Chapter 7

Countess Emanuel’s ball was a smashing success. Needless to say, the topic on everyone’s lips was the hunt that had taken place at the recent ball in the Grand Merillian. All the attendees were dying to hear the funny story about the wounded fox that the hunters had pursued in turn. The most hilarious part was that, according to rumor, Pamela Francis’s hair had turned as white as an old lady’s in a single night. Of course, everyone knew that was just an embellishment to make the story better. But that also meant it was now considered acceptable to treat Pamela in this way. And so Emilia laughed to her heart’s content. In the end, that cheeky little brat had been reduced to a dog with her tail between her legs. The person no one could make sense of was Constance Grail. Everyone at the party was raising a fuss about how that insignificant viscount’s daughter was just like Scarlett. And that was no joke. Scarlett Castiel had truly been without parallel. She was the worst of the worst—but she was also special in a way that no one else was. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Emilia shook her head to clear away the distracting thoughts. Why waste time thinking about someone who was dead? In life, the survivors were the winners. Emilia believed that very much. It meant she was a winner. She had snatched happiness for herself. More happiness than Lily Orlamunde ever had, although Emilia wouldn’t even have been able to kiss her feet ten years ago, let alone Scarlett Castiel herself. Emilia’s ball was coming up soon. She had sent an invitation to the overly sincere Grail girl. If the figure at the eye of the storm showed up, there was no question Emilia’s ball would be a success. Her snobby guests would praise her to the skies. Ten years had passed since Scarlett was executed. Ten years had passed, too, since Emilia had married her husband as a means of escape. She had given birth to two sons in that time. That should be enough to fulfill her wifely duties. Wasn’t it about time for her to spread her wings as a woman in her own right? “Good evening, Emilia.” The abrupt greeting came from Aisha Huxley. Her face was made up with heavy eyeliner and dark-red lipstick. She was still as skinny as a stick. Ten years ago, her freckled face had always been turned sullenly downward, but people change. There was no trace left of the strange girl who had once blindly worshipped Scarlett. “Good evening, Aisha. Oh my!” A tall, handsome man was standing next to Aisha. Aisha giggled in satisfaction at Emilia’s momentary stunned silence, tilting her head as if to ask, Notice something? “My special friend,” she said triumphantly. All Emilia could manage was a stiff “oh?” Like Emilia, Aisha was married. She had one son and one daughter. Aisha was the daughter of the Earl of Spencer, if Emilia remembered correctly, but she had married into Viscount Huxley’s family. Which put her in approximately the same position as Emilia herself, a baroness. In fact, the Godwins were better off financially, and when it came to looks, she thought herself more attractive than the sickly, skinny Aisha. So why…? She watched the man as she sipped a cocktail in the grand hall. His even features naturally drew the eye, as did his elegant attire. She couldn’t help following every move he made with her eyes. Aisha hadn’t told her anything about the man. Emilia had never seen him in society before. He must be some low-ranking quasi-noble. Perhaps he was even a commoner. This thought did nothing to raise Emilia’s spirits. It was humiliating. To think that someone like Aisha had snagged such a good-looking man! I can do better than she can— Before she knew it, she had handed her empty glass to a waiter and followed the man upstairs. She found herself in an abandoned hallway. Just as she was about to call out to him, she noticed that someone had beaten her to it. She slipped into the shadow of a pillar. The woman wasn’t Aisha. She was younger and prettier. Isn’t that the only daughter of the Marquess of Grafton, who owns the wharf in the suburbs of the capital? Kiara, I think it was. Emilia smiled wickedly. Just as she suspected. A man like that would never take Aisha seriously. Emilia watched the scene with the relish of a child plucking the wings from a butterfly. The woman nestled up to the man and sighed into his ear: “Kiriki kirikuku.” When he heard the words, the man narrowed his eyes and smiled. His bony finger traced her earlobe. They gazed into each other’s eyes, and when his face was close enough to kiss her, he whispered something. The woman nodded. He kissed her, the smile still on his mouth. Her forehead, her cheeks, her neck. Then he grabbed the neckline of her plunging gown and brought his lips to her chest. He could hardly contain himself, it seemed. The woman’s exposed white breast was tattooed with an image of the sun. Emilia had heard that Miss Grafton’s conduct wasn’t exactly pristine, but now she wondered if she was an actual whore. Instantly losing interest, Emilia was about to sneak off when she glimpsed something shiny. A little bottle? With a well-practiced gesture, the man pulled a vessel the size of his pointer finger from her cleavage and stepped away from her. The woman rearranged her disheveled gown, still smiling. Then, as if nothing at all had happened, they turned their backs on each other and walked off. What in the world just happened? No sooner did the question occur to Emilia than it vanished again. Her priority right now was Aisha. What mattered was that she’d caught Aisha’s gentleman meeting secretly with a beautiful young woman. She must tell Aisha about it right away. As a friend, of course. She looked up. Kiara Grafton was walking innocently toward her. Although Emilia had recognized her, they’d never talked. Their eyes met for an instant, and then, without so much as a nod, she walked past. As she did, Emilia inhaled a saccharine, flowery scent. I know that smell… She looked over her shoulder at the woman. What was that scent? She traced the memory and, after a moment, arrived at an answer. Oh yes, Paradise! She was certain that’s what they’d called it ten years ago.