sounds a bit different than I expected, the basic facts remain the same. Someone tried to kill Lady Yolanda at least twice. This happened soon after you married her and became her main heir. From this I conclude that you are the one to benefit from her death.¡±

    Yolanda puts her hand to her throat in fear. I do not think she believed her husband really betrayed her; rather, she was probably shocked by the statement that it was not the ghost''s antics, but a real assassination attempt. Ricardo obviously thinks the same.

    ¡°So you think that someone is deliberately trying to kill Yolanda?¡± he asks grimly.

    ¡°Your understanding is quite correct,¡± Estley confirms. ¡°You only missed one small detail. I think that someone is you.¡±

    Ricardo raises his eyes and gives him a heavy, thoughtful look. For a while he keeps silent, and then nods slowly.

    ¡°In this case, I see where you''re coming from.¡± Now he looks at the shackles in a new light. ¡°But you''re wrong, and I think it will not be difficult to dispel your doubts.¡±

    ¡°Please, give it a shot.¡±

    ¡°You think I want to kill Yolanda in order to get to her inheritance ¡ª the mansion, the surrounding land and title. Is that right? ¡°

    ¡°It is.¡±

    Ricardo smiles, though it is not very appropriate considering the circumstances.

    ¡°I guess you do not know my name,¡± he says.

    ¡°Here,¡± Estley points at the document, ¡°It says ''Ricardo Ortalier''. If the name was fake the validity of the marriage, too, could be challenged. Which clearly would not be in your best interest.¡±

    ¡°It is not fake,¡± Ricardo nods. ¡°But for the wedding I used my mother''s surname. If I were to use the name of my father it is unlikely we would have been able to maintain secrecy. Remove my shackles or roll up my left sleeve.¡±

    Estley''s eyes narrow. After giving it a little thought, he nods to his guy, who turns the key in the lock and takes the steel shackles off Ricardo. At the same time, the servant and the Count himself hold their swords at the ready quite pointedly.

    Quickly touching his wrists, Ricardo pulls off his coat and rolls up the left sleeve to the elbow. He reveals a small tattoo on the forearm ¡ª the letter "A" with a crown above it. These kinds of distinctive marks adorn the skins of sons of some noble families.

    ¡°I assume you are familiar with this symbol?¡± Ricardo turns to Estley.

    Judging by the tone, the question is rhetorical. Looking at the Count, I realize that I am not mistaken.

    ¡°The Arwenio family?¡± Estley raises his eyebrows. ¡°Ricardo ... you are the eldest son of the Marquis of Arwenio?"

    ¡°Quite true,¡± Ricardo smiles wryly. ¡°I would prefer not to boast of my status in front of my wife and her family, but since you have given me no choice but to defend myself... Even if we put aside for a moment the fact that I am the primary heir of the Marquis Arwenio, I already own three mansions similar to this one. One near my father''s palace, the second in the Mirror Valley, and a third one abroad. If I needed another couple of estates, I could have bought them easily. So killing the baron and his daughter for the inheritance..." He shakes his head defiantly. "To put it mildly, it would be pointless. I will not needlessly generalize and say that I would never do such a thing: I simply have no motive."

    Giving his servant the sign to step back, Estley puts his own sword back in its sheath.

    "How did you manage to play the role of a butler so well?" he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief.

    Ricardo laughs.

    "I pretty much questioned my own butler about the details of the job," he admits. "The poor man could not understand why on earth I would need it. I already have experience managing people. This household is not large, with a small staff."

    Giving the family members time to finish the heart-to-heart discussions on their own, Estley and I go upstairs.

    "That is so romantic!" I admire. "I bet that you, Lord Cameron, would never be able to pretend to be a simple servant for the sake of a woman you loved."

    "I do not know whether I ''could'', but I definitely would not," he says, showing complete indifference to my reproach.

    For some strange reason, I like that answer.

    "So what now?" I ask a little later. "Since Ricardo is not guilty, we are back to step one, with no actual suspects or theories."

    "Not quite," Estley says. "Now the whole house knows about the true purpose of my visit. Or at least they''ll figure it out quite soon. It is not an ideal situation, but since it has happened, we should take advantage of it. So now I''ll start questioning the servants. I hope that this will significantly speed up the investigation. I have no plans to linger in the house for all eternity. The palace also has accumulated enough cases."

    ---------------

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 Chapter Sixteen

    ¡°Murder is always a mistake. One should never do anything that one cannot talk about after dinner.¡±

    Oscar Wilde

    "Everyone is terribly afraid of your groom." the maid confides to me while helping me dress for dinner.

    I grin. Managing to strike fear into the hearts of the whole household in just a couple of hours is so typical of Estley.

    "Are you afraid of him?" inquires the maid.

    This question makes me pause for a moment. Of course, I realize that Estley is a serious opponent, and in some situations, one should be wary of him. But be afraid of him... no, probably not.

    "I''m not," I smile, standing with my back to the girl, as she puts the corset on me.

    "I guess this is why he loves you," she says thoughtfully.

    I chuckle again. He is certainly not my groom, and love is out of the question, but why does the maid need to know that?

    "Are all the servants really afraid of Lord Estley?" I change the subject.

    "Maybe not all, but definitely most of them. Although to tell you the truth, some are more afraid to come up here, to the second floor. They''d rather go through interrogation than go up to the second floor and the master¡¯s bedroom."

    "Why is that?" This surprises me.

    "Because of the ghost," she says in tone that indicates it goes without saying. "They say it only appears in the master¡¯s bedroom, which means this floor is cursed, and it''s better to stay away from it."

    "I have a feeling you don¡¯t believe any of that?" I sit in front of the mirror and the maid begins to correct my morning hairdo.

    "Nah," she shakes her head. "I don''t. The ghost is in fact in the house, but it does not care whether it is the first or second floor ¡ª it''s all the same to it. I heard it myself on the first floor."

    "You heard the ghost on the first floor?"

    I almost rise from the chair, but now hasten to sit down again to make sure I don¡¯t lose a lock of hair.

    "Yes," the maid says, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened. It seems that the existence of ghosts in the house doesn''t bother her too much. "Once."

    "How do you know that it was a ghost?" I decide to clarify.

    "What else could it be? Strange sounds, scratching noises late at night, when everyone had gone to bed. Besides, I couldn''t tell where it came from."

    "Hmm. So where exactly did you hear these sounds?"

    Oh, I think I''m getting as meticulous as Estley.

    "Downstairs, right by the staircase ¨C the one for servants. There''s a corridor leading to the kitchen. That''s where I heard it," explains the maid.

    After finishing working on my hairdo, she heads in to be questioned by my "fianc¨¦". There is still plenty of time before lunch and I decide to take a look at the place where she heard the ghost.

    Stopping near the narrow spiral staircase, I patiently wait for two maids to pass by, looking around and whispering among themselves. Of course, usually guests like me do not stop by the servants'' premises. Finally, they disappear behind the door of the kitchen, and I begin to explore the room. A staircase, just like any other, old, with uneven steps and shabby railings, leading to the second floor. I walk a little further down the hall, continuing to look. I still do not see anything out of the ordinary. I stand still and listen. Still nothing suspicious ¡ª just soft whispering that comes from behind the kitchen door, but there is nothing otherworldly about that.

    I lean against the wall for a more comfortable position. Staring at the floor, I begin to think: what could the maid hear here? Maybe someone, just like now, was chatting in the kitchen? But no, she did not seem to me so impressionable as to mistake the usual chatter for the moaning of a ghost. What then?

    As if in answer to my question, a narrow section of the wall moves to the side with a slight creak. Apparently by leaning against the wall I have unwittingly set some mechanism in motion.

    I stand there staring into the dark corridor. I can see virtually nothing: just smooth walls on both sides stretching out. Trying to move silently, I cautiously step inside. If I cannot see anything from here either, I''ll turn around and find Estley: let him deal with it.

    I wait for a bit, hoping my eyes would get used to the darkness and allow me to see a little more. The corridor goes downhill, but other than that I cannot make out anything. Taking a couple of steps, I realize that at this rate I will get nowhere, and decide it is time to return. It is at that moment that I hear a faint creak behind me. A moment later the hall plunges into impenetrable darkness.

    I hardly manage to stop myself from cursing out loud. It seems that while I was hesitating, the mechanism activated and closed the door. And I have not even brought a candle with me.

    I rush back to what has become a solid wall. Frantically feeling over the stones to no effect. If it were at all possible to figure out which portion of the wall moved, it was not by touch. My heart jumps to my throat from nerves. Should I shout? It is a little scary. You never know who is hiding there at the end of the corridor. Most important, the wall is thick, and I can''t hear anything from the outer side. So probably nobody would hear me either.

    The silence of the corridor is just as impenetrable as the darkness, giving me hope that I am here alone. Even if the perpetrator uses this passage, it seems likely he doesn''t hide here all the time. Exhilarated by that conclusion, I dare knock on the wall, and even call for help several times. It is futile, though. As I expect, no one answers from the other side. It means that I have to get out on my own. After all, this corridor must lead somewhere. Most likely the offender has used it to enter the mansion. So if I just keep going, sooner or later I will get out of the house. That''s good. At the same time I will find out where this leads. It will take some nerve, but then eventually catching the perpetrator will be just a matter of technique.

    So. The main thing is to be careful. I have to move quietly, taking tiny steps, while holding on to the wall the entire time. I''m in no hurry. Well, of course I am. I am in a hurry to get out of here as soon as possible. But I have to control myself. What if the offender suddenly decides to use the corridor right now? Besides, the darkness is so complete that my eyes cannot adjust to it.

    I begin to move slowly. I do not take my hand off the wall for even a second. Gradually feeling bolder I start moving faster. The corridor''s descent becomes steeper. Then there is a turn to the left and after another twenty steps one more left turn. I realize that this actually serves the same purpose as a staircase. Which, by the way, is very fortunate in my situation. If I had to go down stairs, my chances of falling down would increase several times.

    Then in front of me a light glimmers. At first I am delighted, hoping that the long-awaited exit is close. But it soon becomes clear that it is not daylight. Instead, somewhere ahead of me a torch has been lit. So I stand still for a long time, leaning against the wall, ready to peek out from behind the next turn. I see no people: the corridor is still empty. But there is in fact a torch burning in the distance ¡ª far ahead. Meanwhile the descent stops. Rather than leaving the mansion, I have arrived at the underground floor. Strange: I can''t remember even one staircase leading here.

    As I approach the flame of the torch, inspecting my surroundings becomes easier. Gradually, I make out to the right a pair of barred doors. After all, there is a reason the house reminds me of a castle. Apparently, once prisoners were kept here. I go farther. At the point when I was ready to pick up the pace I hear a man''s voice.

    "Who is there?"

    Startled, I stop. My heart jumps to my throat. Now I hear rustling and a soft clink, as if someone is shaking the bars. Then a voice cries out:

    "Please do not go! Help! I beg you, help me!"

    I freeze in indecision. His voice is hoarse, tired and desperate at the same time. I allow myself a couple of cautious steps, and finally see the person crying out for help. A man is standing in one of the cells, gripping the bars with both hands.

    He is tall and very thin, his hanging clothes making it even more obvious. Young, but with gray hair. Haggard face, dark circles under his eyes.

    "Who are you?" I ask, just in case, while continuing to stand a few steps away.

    "My name is Norrey Grondezh."

    I am so surprised, I probably would have sat down if there had been anything to sit on.

    "But you''re dead!" I exclaim, and immediately realize that I have blurted out complete nonsense.

    "As you can see, not quite," the prisoner smiles sadly.

    "How long have you been here?"

    Judging from his appearance, I''d say a long time. Although the clothing seems quite new, even though it is too big for him. I simply don''t have the heart to call these pants and shirt cast-offs. Besides, after I calm down a little, I begin to notice through the bars various items which are generally not placed in prison cells. For example, the torch''s light allowed me to see a chair, a few books, a quill pen with an inkpot, and even a good-sized wooden chest. It looks like someone tried to make Norrey''s imprisonment as comfortable as possible.

    "It has been five years," is his reply.

    So. From the moment when he allegedly died, running from persecution.

    "Who did this to you?" I still cannot understand what happened five years ago.

    Again, I receive a bitter smile.

    "My father."

    "Baron Grondezh?" I am surprised. It¡¯s a pretty strange thing to do to his own son.

    "The very same. Did you know him?"

    "Not really," I answer evasively, not wanting to go into detail." I am visiting the house for the first time. Do you know that your father has died?"

    "I know," sadly nods Norrey. "I guess it''s hard to believe, but I really am sorry. He was a good man, though not without his quirks."

    The last word is uttered with great bitterness. The young man makes it clear that his father''s quirks have cost him quite a lot.

    "Maybe you can tell me what happened?" I suggest.

    "Of course," he easily agrees. "I have had so few opportunities to talk to anyone over the last few years. It''s strange that I have not forgotten how to speak... I''m sorry; I cannot offer you a place to sit." He sheepishly shrugs his shoulders.

    "It''s okay, I can stand," I assure him, and for convenience I lean back against the wall. I am still in no hurry to come any closer to the cell.

    "I understand that this is not the first time you have heard my name," states Norrey. "So you know something about my story?"

    "Yes," I gently confirm "but, frankly, it was very difficult to determine what in those rumors was true and what was fiction."

    "Oh, I''m willing to bet that there was much more fiction!" he laughs. "You know that I was accused of worshiping Orend?"

    "Yes, I heard about that."

    "This is the most ridiculous accusation anybody could come up with." The young man''s face contorts, as if he felt a twinge. "Only lunatics worship Orend; there are practically none of them left. But the priests still stubbornly continue to hunt them. Not all the priests, of course. There are people among them who are quite sane. But the local priest appeared simply obsessed with this idea. I do not know for what reason he chose me as his target. Perhaps someone slandered me, and maybe it was just a whim. Anyway, this accusation was unexpected to me, and, of course, a shock. I was terrified. Besides, I was still very young. So I rushed to my father for help without hesitation, right away."

    "What about your father?"

    Even now, after so many years, in Norrey¡¯s gaze I could see confusion.

    "Father? He believed the Templers'' charges. The closest person to me, who had known me all my life. Just like that! He was horrified. How come? In such a respectable family, with a father who adheres to such strict rules ¨C such a child?" Norrey lowers his eyes and sighs. "At least he still had not forgotten that I was his son and did not throw me to the wolves. Thank gods for small favors. I don''t know the details; somehow he managed to arrange everything as though I had fallen to my death trying to escape through the mountains. Passed off the mutilated corpse of some poor fellow who had a similar physique to mine as me."

    "Then he locked you up here?"

    "Yes. He could not leave the bloodthirsty killer on the loose, after all," Norrey notes with sad irony. "He ordered that all passages to this floor be blocked off, allegedly because it was not in use. Leaving only one secret entrance. Only one faithful servant knew about me."

    "The cook?" Suddenly it dawns on me.

    "Yes," Norrey nods, surprised. "The cook. She was very devoted to my father. Always made sure to cook for me all sorts of delicious dishes. Father made sure that I had everything necessary." Norrey sadly purses his lips. "Apart from sunlight, fresh air and the company of my own kind. Father and cook ¨C the only people with whom I have had the opportunity to chat all this time."

    "But the cook also died," I point out. "Who has been bringing you food since then?"

    "Her daughter," Norrey says indifferently. "Before her death, the cook told her about me. Otherwise I would have just died here of hunger. Please," he again squeezes the iron bars with both hands: "help. Release me. The key lies not far from you."

    He points to the right place, and I very quickly find two keys hidden in a small niche. Picking up a big ring, on which the cumbersome old-fashioned keys hang, I turn to the prisoner.

    "Come on, hurry!" he cries impatiently.

    "You know," I say, thoughtfully turning over the keys in my hands "I think you must consider me to be extremely stupid. I do not believe that your father would shut you here just because of a rumor and the suspicions of a mad Templar. He was not so heartless and not that stupid. As for the daughter of the cook, you probably told her the same story as the one you told me now. Why didn''t she believe you? Not only did she not set you free, but she didn''t tell your brother or sister. Why didn''t she ask them what to do? It seems that she had completely different information regarding you."

    In the dancing torchlight Norrey''s smile seems predatory.

    "You are quite perceptive," he drawls happily. "But still stupid. Do you know why?"

    In a fraction of a second the cell''s door swings open, and the prisoner jumps out, a blade that he pulled from his sleeve flashing in his hand. I scream and duck to the side. All this time, he was just playing with me, like a cat with a mouse. Norrey didn''t need any key.

    "You know how to draw conclusions well," Norrey smugly remarks, slowly approaching. "You only made one mistake. The cook''s daughter did believe my story. And unlike you, she opened the door right off the bat."

    "Still, you have not touched her;" I remind him, hastily retreating and not taking my eyes off the knife.

    "Of course not," grins Norrey. "Why would I? I''m no longer as unable to hold back as I was five years ago. The years spent in confinement have made me wiser. Why kill a person too early if they can be of use to you later? Quite the opposite. I tamed her, coddled her. It was not difficult. She is not too beautiful, deprived of male attention, moreover, she recently lost her mother. Women like her you only need to beckon, and for the sake of some pretty words they are willing to do for you whatever you want."

    "For example, kill your sister?" I suggest, continuing to retreat.

    "Of course not," Norrey winces. "The girl is incapable of such a thing. I had to take action myself. But from her I learned everything that goes on in the house. That allowed me to come up with a plan. You have to agree, it''s quite clever. Get rid of the older little sister, pile all the blame on the ghost of the deceased father and lay my hands on the entire family fortune. It is only fair, given what I have had to endure."

    "But the Templar''s charge still hangs over your head!"

    "Nonsense." He shrugs casually, and I shiver when the knife blade flashes too closely "I do not know if that cleric is even still alive. Well, anyway, I''d like to see him try to lay a finger on Baron Grondezh himself. By the way, how do you like this basement? In my opinion it''s the perfect place for rituals, don''t you think?"

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "You said that only a madman would worship Orend," I remind him.

    "I say a lot of things," Norrey smiles. "Orend is a merry god. He likes it when you play with his sacrifices before killing them."

    "What about the cook''s daughter?" I remind him, trying to stall somehow. "Couldn''t she understand what you were trying to do?"

    "Of course. But I convinced her that it was the right thing to do. That Yolanda was a necessary sacrifice on the altar of justice. I can be very persuasive, though unfortunately I was unable to persuade either my father or the cook. Actually, I thought that for the first time I would have some fun with this girl specifically," he said, pointedly looking at the knife. I immediately regretted having switched his attention to the cook''s daughter. "But it seems that things are working out even better than I had hoped."

    It is really scary to turn my back on him. But I risk it anyway ¡ª and run, as fast as my legs can carry me, back where I just recently came from. Farther and farther away from the light of the torch. Norrey hurries after me, but so far I am able to keep some distance between us.

    It soon becomes quite dark. I have to slow my pace. My saving grace is that he is also forced to do so. In addition, he trips, which he makes known by swearing loudly. But I should not deceive myself: he keeps running after me. It is obvious that sooner or later he will catch me. Besides, there is a dead end ahead of me, so for all intents and purposes I am running into a trap.

    Pulling off a shoe as I run, I throw it into the darkness of the corridor, hoping to make as much noise as possible. Then I slink to the wall, trying not to breathe. Norrey''s steps sound closer. He walks past, but soon stops. Ominous silence floods the corridor.

    "Well, where are you?" The soft creaking of his shoes informs me that the stalker is slowly moving down the corridor, trying to find me. I lean even closer to the wall, as if trying to become completely flat. "Do you want to play? Let''s play. Orend loves games."

    There is a strange whistling sound. Very unpleasant. I feel goose bumps erupt on my skin even before the guess becomes a conscious idea: he''s striking at random with his dagger, for now only cutting air.

    Nevertheless, at first I am lucky. The trick with the shoe has worked and Norrey gradually moves farther away from me. I allow myself to breathe a little deeper. And relax a little the hand that still instinctively clutched the keys. Enough has happened that I have forgotten about them. Now the ring falls to the floor with a loud jingle. Without waiting until the stalker draws the right conclusions, I push him in the back as strongly as I can ¡ª catching him by surprise, he loses his balance ¡ª and run back. In any case I still have not a chance of beating Norrey in a fight. I rush back to the light, and soon hear the sound of him chasing me. Only one hope remains: that there is a hidden second exit beyond the cells.

    My hope is in vain. The corridor does not lead out of the building. It just leads down to the prison cells. I run past the cell to the end, and run into the wall with my hands. In desperation I turn to face Norrey. He approaches slowly, striding cheekily, knowing that I have nowhere to go.

    I shrink back against the wall. I prepare to at least attempt to seize and hold his hand, which he has already raised to strike me with the knife. Norrey has spent a long time in a prison, even if he was fed properly all the while. This way of life has to have weakened him. But just as I raise my hands, the young man staggers and collapses on the floor with a hoarse groan.

    Estley abruptly pulls his sword out of the body.

    "Are you hurt?" He returns the weapon to its sheath and grabs me by the shoulders.

    I silently shake my head. My arms and legs are trembling, my heart is pounding, and I still cannot find my voice.

    Convinced that I am ¡ª physically ¡ª really all right, Estley takes a step back, and suddenly starts yelling.

    "What the hell are you doing in this tunnel?! Do you have nothing better to do? Want an adventure? Why, gods damn you, can''t you stay in a house without attracting to yourself all the dangers that lurk within it?"

    His shouting has me a little taken aback at first. But resentment against the unjust accusations quickly helps me regain my ability to speak.

    "How could I know that the passage of the tunnel would close on me, and I''d be stuck inside?" I know that I am making excuses, which only angers me more. "I learned from the maid that she heard some strange sounds near the stairs, and wanted only to take a look at the place. Nothing else!"

    "And, presumably, the power of vision transferred you here?"

    My excuses clearly didn''t make the slightest impression on the Count.

    "Almost," I snap. "The passage opened accidentally. Then it closed on me in the wink of an eye, trapping me inside."

    "And you found yourself inside by accident as well," Estley says so sarcastically, it stings. "When the maid confessed to me that she told you this story, I immediately knew how this would end! Why the hell did you even head to the staircase? Why didn''t you come directly to me?"

    "I''m telling you, I just wanted to look!" Offended, I also begin to shout. "I was going to call you afterwards!"

    "You should have called me immediately!" he growls. "This is my investigation!"

    "And mine too! Or have you forgotten why I was sent here?" Hang it all, this investigation! Never again will I give in to ghosts who are interested in their old friends! But not to stand up to Estley now, when he speaks to me in such a way, is unthinkable.

    "I remember very well," the Count confirms in a slightly calmer voice. "You are here because you were asked to speak with the ghost of Baron. Did you do that? You did. So now you should be sitting in front of a mirror and getting ready for dinner!"

    The last sentence he shouts so loudly that my eardrums almost burst.

    Apparently they didn''t. I hear the sound of running feet and soon see a few servants in the torchlight.

    "Is something wrong?" The one that arrived with the Count asks while still on his way towards us.

    "No. Not anymore," Estley says calmly.

    The servant squats next to the dead body.

    "Do you know who this is?" the Count asks me.

    "I know. But I''m not going to tell you," I mutter in vengeance.

    "Why?" He squints suspiciously.

    "Well, as you said, it''s your investigation! Figure it out yourself. Meanwhile, I will not bother you any longer or get in your way."

    Estley rolls his eyes and grumbles something unintelligible, as though he himself was the maniac confined in a cell.

    "This is Norrey Grondezh, Yolanda and Alexander''s brother," I back down.

    This fact definitely proves to be news to Estley.

    Tell me everything," he says.

    "Provided that you offer me your arm and finally lead me out of here," I demand. "Although, frankly, now that I think about it, it would be better if somebody else were to tell the whole story from the beginning."

    * * *

    "When I learned that Norrey was accused of worshiping Orend, I was terribly afraid for him."

    The ghost''s voice sounds sad. It seems that since our first conversation the Baron has aged ten years, if ghosts could age. His shoulders, the last time proudly straight, are now drooping, his eyes are melancholy, and it looks as though there are new wrinkles on his face.

    I repeat the words of the Baron for everyone present. In the room, besides the ghost and myself, are Cameron Estley, Yolanda, Ricardo, Alexander and the deceased''s cousin. Our hosts deemed inappropriate making the details of what happened known to others.

    "I never for a moment doubted the sincerity of my son''s words," says the ghost, staring at the wall. "Norrey claimed he was innocent, and I trusted him implicitly. I was very frightened. It quickly became clear that the Templers were going after him in earnest. So I hid Norrey on the prison level, which hadn''t been used by anybody in a long time, and made sure everybody thought that he had been killed while trying to escape. At the time it did not even occur to me to lock him up. He was just hiding down there, and I provided him with everything he needed. I was going to wait until the storm passed, so to speak, and then smuggle him out of the country. I didn''t want to involve my other children in this mess, therefore I didn''t tell them anything. Only two of my most loyal servants knew about Norrey ."

    "Two?" I ask in surprise.

    "Two," grimly confirms the Baron." The cook and one manservant. But one day he did not come back. Then I found him on the floor of the prison. Dead. I do not know what happened. I never managed to get the truth out of Norrey. Whether the manservant knew something, or whether Norrie simply considered him a necessary sacrifice to his god..." The Baron pauses and looks quite pitiful now. I do not dare rush him. I wait for him to continue on his own.

    "After the incident, I realized that the accusations weren''t false. I still could not bear to hand my son over to the authorities. Perhaps this is the gravest sin in my life. The biggest blemish. Anyway ... The only thing that I had the mental strength to do was to isolate him from society, so that he could not continue hurting anyone else. For five years he remained locked up in the basement of my house. I made sure that no one could accidentally find it." He pauses again, and then moves on to the latest developments. "Before her death my faithful cook shared the secret with her daughter. It wasn''t hard for Norrey to trick her. He played on the fact that she was lonely and homely. The foolish girl set him free. But he was smart enough not to take advantage of his freedom right away. When I realized what he had in mind, I used the only way still available to me to influence my family. I began to visit them at night, especially Yolanda. I hoped that they would leave the house out of fear. I figured that Norrey would not dare to follow them because of the death sentence still hanging over his head. Maybe I was wrong, but it seemed to me the only option at the time."

    He looks me straight in the eye. "Tell my children that I am sorry."

    I pass on his words. The room falls silent.

    "We..." Yolanda first turns to me, but then realizes she can speak to her father directly. She stares at the Baron. She cannot see him, but she has some idea where he is, from the direction of my gaze. "We''re not angry with you, Father. I''m sure I would have done the same as you, five years ago. I would not have given Norrey over to the Templers either."

    "Thank you."

    The Baron says that very quietly. I repeat, seeing that forgiveness from his daughter , whose death he could have caused indirectly, is extremely important to him.

    "Is there anything else that my children would like to ask?" the Baron asks in a more cheerful voice.

    Yolanda speaks again.

    "Yes," she says firmly after I convey to the audience the ghost''s question. "Father, as you probably already know, I have married." She squeezes Ricardo¡¯s hand as she is sitting next to him. "So, albeit belatedly, I want to ask for your blessing."

    "Please don''t hold a grudge because of my deception," says Ricardo.

    The lad obviously feels uneasy ¡ª not so much because he is speaking with his father-in-law, but because of the latter''s ghostly nature, the existence of which he, in my opinion, still doubts to some degree.

    "Tell this one to shut his mouth," irritably snaps the Baron. He apparently is still not happy with his son in law; on the other hand he does not seem too angry. ?The Baron would prefer to speak with his daughter," I say, diplomatically translating.

    "What the heck, I give you my blessing," the Baron sighs. "Be happy. And... may your children bring you only joy."

    After the conversation is over, people slowly disperse. The Baron, however, is in no hurry to leave the room. When only Estley and I remain in the living room, I decide to once again turn to the ghost.

    "Baron Grondezh!" I call. He turns and looks at me blankly. "I understand you couldn''t speak with your children because they cannot hear ghosts. But I came to your house specifically for this purpose. Why you did not take advantage of my presence to warn Yolanda about Norrey? One word of yours and she would have been safe."

    The Baron looks at me for a long time in silence, and it seems to me that he is not going to answer. But at last he, as if with great difficulty, parts his lips, and says slowly:

    "Gods help you, lady, if you ever have to choose between your children."

    Neither Estley nor I plan to linger at the mansion. The Count has a lot of cases waiting for him at the palace. I also have things to do, and the circumstances of the investigation conducted in the house don''t exactly make me want to stay there any longer than necessary. Most important, neither of us is willing to allow the other to return to the palace first, as it gives the quicker one far too many potential advantages.

    The servant just carries out the chest, and Estley, taking a final look around the room, too, steps to the door. But I stop him.

    "Lord Cameron!"

    I touch his sleeve. Estley, initially surprised, looks down at his arm, then looks at me.

    "We didn''t have time to talk down there" I say softly. "Meanwhile, after all you did save my life. How can I thank you for it?"

    I''m willing to bet he did not expect such a question from me. Yet he replies almost instantly.

    "How about a kiss?"

    In his typical manner he does not even wait for my reaction to the proposal. He just takes me by the shoulders and gets down to business. And gods damn me, I do not even think to resist. As I close my eyes, I can only marvel at how gentle and persistent at the same time his lips can be. And how much I enjoy the closeness of his body. And how soft his hair turns out to be when I bury my fingers in it.

    Then suddenly I feel uneasy. Because I very clearly realize that my whole world, carefully designed and solidly built during the last few years, is falling apart right before my eyes. The world in which I am my own master. In which I am free and depend on no one. While I have learnt the hard way what is dependence ¡ª even on those closest to you. In this world, when I face difficulties, I overcome them ¡ª and, again, by myself. But this man, whom I already want to call Cameron, is ready to conquer and destroy it without the slightest effort.

    Coming to my senses, I suddenly realize that he has almost managed to lead me to the bed. The kiss has not stopped, but it is threatening to turn into something much more serious. Something that later would be too hard to forget. After that there will be no turning back. But, damn it to hell, why couldn''t he behave a little more rudely? Throw me on the bed, instead of gently and at the same time firmly supporting my back? Leave a couple of bruises on my body instead of caressing it as if a careless touch could break me? Then it would have been much easier to push him away with an indignant exclamation. While now, freeing myself from his arms, I feel as though I am tearing out a piece of my soul.

    I am angry with myself. In the end, we agreed only to a kiss, didn''t we? Although, strictly speaking, we didn''t agree on anything.

    Quickly moving away from the bed and standing close to the door, as if seriously fearing that Estley would bring me back to the bed by force, I suppress the tremor in my voice and quickly mutter:

    "I guess we''re even now." Then I run out of the room.

    We return to the palace separately, each in their own carriage. Estley also brings with him the cook''s daughter, as she has to appear before the court. On that note the visit to the home of the ghost is over. The ducal palace, with its usual world of intrigue and rivalry, lies ahead once again.

    End of Part Three

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    If you like this book, please consider buying it:

    Half a Step Away from Love</a> by Olga Kuno

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