A Butterfly Through the Mist - Special Side Story 3

“Victor will be disappointed.”

Even though his reply had come terribly late, Judy answered with a laugh.

Ilex, unaware he had committed yet another social misstep, simply stared at the baby as if spellbound.

Watching him from the sofa, Judy’s expression shifted into something faintly strange.

She had never known that Ilex Davenport could make a face like that.

As she quietly absorbed this new and surprising information about her friend’s husband, she heard his voice—low, slightly hoarse—reach her.

“Are you… feeling all right?”

It was a question the Duke of Davenport had already asked her many times. Each time, Judy had replied that although all her joints felt like they were creaking, she was fine thanks to the nanny and the physician. But this time, her answer was a bit different.

With an intentional, weary sigh, she replied, “It’s hard.”

For the first time since he had taken the baby into his arms, Ilex’s gaze finally shifted to her.

Seeing the faint tremor in his blue-gray eyes, Judy lifted her shoulders in a small shrug.

“But Victor is so good to me that I’m all right.”

Of course, she didn’t need to emphasize it. Ilex Davenport would take good care of Tilia without anyone telling him to. Judy had no reason to meddle.

“You know, right?”

Still… her precious friend didn’t really have a family who could say these things to her.

“In times like this, the husband’s role is the most important.”

Firmly believing she was offering kindly meant advice, Judy spoke earnestly, “There’s no better postpartum care than a good husband.”

Ilex went quiet—a silence that could have meant total understanding, or none at all. He said nothing for a long time, continuing to monopolize the nanny’s work. Just when Judy began to grow bored, he finally opened his mouth.

“I’ve taken too much of the mother’s time. I should head back now.”

She let out a small laugh at the absurdity of a man who only now remembered his manners. His reluctance as he handed the baby back to the nanny was obvious, and Judy’s amused smile lingered.

“Next time, come with Tilia.”

Judy stood to see him off, while Ilex, giving her a faint, awkward look, rose to leave.

Charlotte’s going to have a little friend soon. Sensing it already, Judy smiled at the man who would likely visit often as a fellow parent.

“Let’s have dinner together again as families.”

***

“Then I’ll get going first.”

In Research Wing 202, attached to Lorelei Memorial Hall at the far southern edge of Arkansis Academy, Tilia stood up a little hesitantly.

“Ah, right. You said you had plans today.”

Her classmate, who had been working with her on organizing their joint research paper for the next conference, looked at her with disappointment.

“Nice. Do you have plans with your husband?”

“No, nothing like that… It’s just something with my family.”

Tilia offered that vague excuse as she glanced at the chaotic table.

The passage they had been poring over together came from an obscure poem by Eric Benderson. They had dug through materials from before King Edward III’s reign, trying to interpret the work within its historical context. But as first-year graduate students, the best they could do was expand upon analyses that already existed.

No need to rush.

Recalling how, in the previous seminar, she had been told that although her new approach was good, her evidence was weak, Tilia deliberately relaxed her shoulders and finished speaking.

“I’ll tell you once things are sorted out.”

“All right, then.”

“Get home safely, Tilia!”

Because they were fellow students majoring in rhetoric, a field notorious for attracting eccentrics, they didn’t pry further and readily let her go. Their easygoing attitude lightened Tilia’s mood as she left the research room with a smile.

Ah. Should I tell the professor before leaving too?

She was about to head straight down the stairs when she suddenly stopped. The office next door to the research room tugged at her attention.

Just in case, she checked the small sign posted on the door.

Present.

After a brief hesitation, Tilia carefully knocked on the heavy wooden door.

“Yes, come in.”

At the deep, composed voice granting permission, Tilia slowly opened the door to Room 202 and stepped inside.

Where Professor Raus had sat until two years ago, the person now occupying that seat was the Countess of Ford.

Feeling herself shrink slightly under Abel Ford’s sharp gaze, Tilia clasped her hands politely and stood straight.

“I have an appointment, so I’ll need to leave early today. I came to let you know.”

“You don’t have to report to me every time. This isn’t a military base.”

After saying that, the Countess of Ford lowered her gaze back to the student’s report she’d been reviewing.

Sccrrrch.

The harsh sound of the red pen scratching across paper echoed loudly in Tilia’s ears.

“Yes. I’ll be careful.”

Tilia spoke even more politely and folded her hands together.

Even Tilia, who had never found either her father or her superiors frightening, felt intimidated by her advisor. Within the mix of emotions that created that fear were respect and the sincere desire not to disappoint her.

Abel Ford was the first woman ever appointed as a professor at Arkansis Academy.

Some said it was only possible because the era had finally made space for women. But as a scholar in the field herself, Tilia thought differently.

Abel Ford was someone who had earned that space by force.

She still remembered vividly the shock she’d felt when she first read Abel Ford’s paper while preparing for her graduate entrance exams.

Unlike Tilia, who had only memorized and applied theory as instructed, Abel had questioned those very theories and produced entirely new analysis.

It could only be described as revolutionary.

That kind of person had become her advisor, the one who would teach her, evaluate her, and determine her academic future.

If Abel Ford wasn’t someone to be feared, then surely something in one’s brain was misaligned.

“Then, I’ll be going…”

“You’re going to see the physician?”

Tilia, already stepping backward toward the door with heightened politeness after recalling Abel’s research, froze.

The Countess of Ford removed the glasses resting on her nose as she asked.

Tilia widened her eyes, stunned that she had been found out so easily.

The professor glanced toward Tilia’s lower abdomen and explained calmly.

“You kept touching your stomach.”

“Ah…”

“I was wondering when you’d tell me. But it seems your classmates don’t know yet, either.”

As expected, exceptional people weren’t only intelligent in one domain.

Feeling her respect deepen for this teacher whose powers of observation and inference extended even into ordinary situations, Tilia replied honestly.

“It’s not certain that I’m pregnant yet. I’m only going to get examined now.”

“So there were symptoms suspicious enough to make you think so.”

“…Yes.”

“Just so you know, I’ll keep everything as fair as possible.”

Setting her glasses atop the stack of reports, the advisor interlocked her fingers and rested her chin on them as she continued.

“I won’t give you any advantages for being pregnant, but I also won’t let it become a reason to discriminate against you.”

Tilia couldn’t quite interpret her true meaning and her expression grew more cautious. Seeing this, Abel Ford added in a firm voice, “Having a child won’t hinder your future. At least not in my research lab.”

Only then did Tilia understand.

The Countess of Ford had two daughters.

“That’s all I can say. Go on now, and be careful.”

After planting a deep, steady resonance in Tilia’s heart, the Countess of Ford set her glasses back onto the bridge of her nose, as if she had already wasted too much time.

Then, fixing her gaze once more on the unfortunate report before her, she began drawing harsh red lines across it again.

“…Yes.”

Without meaning to, Tilia wrapped an arm around her stomach and answered softly.

“Thank you.”

***

I think I may end up not only respecting the Countess of Ford, but revering her.

With a slightly flushed expression, Tilia stepped out of the research wing and carefully boarded the carriage waiting for her.

Since she was visiting the physician without telling Ilex—even if only superficially a secret—she had chosen not a Davenport family carriage but a hired one.

It had been a long time since she’d ridden one, but even the breed of horses pulling it was different from the ones she used long ago.

Hired carriages really do give you what you pay for.

Realizing this with mild surprise, Tilia leaned back against the plush wall of the carriage, which wasn’t as elegant as a duke’s but was still pleasant enough.

Outside the window, half-covered by cleanly washed curtains rather than the grimy cloth she remembered, the academy grounds came into view.

The scenery of the campus in the height of spring looked like a framed painting.

It wasn’t just that the trees were lush or the flowers were bright. What made the spring sunlight feel like an oil painting was the faces of the freshmen walking along the neatly maintained paths.

Bright faces, laughing without a single worry. Expressions full of joy as they embraced the weight of the books in their arms as something sweet, savoring their first spring after entering the academy.

As Tilia observed those radiant faces one by one, she suddenly recalled her own freshman year.

The darkened shadows under her eyes from worrying about scholarships. The gloomy jealousy she’d felt toward the top student, her heart muttering curses even as she forced herself to study…

Remembering how sharp-edged she used to be, Tilia let out a quiet laugh without realizing it.