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THE next morning, Sara reluctantly took up her pen to write a response to the king of Saleilles, but then she received something that only made her throbbing headache worse. Claire had brought the letter to her so cheerfully, Sara felt bad for her reaction, so she told Claire she would read it in her bedroom as an excuse to be alone.
When Sara looked it over, alone in her room, she felt her mouth pull down into a scowl.
“Well, lucky you…”
Under the destination on the cutesy envelope, the author had written To Princess Hermine, with love and respect. Under sender was written From Sara Ernaux.
It was a letter from Hermine, who had married Firmin, son of Viscount Ernaux.
In a fit of anger, Sara smashed her thumb against the part that said with love and respect before begrudgingly opening the envelope and taking out the letter.
Hermine had used a letter set with a gaudy, childish design—Sara would never have used something like that. Just looking at it made her feel sick.
I just want to burn it without even reading it, but I suppose I’ll have to write a reply to it eventually. And besides, Claire might get suspicious if I just toss it somewhere…
At any rate, Sara was sure nothing Hermine could have written would make her feel any better. However, perhaps because she had started reading it with such bad expectations, she didn’t actually get as hurt by the letter as she thought she would be.
She did get irritated, however, reading Hermine gushing, My wedded life with Firmin is pure bliss, or He coos sweet nothings to me every day, or I’m just too happy to be troubled by anything!
I can’t imagine Hermine being suited for the role of a viscount’s wife. I’m sure she just acts like a spoiled baby around Firmin and his parents.
And even though Hermine had disguised herself as Sara, the real Sara just wanted to laugh humorlessly when she read Hermine’s hollow platitudes. I wish I could give you a fraction of the happiness I feel, Princess Hermine… I hope you can find happiness, even in such a faraway land…
When Sara saw the spot where Hermine had pressed her painted lips beside her signature, she really wanted to rip up the letter and throw it in the fireplace.
Hermine truly coveted her own happiness but totally lacked the capacity to empathize with anyone else.
Sara could admit she had made many mistakes, too, but Richard had forgiven them all in the end. If the real Hermine had been the one to come to Ferrier, however, how would things have ended up? At the very least, it was impossible to imagine that Hermine would have gotten along with Richard better than Sara, her former servant, did, which was a bit sad.
Well, if Hermine and Firmin are getting along okay, they can do as they please.
Hermine probably hadn’t even written about her love-filled days with Firmin out of any spite—she might have even been trying to encourage Sara.
But if Sara hadn’t become close with Richard—if she had instead been miserable day in and day out—such a letter might have solidified a resolution to take her own life.
I dread doing it, but I’ll have to write up a reply to this, too… Oh! But it’s almost time for tea, isn’t it?
With perfect timing, Daniel came to fetch Sara the same moment she returned to the living room. When he spotted her, Daniel smiled and gestured to the next room.
“Princess Hermine, His Highness is all ready for you. He simply cannot wait to treat you to some tea!”
Sara heard Richard shout through the wall, “Don’t say more than you need to!”
Both Sara and Claire had to suppress their giggles.
“Right. I’m going now.”
Temporarily pushing the letter out of her mind, Sara bounded over to Richard’s quarters with Claire.
Daniel showed them not into the study, where they usually took tea, but to Richard’s living room. It was the first time Sara had been in this room, so she was a little nervous, but the layout was almost exactly the same as Sara’s living room. She immediately liked it because the furnishings and decorations created a relaxed atmosphere, likely chosen according to Richard’s tastes.
The tea set and snacks were already set out on a glass table in the middle of the room. Richard was bent over them, doing something. When he spotted Sara, his face softened, and he gestured toward a small one-person sofa.
“Thank you for coming. Well, please take a seat here.”
“Thank you.”
Lifting the skirt of her dress, Sara carefully sat down on the sofa, careful not to crease the fabric.
Richard didn’t just line up the tea utensils and pour hot water into the teapot—he even set out the individual serving plates and the finger bowls.
“Thank you for everything, Your Highness,” she said.
“Nonsense. I’m perfectly capable of entertaining my wife.”
She thought he had slightly missed the point with his reply, but it was fitting, coming from such a deeply serious man.
He wasn’t as used to handling the tea utensils as Sara and Claire were, but when Sara saw his eyebrows furrow in concentration as he added tea leaves to the teapot, and the way he assiduously brought over the jars of honey and sugar from the shelf, her heart glowed with affection.
He wasn’t wearing a mask, and Sara was thrilled to be able to see his facial expressions so clearly.
After a while, a nostalgic smell started wafting out of the teapot. The tea leaves were unique because they barely smelled of anything when they were dry, but when they were steeped, the aroma became stronger all at once. The tea leaves weren’t too expensive, but it was easy to see why the flavor was a popular one for Saleilles nobles to drink every day.
After sensing how excited Sara was getting, Richard turned toward her after wiping a cup with a cloth, a faint smile on his face.
“You certainly seem happy,” he remarked.
“Of course I am! Oh… You’re drinking something else?”
“I am. The envoy from Saleilles that brought me the tea said it has quite a strong flavor, and that someone used to Ferrier cuisine probably wouldn’t like it very much. I’m sorry, but I’m just going to drink my regular tea.”
The flavors in Saleilles cooking were generally stronger than in Ferrier cooking. The envoy was probably right—born and raised in Ferrier, Richard would have likely found the strong taste of Saleilles black tea unpalatable. It was a pity they couldn’t drink the same thing, but Sara was happy enough that he wanted to have tea with her.
Richard seemed to have correctly read Sara’s expression. His cheeks flashed pink, and he turned away and began to prepare his own tea.
After a while, both drinks were ready. Sara’s tea had become such a dark red color that she couldn’t see the bottom of the cup, but Richard’s was its usual semitransparent color.
“Was it okay to let it get that dark…?” he asked.
“It’s perfect! You’re really good at making tea, Your Highness.”
“Maybe you should taste it before you start complimenting me. It’s cool enough now, so just swing it back.”
Sara laughed.
“All right, then. Here I go…”
Sara lifted the cup to her face, but she suddenly froze… There was a strange, pungent smell mingling with the sweet smell of the tea she was familiar with.
What is that? It’s not the honey or sugar…is it?