Chapter 4

“Please wait a moment—” Constance Grail was definitely the type to accept an apology. As expected, she glanced over at Pamela. But that was all. Having registered Pamela’s words, she narrowed her eyes, then quickly looked away. This was not the attitude of a person in such a rage that they could not accept an apology. No, it was the expression of someone who had mistakenly looked at a disgusting little insect. And that was when the question occurred to Pamela. Who is this woman? She was not the Constance Grail Pamela knew. “Oh my, I feel faint. You in the handsome peacock-blue vest—yes, you. Might I borrow your manly arms for just a moment? My heart hurts, and I’m afraid I can’t walk on my own. I just need to go over there. Someone should be waiting for me outside.” Her face was plain, but the expression on it was undeniably alluring. It was hard to believe, but homely Constance Grail looked extremely attractive. Sure enough, the man she had called on smiled a little, then glanced condescendingly at Pamela. “Of course, my lady.” She had lost. As a woman, Pamela had lost to Constance. She was so ashamed, her body was shaking. “I must go. Please excuse me.” Her back held straight, Constance gracefully lifted the flowing hem of her dress. Then, with a smooth gesture, she lowered her head. Her etiquette was so natural and flawless, even Pamela forgot her outrage for a moment and stared in awe. No sooner had Constance left the hall than the musicians picked up their instruments and began to play. It was a lonely serenade signaling the end of the ball. Pamela was undoubtedly in a fix. She sensed that everyone was criticizing her. She could feel their eyes on her. They were all staring at her. She was determined not to give in. She raised her head, attempting to act as if nothing significant had happened. But secretly, she was terrified. So when she saw someone she knew, she flew instantly to their side. “Lady Holland!” The buxom woman turned around in surprise. Pamela could count on Lady Holland. She would protect her. From the day Pamela had entered society as a debutant, Lady Holland had always doted on her as if she were her own daughter. “Please help me! I’ve been tricked. I swear on the Moirai that I would never do something like that. You believe me, don’t you?” She gazed pleadingly at the noblewoman, an injured expression on her face. She thought that would be enough to win over kindly Lady Holland. She was sure she would drape an arm around her shoulder and tell her what a poor, mistreated thing she was. Lady Holland smiled just as Pamela expected. Relieved, she smiled back. But the next moment, she froze. “Excuse me, who are you?” Pamela gasped. There was a horridly amused glint in the eyes of the supposedly kind woman. As Pamela stood rooted to the ground, someone bumped into her. She stumbled and fell. In that short interval, Lady Holland had vanished out of sight. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” came the cool apology from a noblewoman with a fan held over her mouth. The slender woman with the dark-blond hair twisted in a knot was Countess Emanuel, who was friendly with Constance. Pamela was instantly on guard. As she’d feared, the countess remained where she was and began talking to Pamela with hardly a pause for breath. “You see, I was truly happy for Miss Grail. She’s such a dull girl, with nothing at all to make her special, but she’s not a bad person. As the Grails put it, she’s sincere. And that’s a very rare thing indeed in this world of ours. You understand that, I’m sure. That’s why what you did makes me a little angry. Yes, just a little. But it all turned out to be quite amusing, so I forgive you.” Having said that much, she reached out a hand to Pamela, who was unable to get up on her own. “After all, it appears there are plenty of people quite eager to waltz with you. I don’t even need to lift a finger.” Pamela glanced around in surprise. She was surrounded by a large crowd. The quiet melody suddenly picked up its pace. A tune in triple time rang out brightly across the hall—a waltz. The blood drained from Pamela’s face. Waves of laughter rippled toward her. The people peering at her excitedly were all over a certain age. Those who were closer to her own age were watching from the outside, as if they didn’t know what to make of this peculiar atmosphere that was so different from an ordinary ball. Even Pamela had never experienced anything like this. Ordinary balls were terribly boring and formulaic. The gossip and teasing were cute child’s play. She found a night out at a questionable pub on the wrong side of town with a group of commoner boys much more thrilling. That was why she had come up with her scheme in the first place. She thought she could twist this group of predictable idiots around her little finger. As the countess walked past Pamela, she whispered in her ear. “In my hometown, we make thieves put on a pair of burning shoes and dance until they die.” “Oh, it’s starting, it’s starting!” “I haven’t seen this in ages.” “Must’ve been ten years since the last one.” “I wonder how long they’ll last.” “Oh, I do hope she’s still got some spirit in her by the time my turn comes.” “This has always been the true pleasure of a ball. But it really has been ages. Everyone’s been so timid these past ten years.” “They didn’t want to attract the wrong kind of attention and end up with their head on the block.” “Like what happened ten years ago.” “That was just awful.” “Shhh, don’t bring it up.” “Yes, but tonight really was a shock. It was just as if—” “Yes, as if—” “Just as if Scarlett Castiel had returned from the depths of hell.”