9 – Marianne’s Truth – 2
“Do not get too close to the daughter of the Matisse family.”
That’s what my father told me back when I was waiting for an opportunity to talk to Ilya.
He called me to his study, a place I usually wasn’t allowed to enter freely, so I was wondering what it was all about. However, that man I was seeing for the first time in a long time gave me this order bluntly.
What’s more, he did so while running his quill across the paper.
For him, it was probably just a trivial topic that could be dealt with while he was running his errands.
When I remained silent, he glanced my way and gently reassured me, “Do you understand?”
I pursed my lips even more and just stared at my father’s hand.
Eventually, the gentleman rested his elbows on the solid wooden desk and gave me a wry smile, “Don’t make that face.” It was only after he pointed it out that I realized I was behaving in a way that was inappropriate for a lady.
I immediately straightened my gaze and met my father’s eyes.
Even though he had a cheerful face, there was something intimidating about him, as expected from someone who governed an earldom. For some reason, I felt that he would be scary if he got angry.
“Do you understand what I mean?”
He asked in a deliberately gentler tone than previously, before lowering his eyes again.
It would be easy to say “no,” but I knew that he wasn’t someone I could get through to with just that single word.
That’s why I tried to think about what to say and how to explain. However, I couldn’t seem to put my thoughts into words. Had I been an eloquent adult, I might have been able to put up a little resistance, but in the first place, I had no argument to persuade my father with.
It was just a few days ago that my tutor had encouraged me and given me his approval. If I couldn’t find the right words at a time like this, it would have been all for nothing.
No matter how much you study, if it doesn’t become useful in your real life, you can’t say that you’ve learned anything. A sense of impatience filled my chest.
I still had a long way to go.
“What a troublesome girl.”
The sound of my father’s pen moving echoed across the room as he seemed to have returned to his paperwork. It sounded like a regular, nervous grating, or maybe a rustling, like a long vowel.
It was pleasant to listen to, as if he was playing music. His elegant fingers moved like a conductor’s.
... ... And yet, the backs of his bony hands were tanned by the sun, and he looked nothing like a delicate person.
I heard that before I was born, he had fought in battles as a knight. The old kneehole desk inherited from his predecessor, which only the head of the family was allowed to use, also played a part in bringing out his dauntless and rugged side.
Even now, he never neglects his training so that he is ready to fight at any time in case of an emergency.
Suddenly, I felt a prickly sensation on my forehead, so I turned my wandering gaze back. Without me realizing, father’s hand had stopped moving. Now father was looking at me with interest as he pushed aside the documents he had been working on, which were slightly less in quantity than before.
“I don’t dislike that stubborn side of yours, but things will not always go your way, Marianne.”
Still, I couldn’t just nod in agreement, so I remained silent. The gaze father was giving me made me uncomfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable. I knew he wasn’t someone who would raise his hand without a reason, so I decided to keep quiet for as long as he would tolerate.
And finally.
I didn’t know how much time had passed in this stillness. Blowing away the heavy and tense air that had enveloped us, father suddenly laughed. “Sit down,” he told me, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Having been standing for so long, my legs were stiff as sticks. I had recently increased the height of my heels, and my toes had become numb.
Because of this, my movements were a little unnatural. However, I hoped that the numerous layers of frills of my ankle-length dress would hide it well.
Always act like a lady at all times.
If you were born an aristocrat’s daughter, you had to understand and accept that.
“There is no need to brace yourself like this, you know?”
The moment I sat down on the sofa, my mother, who had been silently watching the scene unfold, called out to me.
This person had already been in the room when I entered, but she had kept her presence hidden until now.
As I looked up at her face, which was so delicate you would have thought it had been intricately crafted and measured with a ruler, I felt the soft fabric under me bounce as if it might sink at any moment.
Unlike my father’s favorite desk, this couch was a new one, purchased just the other day. A merchant, who had been coming to our house for a long time, had brought it over in high spirits, saying that he had procured the finest goods from abroad.
This merchant - I should call him our family’s merchant - was an acquaintance of mine who has been taking care of me occasionally. For this reason, even though I had no interest in this newly purchased furniture, I had to listen to him rambling about who the designer was, where it was imported from, and so on.
To make it even more tedious, mother said that it was all part of my education. Even after the merchant left, it was a hassle because I had to review everything I had learned.
In truth, the ability to ascertain the quality of items is both a necessity and a given for the upper class. However, that talent doesn’t come naturally.
My mother always said, “To achieve anything, you learn through devoting yourself to your studies.”
She was the one who chose the fabric of the sofa and, as expected, she had good taste as it was beautiful and felt good to the touch.
In high society, the dresses my mother wears frequently become a topic in conversations before eventually turning into a trend.
She was a rare beauty, and also possessed a sophisticated sense of fashion.
She was destined to become an aristocrat, born to be one. It’s no wonder people say that.
Being the daughter of such a person came with a heavy burden, but luckily, I resembled my mother a lot.
When she and I were standing together, people said that, so I guess it must be true. When I look in the mirror, I see a face apparently similar to my mother’s when she was young.
In high society, “beauty” is justice.
It wasn’t just once or twice that I was glad I looked like mother.
“However, this will not do, my dear husband. Even if she is your daughter, it is plain negligence to not express yourself fully.”
Although mother was extremely kind to me, this beautiful woman was somewhat strict towards her husband as she elegantly raised her teacup.
Father sat on the opposite sofa and shook his head while sighing.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Father, who was described by those around him as cold-hearted and a hard worker, was also known as a devoted husband.
“Isn’t it necessary to explain why she has to do this? We are a family. We are not masters and servants. We cannot just answer “yes” to what you order us to do.”
Do not think you can manipulate us at will, please.
Her smile never faded, yet her displeasure wasn’t hidden.
Recently, mother has changed the color of her hair to crimson, looking even more youthful than before, and her girlish innocence bewitches others. Even I, her daughter, find this troublesome.
That's because no one can oppose her.
The same was true of my father, who wields absolute power over a vast territory, protects its people, and commands numerous knights.
The head of our household gave a wry smile but nodded.
“... ...To be frank, I don’t think that sharing everything with your family is a good thing. Because then, I won’t be able to protect you if the time comes,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“Well, I guess so?”
My mother opened her large eyes wide and tilted her delicate head, and a familiar scent wafted from her.
It seems that in high society there are popular scents, but my mother hires a private perfumer to create her perfumes, so she wears a scent that is unique.
It's a scent that always protects me.
"For example, if I were to be charged with a crime, I wouldn't be able to claim that my wife and child knew nothing about it. Isn't that right?” My father, who had been looking at my mother sincerely up until that moment, suddenly shifted his gaze to me.
He was seeking my agreement to his suggestion.
Just as I was unintentionally about to nod "yes," mother replied, "Well, my dear husband. In that case, you are not very reliable. From what you just said yourself, you will not be able to protect Marianne and me if something happens? If that's the case, I am terrified."
“Wait, wait,”
“In that case, if the time comes, I will protect Mariane, and Mariane only.”
For a cold-hearted husband, a cold-hearted wife was a good match.
"If the time comes, I am prepared to abandon you, so rest assured."
Hiding their true feelings behind a mask in the form of a smile was something nobles were good at, but when my mother was with her family, she added her real emotions to her smile that could charm anyone in this world.
It seemed that she believed that pretense is useless within a family.
Having been born into nobility, she knows that this is not normal. In every household, the patriarch holds full authority, and in a male-dominated world, women have few rights. A wife is merely a "supporting figure" and must obey her husband. This is considered the norm.
That's what a good wife and wise mother is like.
I still don’t know if that’s really the case, though.
“... ...I’m really no match for you. It’s a political matter, so I cannot tell you everything, but to sum it up...”
My father and Ilya’s father were apparently political opponents.
Several factions exist in high society, and each group is controlled by what they call a chief aristocrat.
They are what we call nobles of high peerage, and naturally among them, there are some people who are not easily met by someone with the rank of earl like my family. In other words, they are people of noble blood who have ties to the royal family.
My father and Ilia's father appear to belong to opposing factions. And so, no matter how much they wish to be friends, they are not allowed to become close without the permission of the leaders who control their respective factions.
"Oh, but... there is no prohibition on a friendship between me and Count Matisse's wife."
I was invited to her tea party just the other day. My mother said with a smile, and she was so refined that I couldn't tell what she was thinking.
Feeling a little scared, I shifted my gaze over her slender shoulder to look at the plain wall. A painting in a small frame that radiated presence was exposed there.
There were many expensive pieces of furniture in our house, and I could tell with a single glance that they were all made by craftsmen who put their souls into them. When I stood in front of them, I felt their awe-inspiring and solemn beauty with my whole body. These powerful works of art seemed to have life in them.
My mother was similar to them.
“On the contrary, I would be troubled if you two didn’t get along.”
“...?”
Something warm pressed down on my hand, and I regained consciousness. I must have been distracted. My mother's slender fingers were resting on the back of my hand.
“Even if the countess and you get along well, no one will think that you are good friends. In fact, even if you said you’re sworn sisters, no one would believe it. Because our family and the Matisse family will never coexist in peace." So instead, on the surface, we have to get along well. If the king were to mistakenly think that we were at odds, we would lose his trust.
“Do you understand?” my father asked gently. It seemed as if he was trying to warn my mother. To always place importance on "our house." Implicitly, our own will and desires should come second.
I glanced up and saw that my mother's beautiful profile was not one bit wavering, and her smiling eyes hadn’t changed in the slightest. However, it was her expression, whose emotion was unreadable, that spoke volumes. She had understood father’s will.
Seeing this, the head of our household smiled with satisfaction.
It seemed that a reply was not needed anymore, and that once a couple became husband and wife, they could come to a mutual understanding just by looking each other in the eye.
“...But Marianne, you are still a child. If you and lady Ilya become close, it would be taken literally. Innocent children should be unrelated to political schemes. And to others, it would seem that we parents are tolerating that."
Father looked straight at me. But as expected, it seemed like he was telling me something complicated, and the more I listened, the more confused I became. I didn’t understand what he was really trying to say.
“However, that would be problematic. Some people would think that our family and the Matisse family are colluding and using our children to plot something. This possibility exists.”
As father’s eyes turned sharper, I was startled and my heart throbbed. I clutched mother's hand as if clinging to it. She squeezed it back with the same strength as my own. This simple gesture reassured me.
“It's unfortunate for you, Marianne. But if you're born into a noble family, you have to choose the people you associate with. At all times, you have to keep engraved in your mind that there will always be people trying to bring you down."
Being suspicious of others is not a bad thing. It should be a shield that protects you.
"When you step out of the house, you have to don your armor. It may be difficult for you now, Marianne, as you’re still young, but remember that. So come on, smile."
My stiff cheeks twitched. There's no way I could laugh after being suddenly told not to be close to a child I had hoped to become friends with. But father ordered me to do so.
Mother just smiled gently at me and didn't say anything. Her eyes, which looked like jewels, spoke to me by themselves.
That was the answer. They were showing me how a lady should be.
I could no longer protest anymore. Because I admired my mother. I always wanted to be that kind of woman. So even if I didn't accept or agree with something, I should just elude it with a smile.
"...Father. I will make sure no one sees me. I will not let anyone notice."
If I smiled and followed my father's instructions, things would work out. I knew it, but my sheer determination slipped off my tongue.
In truth, I had already started to regret it. If I was going to call out to Ilya, then I should have done so right after she had finished performing.
It would have been great if I had said something.
Before the adults gathered at the venue started to speak ill of her performance. I should have simply said, "It was wonderful."
Because I had swallowed back that single sentence, as more time passed, I no longer knew what to say.
When all is said and done, I was too late.
Until we entered the academy, it was uncertain that I would even have a chance to meet her. Sometimes children were invited to tea parties hosted by noblewomen, but sometimes they weren't. It was rare for the sons and daughters of middle-ranked noble families to gather in the same room, like at the tea party the other day.
And now that time had passed, even if I were to meet Ilia, I felt that simply giving her a compliment would not properly convey the greatness of her performance.
I didn't want it to seem like I was just being polite.
"Marianne, stop."
Mother gently let go of my hand, but I turned pale, wondering if I'd made a terrible mistake.
"No, Marianne." My mother got off the sofa and knelt on the carpet, looking up at me. She grabbed my hands, which were trembling as I thought I was going to be scolded, and said with a plea,
"You don't have to say anything. You don't need to let everyone know what you want to do or what you must do. There's nothing wrong with keeping your true intentions deep in your heart so that no one knows. Rather, keep the things that are truly important to you deep in your heart and don't show them to anyone. The same applies to me and your father. Just because we're family, you don't have to tell us everything."
You never know when or by whom something precious to you might be taken away.
“Right, my dear husband?”
“Hmm, isn’t that different from what you said earlier?”
“... Oh! Is that so?”
“Yes. You asked me to explain myself, but now you tell Marianne that she doesn’t have to.” At first glance, he seemed to be questioning his wife, but on the opposite, his expression relaxed.
“Then am I wrong, dear?”
She tilted her slender neck. My mother is also the mistress of this house. She may look weak but she's not, and she may seem unable to express her opinion but she's not.
Her soft-looking body conceals a will strong like steel.
"I don't want to agree."
My father looked at his beloved, his gaze hiding a different intention than he had when his eyes were on me.
"But..."
Maybe it's because you're like that that I love you. He muttered to himself, looking up to the sky as he heaved a deep sigh.
"Because Marianne is smart. I believe she will be able to take each of our points of view into account."
Just do not make the wrong choice. If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.
