Deceived, Yet Drawn to You - Chapter 23

The reading gathering was normally the kind of meeting Blair found utterly unappealing. On the surface, it was presented as a refined occasion where upper-class women gathered to read and appreciate various works of literature, but in reality, it was a place for shallow conversation and subtle rivalry. If it ended there, it might have been tolerable, but at times it turned into a social arena filled with gossip and malicious rumors about others.

Blair, who had been pointed at since childhood simply because she had a mother of questionable reputation, had no reason to like such a closed and private gathering. She wasn’t particularly sociable to begin with.

Even so, there was a clear reason she’d chosen to attend today. The person Blair wanted to face here wasn’t literature or gossip, but someone who could give her certainty.

‘…Phew.’

The door to the reading room, accessible only by invitation, opened wide. The space, specially prepared in one wing of the Royal Library for today’s gathering, was spacious and bright. A hired musician sat at the piano, playing smooth melodies that flowed like water, and several noblewomen who had arrived early were seated around a round table adorned with pale pink orchids.

As Blair stepped inside, all eyes turned toward her at once. Margaret Dorman, the hostess of the gathering and Isaac’s mother, rose from her chair with visible delight.

“Welcome. You’re as prim and pretty as ever, like a little Rorschach doll.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Marchioness Dorman.”

“Of course. Now then, everyone, let’s make introductions. This is Lady Blair Twyford, who will soon become my Isaac’s bride. She’s only recently come down from the north and isn’t very familiar with Borsa’s customs yet, so I hope you’ll all be kind to her.”

Blair glanced over the women seated at the wide table. There were eight of them in total, all young ladies around her age, each dressed elegantly.

Margaret Dorman, who’d been born a commoner, had once worked as an opera singer in her youth. After meeting Marquis Dorman, she became pregnant with Isaac after a single night and was elevated to the position of marchioness.

As a result, she’d taken great pleasure in playing the role of a noblewoman, and what she enjoyed most was gathering marriageable young ladies like this to host such social events. Margaret’s philosophy was that raising one’s refinement through cultured gatherings increased a young lady’s value as a prospective bride and helped her meet a suitable match.

Although Margaret herself hadn’t secured a wealthy nobleman through elegance and grace, young ladies seeking to elevate their status gladly attended the gatherings she hosted. The same was true for women who wished to cultivate a relationship with Margaret Dorman.

Blair quietly looked at the red-haired young lady seated at the center of the round table. It was Nicoletta, from the House of Viscount Underhill.

Nicoletta appeared slightly surprised. Since Margaret Dorman’s reading gatherings were essentially intended for unmarried women, Blair’s presence, already engaged, must have been unexpected.

“A reading session always leaves the throat dry, so let’s have some tea first. What would you like? Black tea? Lemon tea?”

“I’ll have black tea, thank you, Marchioness.”

Blair responded politely and exchanged greetings with the women. Nicoletta, who’d been looking elsewhere in apparent distraction, acknowledged her a beat late.

“Lady Blair Twyford, we’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“Yes. It’s good to see you again.”

Unlike at the Biso clubhouse, Nicoletta wore light makeup and a neat outfit today. After the brief greeting, she didn’t continue the conversation; instead, she held onto the book in her hands and focused on preparing for the reading session.

“Welcome. Literature is a topic of conversation that allows women to maintain their refinement. I trust you’ve all brought along interesting short works to read for today’s gathering.”

Margaret Dorman, seated at the place of honor, continued speaking with exaggerated gestures, “I’d be delighted if we could go around in turn and hear a memorable passage you read, along with your interpretation. Now then, is there a young lady who’d like to begin as an example?”

“I’ll go first, Marchioness Dorman.”

Nicoletta raised her hand demurely. Margaret Dorman smiled with pleasure. “As exemplary as ever. Very well. Let’s begin with Lady Underhill.”

“Yes, Marchioness.”

Straightening her posture, Nicoletta let out a quiet breath and began reading aloud.

“‘She bit down and swallowed a vivid red rose. It was a rose whose stem bristled with thorns and whose veins ran with deadly poison. Even knowing her breath would never return, she wanted to be intoxicated by its crimson scent.’”

When Nicoletta finished reading with a peculiarly sorrowful expression, the women, excluding Margaret, exchanged secretive glances. Blair listened silently to Nicoletta’s interpretation that followed.

“I read a novel called Red Breath, Black Stem, and I thought it was about a fatal love. People yearn for love even when they know it’s dangerous. Even when they know it can never truly be fulfilled.”

“A sensual and dizzying kind of ruin. It reflects our lives quite well. Then, who shall go next….”

If it were her relationship with Isaac Dorman, it certainly would be dangerous. Not because he was a man about to be married, but because he was a man afflicted with a filthy venereal disease. That was assuming Edmund’s words were true, of course.

Blair’s self-mocking gaze met Margaret Dorman’s. The Marchioness smiled sweetly.

“Shall we hear from Lady Twyford?”

“I will, Marchioness.”

Though the expectation of some lofty exchange felt burdensome, Blair quietly turned the page marked by her ribbon.

“‘The world inside a dried painting does not change. The brushstrokes have stopped, and the colors are fixed. When a single drop of water falls, the picture begins to blur. Only then does time begin to flow.’”

Lifting her eyes from the book, Blair spoke carefully, “This is an excerpt from a poem titled The Dried Portrait. I think life can sometimes resemble a portrait painted by others. It’s clearly my own face, yet it’s trapped within a frame and colors chosen by someone else. Once the paint dries, everything inside stops forever. But even a small change, like a single drop of water, can overturn a life. It’s frightening to think it might ruin the image, but it could also reveal my true colors.”

“Hm… very profound and quite lovely.”

Margaret Dorman applauded, though she didn’t seem to fully understand. Nicoletta, who had been watching Blair’s recitation intently, tilted her head.

“So you’re saying a picture ruined by spreading paint could become a better work?”

“If we follow the poetic metaphor, yes.”

“And what if you don’t like the blurred picture?”

“If it’s a change I chose myself, then I’d have no choice but to accept it.”

Answering lightly, Blair took a sip of her cooling black tea. Suddenly, the strength slipped from her hand holding the teacup. As if on cue, the lukewarm, rose colored liquid spilled downward.

“…Ah.”

“My goodness! Are you all right, Lady Twyford?”

Blair looked down quietly at the hem of her dress, now soaked.

“Fortunately, it’s not hot. Please excuse me for a moment, Marchioness.”

Then she met Nicoletta’s eyes.

“Lady Underhill, if you don’t mind, may I ask you to accompany me?”

At the sudden request, Nicoletta couldn’t hide her confusion. She soon raised her brows, clearly offended. She seemed to think she was being treated like a maid.

But what could be done? Blair needed time alone to speak with Nicoletta. And Nicoletta, who wanted to remain in Margaret Dorman’s good graces, was hardly in a position to refuse Blair’s request.

“Of course. There’s a ladies’ lounge at the end of the corridor, so come with me.”

“Thank you.”

Blair rose from her seat, holding the hem of the dress she’d stained with her own hand. Nicoletta, who walked a few steps ahead, did not reveal her expression.

***

The moment the lounge door shut with a click, Nicoletta crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.