The Perfect Bride - Chapter 24

“I already showed you that.”

The prince whispered as he gestured in a certain direction. Natalie’s gaze naturally followed his.

“It’s entirely possible.”

She saw Dorothy, laughing among a crowd of people.

“Do you know who you’re making a deal with? You’d better dream big. And…”

At the sound of his dissatisfied murmur, Natalie looked back up at him. He was already smiling playfully, a faint wrinkle between his brows.

“This is good. From now on, don’t hold back what you want to say. Don’t mind anyone’s eyes. Just speak up like you did just now. Got it?”

The prince was, truly, an infuriating man, but the visual impact of his beautiful smile was so overwhelming that even as tears threatened to fall, her heart trembled. She nodded without question.

“If you grant me the next dance, everything will begin.”

The prince took a step closer in time with the music. Natalie took one step back.

Dancing twice with the same partner at a ball was an unspoken declaration of being season partners.

In other words, it signified a relationship close enough to discuss marriage.

“From that moment on, I’ll be a lunatic head over heels for you. I’ll visit you every day, dressed to the nines like a peacock.”

This time, he stepped away and she took a step toward him.

“At the end of this season, I’ll propose. We’ll marry before pheasant hunting season begins. Now turn.”

He had the composure to lead the dance while laying out an elaborate strategy and even guiding her movements.

“And one year later, we’ll get divorced. Now in reverse, two turns.”

As she spun diligently, Natalie scowled at the word “divorce.” As someone from Grand Batten, her body instinctively recoiled at the term.

“Of course, if you’ll have me.”

He said “have me,” but just by looking at his face, anyone could see who held the upper hand.

Unfortunately, the song was a lively waltz. Whether it was the pressure to answer before the music ended or the man before her who kept chattering on—it all made the rhythm feel three times faster.

In short, Natalie’s judgment at the time wasn’t the best.

Time flowed relentlessly, and the song finally came to an end. The two faced each other. Natalie, following her body’s memory, curtsied, unable to take her eyes off the prince. He too kept his eyes on her as he gave a slight bow.

As other couples parted ways and left the floor, the prince stepped forward and, just like before, extended his hand to her.

“Miss Daus, may I have one more dance?”

It was as if he was asking, Are you ready?

Ah.

This really is insane, but I can’t help it either.

Natalie of Warfield, a country noble of Grand Batten, could not defy the prince of this nation.

She repeated that excuse to herself.

Didn’t he say he’d kill me if I refused? A sinner had no choice but to quietly take his hand.

More than anything, if Dorothy could find a husband, if her family could be okay again.

Even if the answer didn’t come out easily, it had been decided from the very start.

It felt like the world would end the moment she took his hand, but surprisingly, nothing happened. No one cursed her as a wicked woman, the Astiers royal house didn’t vanish from history.

Natalie, dazed, stared at the hand she was now holding, then slowly lifted her eyes.

“Nothing bad will happen. I guarantee it—I’ve never failed.”

At that moment, the prince whispered. His confident expression and voice made a strange mix of trust, admiration, and envy well up within her.

“And I know how to treat my partner with respect. I’ll treat you well, so don’t worry.”

Just as Natalie began to think maybe taking his hand hadn’t been such a bad choice, he adjusted his posture for the next dance.

“If you’re ready, let’s begin.”

Natalie’s puzzled eyes seemed to ask, Begin what?

The prince replied cheerfully, “Acting as the man madly in love with Natalie Daus.”

Indeed. There’s no turning back.

At his final whisper, Natalie’s face crumpled.

For someone who had spent the last three years like a shut-in plant, he was unbearably active to deal with.

***

“Mr. Heaton, what’s wrong?”

“Lady Seville, just a moment.”

Roger Heaton murmured as he stared blankly toward the dance floor.

Under normal circumstances, Roger wouldn’t have even had the chance to greet the Duchess of Horace, let alone be invited to her ball. But by accompanying Countess Georgiana of Seville as her escort, he had managed to seize that lucky opportunity.

That dignified noblewoman, who had never so much as glanced his way, suddenly took an interest in him. And so, Roger became her companion. Though Georgiana introduced him as a young naval lieutenant she had recently befriended, everyone assumed he was her lover.

“I see someone I know. I’ll just go say hello.”

Roger instinctively sensed something interesting was happening on the dance floor. When he gave Georgiana a suitably sweet excuse, the quite inebriated woman laughed brightly and nodded.

Curious to see which noble or significant figure had arrived, Roger began to make his way forward, thinking he might as well make his face known. As he skillfully wove through the dense crowd, he finally caught sight of several couples gliding across the floor.

Failing to notice the small woman in front of him, Roger accidentally bumped her shoulder.

“Pardon me, Lady. I didn’t mean to… Auntie?”

“…Oh my, Roger?”

“Lady War—Baroness. What brings you here?”

Roger deliberately avoided calling her “Lady Warfield,” mindful of those around them. Once, he had proudly told people he had a titled cousin. Not anymore. Who knew if someone might remember that now disgraced name? He didn’t want to get caught up in a scandal.

“…It’s been such a long time. Is your mother doing well? Ah, I came along as a chaperone for the girls.”

The baroness couldn’t be entirely cheerful either. Ever since Natalie’s incident, she had cut ties with Roger’s mother, Lady Heaton, who had sent her a scathing letter. She had kept her distance, just as that woman wished.

“Ah, I see. Yes, my mother’s doing well, of course. And you, Baroness?”

“Oh, I’ve managed… quietly.”

‘Quietly? Then what is she doing here?’

Roger had spent months charming Georgiana just to be invited to this ball. He narrowed his eyes and glanced over the baroness. Now that he looked, her dress was of excellent quality—far finer than that of most ladies here.

He asked cautiously, “By chaperone… you meant Dorothy, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that’s right. And…”

The baroness trailed off as she turned her head toward the center of the lively dance floor. Roger’s gaze naturally followed hers.

“……”

His face contorted before he could stop it. Though no longer his direct superior, the man on the floor was still someone of rank, and Roger found running into him at a ball utterly uncomfortable. More than anything, this man seemed to take pleasure in tormenting him.

That was why Roger had quietly slipped away earlier when the herald announced Prince Ian’s arrival. He had planned to avoid him until the ball ended. But to find him now, dancing right in the center of the floor?

‘What on earth is going on?’

The prince was well known for avoiding parties and dances. The only times he appeared at such events were to escort Princess Charlotte or a foreign dignitary.

Yet there he was, the aloof and arrogant prince, dancing with a middle-aged woman.

Soon, Roger realized that despite her mature attire, the woman dancing with the prince was a young lady. Her youthful, clear face suggested she was barely twenty.

“Who…”

Just as he muttered to himself, having almost forgotten the baroness beside him, she whispered as if sharing a secret.

“Actually, Natalie was invited. That’s how Dorothy and I were able to come.”

Roger blinked, not quite understanding. A certain thought flashed through his mind.

Again, more slowly this time, he followed the baroness’s gaze.

A young lady dressed inappropriately for her age.

Pale skin, deep eyes and dark hair, a youthful face.

“Natalie…?”

Impossible. Roger muttered in disbelief.

***

If one were to pick the second most interesting incident from the Duchess of Horace’s ball that lasted until 5 a.m. yesterday, it would be that the queen of Dwan society had finally become a young lady’s chaperone.

The lucky girl was Miss Dorothy Daus, daughter of Baron Warfield.

She was now staying at the ducal residence’s west wing guesthouse. Along with her mother, the Baroness of Warfield, and her elder sister, Miss Natalie Daus.

As the leisurely breakfast hour approached, the three ladies gathered in the breakfast room on the first floor of the guesthouse.

The table was laden with scrambled eggs, sausages, sliced tomatoes, smoked herring, and tea or coffee. Yet not a sound of clinking utensils had been heard.

Of course, the Warfield family rarely had formal breakfasts. The easygoing baron had no interest in the ostentatious routines considered “noble.”

But even taking that into account, the mood at the table was tense and grim.

Natalie had been glaring in silence at the newspaper and pince-nez neatly placed at the edge of the table.

Surely, it was her imagination that today’s headline looked sharper than usual.

The most interesting incident from yesterday’s ball was undoubtedly the fact that Prince Ian danced ‘twice’ with a certain lady.