A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 94

The truth was, she’d been confused all day. Ever since she ran into him, she couldn’t concentrate on her work, her heart kept pounding, and she’d ended up fleeing the office.

All day long, one thought kept plaguing her. Why had he tried to kiss her? Why had he looked at her like he used to? Why had he acted like someone who still had lingering feelings?

To be honest, a part of her had wanted to start over, leaning into those familiar eyes and gestures.

Back then, she had denied it for so long, pretended not to notice for so long. This time, she wanted to be the one to take the first step, to begin the conversation.

But.

“They say it’s the engagement of the century. That you two make a perfect match.”

Things were different now. Ilex Davenport was no longer the second son of the Davenport family, and he wasn’t alone. He was now the proper head of the house, and he had a beautiful fiancée.

And then, as now, Tilia never had any intention of becoming a mistress.

“Honestly, I don’t even want to add to the chorus of how good you two look together, so I’ll just say congratulations.”

Maybe he really had come back wanting to rekindle what they had.

Well, who could blame him? It had been too intense to forget. To him, that time must’ve been a precious piece of a glittering youth.

But regardless of his true intentions, now the only possible bond between them was an inappropriate one.

He might even become so blinded by love again that he’d try to call off the engagement—but she didn’t want that.

Love is just a fleeting emotion. Tilia didn’t want him to make a huge sacrifice in life for a feeling that would likely fade with time.

Nor did she want to risk her hard-earned stability, all for a heart that might once again leave her unanswered.

“And… there’s something I’ve always wanted to tell you, if we ever met again.”

No, those were just excuses. The truth, buried deep, was that she didn’t want to tarnish the beauty of that memory.

Inside Tilia, there was a small garden she had cultivated for years.

A garden of love, where she had gently planted the brightest moments of her life. She had carefully tended it, casting daily light and fending off pests that tried to gnaw away at her memories.

No matter what anyone said, she was the sole keeper of that garden. She alone owned those beautiful memories. No one could take them from her.

Not even Ilex Davenport, who had shared them.

“Back at the academy… I’m sorry I treated you so badly.”

Tilia took a deep breath and gathered her courage once more. As she slowly turned her head toward Ilex, the dim glow of the streetlamp fell across his face.

Was he angry? Sneering? Or simply expressionless?

His face was hard to read, half-veiled in the darkness, but she stared directly at him, choosing her next words as carefully as a prospector sifting for gold.

“And… thank you. Maybe it didn’t mean much to you, but back then, to me…”

But she couldn’t finish.

Plop. A thick cone of ice cream fell to the ground by her feet.

“You know what?”

The half-melted ice cream splattered on the toe of her new shoes. But Tilia didn’t even notice the stain—she was staring blankly at the man who had tossed it.

“You always ruin things. Right at the moment when I’m expecting the most from you.”

Only then did she realize. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t sneering.

He was hurt.

Ironically, in the moment he revealed his pain, everything she had built within her came crashing down.

His wounded eyes pierced through her. Suddenly, she felt a jolt of familiarity. Had he looked at her this way before? Had she once wounded Ilex Davenport like this before?

As her eyes darted in confusion, unable to find a place to settle, he sighed in frustration and got up.

His broad back retreated without hesitation, growing smaller with each step.

Like someone watching a missed train fade into the distance, Tilia could only stand there, dazed, until long after he had disappeared. Only then did she slowly, hesitantly rise to her feet.

Time to go home.

With unfocused eyes, she muttered softly.

I should go home. Wash up and go to sleep. There’s a lot to do tomorrow, so I really should go to bed early…

As she forced herself to think about the busy day ahead and slowly stood up, she noticed the dessert still in her hand.

The ice cream, warmed by the heat of her grip and the spring air, had long since melted into a mushy mess.

What a waste. The thought came unbidden, and she instinctively raised it to her lips—but then, suddenly overcome with shame, her cheeks flushed.

She hurled it to the ground, just like Ilex had.

Splat. The soft, messy lump landed with a smack, merging with the first, seeping into the cracks between the bricks.

Staring down at the sorry mess, Tilia bit her lip until it bled.

Tears threatened to burst free. The fact that she had almost eaten the melted mess in that moment, the fact that she hadn’t ended anything properly—it all made her feel unbearably pathetic.

Couldn’t she have said something else? Something better to bring this to a close? When would she finally be able to take off the necklace still hanging around her neck?

Trapped inside her own mind with no way out, questions without answers echoed endlessly.

She couldn’t bring herself to sit on the bench. Couldn’t bring herself to leave, either. She just stood there, motionless, for a very long time.

…Time to really go.

Tilia rose to her feet with an utterly exhausted expression, just as night had fully fallen.

Even though she’d been thinking she should leave, she hadn’t been able to move. It was only then that her eyes landed on the newspaper left behind on the bench.

Why ask me to buy it if you were just going to leave it here?

Muttering with quiet resentment, Tilia picked up what Ilex had left behind and casually read the front-page article.

The moment she read the headline, her pupils dilated wide as if struck by a beam of light.

The seasons had passed without regard for human affairs, and once again, spring had arrived, full of blooming flowers. Trees were packed with migratory birds returning in search of warmth, and the air was so saturated with the energy of spring that even in the darkness, the night no longer felt cold.

Within that absence of chill, relying on the dim streetlamp, Tilia read and reread the newspaper he had left behind.

Until the ice cream stain on the polished toe of her shoe, now long past the time it could be wiped away, became a permanent blemish.

Until her face, which had only just returned to its original color, flushed once again with an emotion beyond words.

***

The train from Ontaroa to Ederpfalz, the capital of Arkansis, was always overbooked, yet curiously, the first-class carriage had one compartment completely empty.

Amid the silence broken only by the engine’s hum, the door to that compartment opened and someone stepped in with long strides.

A man with tousled hair glanced over the vacant seats and quickly spotted the sole passenger inside, walking toward him.

“Your Grace.”

Kevin Smith, no longer a valet but now the duke’s aide, bowed lightly toward the Duke of Davenport and began his report with a thick file in hand.

“The railway rights in Barned have been handled as you instructed. However, the board has submitted several proposals in relation to that—”

“The matter.”

“Pardon?”

Ilex, who had silently been listening to Kevin’s lengthy report, suddenly interjected with an unrelated question.

“How far has the matter progressed?”

Ah. Kevin, who had been watching the sculpted profile of his superior with a puzzled expression, quickly understood what he meant.

“A formal letter has been sent via our contact in the consulate. We expect a reply within the month.”

The vague wording of the young duke left no room for ambiguity. It pointed to one specific individual—so specific that there was no need to mention a name.

So special that even without saying it, Kevin knew immediately whom the duke meant by “the matter.”

“Per your prior instructions, a room has been prepared for Miss Tilia Ambrose at the main residence.”

It seemed his assumption had been correct. Ilex gave no response to the softly spoken name, which only confirmed it.

“…Did you set it up in the guest wing?”

“We prepared the room closest to your own, Your Grace.”

At the aide’s reply, the tension in Ilex’s furrowed brow eased slightly. Noticing this, Kevin let out a quiet breath of relief and continued his report.

“Have her stay elsewhere.”

Ilex spoke again only after the report was completed and several documents had received his approval.

Still gazing indifferently out the window, the man raised his gray-blue eyes to his aide and gave the order.

“Not the main house—prepare the annex.”

The annex. A faint flicker passed through Kevin’s eyes.

Among the many estates owned by the Duke of Davenport, there was only one he referred to simply as “the annex” without any further clarification.

Because whenever he spoke of something unique, he always dropped the subject entirely.

One of the Davenport residences scattered across the continent. And yet, for a duke who drifted without ever putting down roots, it was the only place he considered “home.”

‘So he’s finally going to prepare a room for her at the Essentine estate…’

Suppressing a gasp, Kevin bowed his head once more. “We’ll make sure the room nearest to Your Grace’s bedroom is ready.”