CL Chapter 15
by flowieMadame Pelletier stood in her dressing workshop, gazing wordlessly at the worn dress draped over the torso mannequin.
It was the gown Charlotte had entrusted to her for alterations, calling it her wedding attire.
The word shabby felt unbefitting of a princess’s bridal gown, yet there was no exaggeration in it.
The silk, once pure white, had been so neglected that it had faded to a dull, yellowed hue.
The floral embroidery tracing the neckline was an outdated detail, a fleeting trend from years past.
Worse still, both sleeves bore the unmistakable marks of something having been forcibly torn away, with stray threads dangling as if jewels had once adorned them, only to be ripped off.
“You intend to wear this for your wedding?”
Forgetting her earlier resolve to tread carefully around the princess’s whims, Madame Pelletier found herself unable to suppress the question.
“Yes, this one.”
Charlotte responded without a flicker of hesitation. Her eyes, clear as water, held an earnestness that left no room for doubt.
Left without words, Madame Pelletier returned to her dress workshop, where she had done nothing since but stare at the dress.
She felt utterly lost. Where was she even to begin?
Could this truly be allowed as a wedding gown? That was the question that troubled her most.
Her sighs, deep and weary, seemed as though they might bore a hole through the floor.
Just then….
“Oh? You’re back already? You said it would take a while, but that was quick!”
Her assistant, Amelia entered nudging the door open with her shoulder while carrying an armful of fabric, fresh from the storage room, no doubt.
Madame Pelletier rose to help, but Amelia shook her head, declining the offer, her attention quickly shifting elsewhere.
“What’s with that dress? If it’s for disposal, should I take care of it?”
At those words, Madame Pelletier’s knees nearly gave out, and she collapsed back into her chair.
A dress deemed fit for disposal, that was what Charlotte d’Ignatore intended to wear on her wedding day?
She wished, more than anything, that this was all some elaborate joke meant to torment her.
Her head throbbed at the sheer absurdity of the princess’s inexplicable whim.
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[ “……Thus, I write this letter to ask you, Chamberlain, to once again confirm Her Highness’s intentions. Though the princess insists, the state of the dress is beyond words. In my humble opinion…” ]
Having reached the end of Madame Pelletier’s earnest letter, which was sent along with Charlotte’s ceremonial attire estimate, Ferndell immediately stood up.
“Did the Lord not command that Her Highness should have whatever she desires? Leave it be.”
Erik calmly stopped his movement, assuming Ferndel had reacted to the excessive cost of the ceremonial attire.
“No, that’s not it… it’s just a bit strange…”
Ferndel shook his head in denial but then fell silent.
There were, in fact, many things that seemed strange, but saying so outright gave him an unsettling feeling, like the world he knew might be turned upside down.
“What do you mean?”
Unaware of Ferndel’s thoughts, Erik asked in a casual tone.
Ferndell, with a vague expression and narrowed eyebrows, placed the slightly creased ceremonial robe estimate and Madame Pelletier’s letter on Erik’s desk and turned away.
He then made his way straight to Charlotte’s temporary residence.
“Where is Her Highness?”
Ferndel wasted no time questioning a maid, who bowed upon his arrival.
“Shall I inform her that you have come?”
Sensing the urgency in his demeanor, the maid asked in return.
“Go and suggest that Her Highness take a walk.”
Ferndel gave a rather unusual order while taking a gold coin from his pocket and holding it out to the maid.
The maid’s eyes sparkled, but she did not immediately take the coin, maintaining a hesitant expression.
“…She won’t go out.”
In the end, the maid stepped back slightly, shaking her hand.
“She usually stays inside her room.”
Ferndell felt a peculiar sensation of his facial muscles hardening as he clenched the coin tightly in his hand.
“Do you happen to remember when the Princess last went out?”
“Ah, that would be…”
The maid paled. After a moment’s hesitation, she murmured in a near whisper, as if confessing a sin.
“It was the day I was caught by you and Her Highness gossiping about matters I should not have spoken of.”
That means… It has been over seven days already.
Calculating the dates in his head, Ferndel felt a dizzying headache and pressed a hand to his forehead before forcibly placing the coin in the maid’s hand.
“Tell her that swans have gathered at the lake. That should pique her interest.”
The maid glanced down at the gold coin in her palm as if it were something filthy, her expression troubled.
“I assure you, I’m not trying to involve you in anything dangerous.”
At first, he thought she was worried for herself.
“It’s not dangerous for Her Highness either, is it?”
…He had been mistaken.
“Of course not.”
“Then I cannot accept this.”
Returning the coin, the maid turned away from Ferndel and knocked on Charlotte’s door.
His guess had been correct mentioning the lake had caught her interest.
Soon enough, the princess emerged from her room with the maid.
Watching them from hiding, Ferndell stepped into the now empty room.
His cautious movement halted at the dress room attached to one side of the room.
“……”
Carthenon was a family as wealthy as the Ignathar royal family. As long as Leo, the head of the family, did not object, Charlotte could continue to live in luxury as she always had.
He secretly clicked his tongue, thinking that the Princess’s habit of wearing a different dress every day, even while confined to a detached palace, wouldn’t change upon coming to Rosa.
Shaking his head, he realized that now she could step into society again after a long period of seclusion, her extravagance would only worsen.
Ferndell was certain that it would be quite fortunate if she didn’t turn Rosa Castle upside down by insisting on acquiring the best dresses, the most expensive shoes, and the finest accessories for herself.
He could vividly imagine the sight of jewelers frequenting Rosa Castle as if it were their own home, a dreadful vision that Ferndell found himself dwelling on at the time.
However, the cost written on Charlotte’s ceremonial attire estimate only brought a hollow laugh, and the fact that the extravagant princess’s dressing room, who supposedly never wore the same dress twice…
Ferndell was at a loss for words.
It wasn’t just the absence of luxury, but he even suspected a theft might have occurred.
Even the dressing room of an unknown local noblewoman seemed it would be more filled than this…
The wardrobe, with only a few dresses sparsely hanging, looked shabby, and the jewel box was desolate with nothing inside.
The shoe cabinet was equally empty and forlorn. It seemed the shoes she wore out were all she had.
Ferndel could no longer deny a truth that shattered everything he had believed.
The world’s perception of Charlotte d’Ignathar was wrong.
Pressing his furrowed brow, Ferndel turned away.
He wasn’t sure how to set things right, but first, he needed to address the matter of her wedding attire.
“What… am I looking at?”
Ferndel turned sharply, meeting Erik’s gaze.
In his hand, the crumpled estimate and letter were now crushed beyond recognition.
“This is our future mistress’s dressing room.”
Ferndel stated the truth, yet Erik’s disbelieving gaze swept across the room as if refusing to accept it.
He slowly began to examine the space that was perfectly suited to the word shabby.
“… … Does this make sense?”
His first words, after a long silence, were filled with disbelief. Ferndel didn’t answer.
Rubbing his dry lips in an awkward motion, Erik let out a sigh that sounded more like a groan.
Ferndel, understanding the sentiment, patted his shoulder.
“From now on, you should only believe what you see with your own eyes when it comes to Her Highness.”
Yet, as he left Charlotte’s quarters, Ferndel felt a hint of regret.
His words had sounded less like advice and more like a declaration, one that implied their future mistress would never truly be trusted.