AVSAIE 24

Chapter 24

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Amarine's dress shop stood out for its opulence even on Sono Street, which was lined with high-end shops.

Through the large arched windows, well-dressed mannequins beckoned to the ladies, and at first glance, the expensive imported fabrics glistened in the natural light.

Lady Joan had never seen such a lavish dressing room in her life; it catered exclusively to the upper classes of Grita, and since its primary clientele was naturally the nobility, a commoner like Lady Joan would never pass through the streets of Sono in the first place.

Count Gounod had been a generous and benevolent theater owner to his singers and dancers. But Christine, in particular, he had gone too far.

He had made an appointment for her in the Amarine's dress shop, which was usually hard to get.

Biting her tongue, Lady Joan looked at Christine with a mixture of pity and concern.

The girl had never been talkative, but today's unusually subdued demeanor was troubling. Her green eyes, staring up at the red satin dress through the front window, were as empty as a hollow winter tree at dusk.

"Don't be afraid, Christine. It's a crowded neighborhood, after all."

Lady Joan cleared her throat and straightened her dress, but Christine was still staring at the elegant, flowing gown that looked like it had been made from countless layers of rose petals.

The dress, far too flashy for her, burned intensely in the pale winter morning sun.

Would you be shaken by something like that? 

‘Did the Duke of Deimos order you to do this?’

The clumsy seduction Christine tried with the Crown Prince ended in failure.

No wonder.

How could she succeed when he was already suspicious of her?

A silent sigh hung in the air, white as a sheet.

To get her mother back, Christine would have to put herself on the line. But the moment her eyes locked with the Crown Prince’s that night, she realized suddenly.

That he was too noble for her.

And she realized that she was.............too insignificant.

So, Duke Deimos' plan to bring down the Crown Prince and restore his former glory was nothing more than a vain delusion. Still, she couldn't give up and came this far because she needed to see her mother.

Because she had to bring her back.

Even a man like the Crown Prince must have a weakness.

Even the smallest.................

"Let's go inside."

"Yes."

As they climbed the stairs that led to the store's entrance, an ornate door with clear glass and golden handles opened from the inside.

"Welcome to ..................."

The smiles disappeared from the clerk who opened the door, the clerk organizing the slips at the register, and the clerk adjusting the mannequin's outfit.

Sharp, narrowed gazes quickly swept up and down the two women.

The lady in the overly worn hat, overcoat, and clunky shoes with the leather on the front peeling off, and the middle-aged woman in a ragged coat that had seen better days.

At first glance, they looked like maids running errands for an aristocratic family, or maybe they were peddlers, and no matter how they looked at them, they couldn't afford a pair of silk stockings.

"What brings you here?"

The black-suited clerk's tone turned stern.

"I'm sure there is a reservation for Count Gounod."

Frowning in disbelief, the clerk's gaze slid over the open pocketbook.

"Ah, yes. But the note says Countess Marlene is expected, and you’re not the Countess I know."

The clerk responded chillyly, closing the notebook he'd been shuffling through.

The quiet conversation and laughter suddenly stopped, leaving only the sound of the piano from the gramophone to echo through the chilly air.

"The Countess is ill with a terrible cold and could not come with us, and we are not here today to see her clothes, but to have Miss Peildon’s dress fitted."

"Then come next time with the Countess, for we, Amarine, do not serve unidentified guests. So be careful on your way back.”

Look at that look in his eyes, what a mean man.

Lady Joan's normally red cheeks turned even redder at the blatant disregard.

"An unidentified guest! Do you mean to tell me that you don't know who Christine Peildon is? There's no way you could have gone to the opera on a wardrobe clerk's salary."

Amarine, the hotbed of all kinds of rumors.

 According to rumors going around, Christine Peildon was a symbol of ambition who had drugged Fiona Bennett's tea to get the lead role, seduced Count Gounod to enter the court banquet, and become the new prima donna.

She even charmed the Crown Prince, who called her "a witch who mesmerizes people.”

But the woman in front of him, dressed in a shabby outfit, with a thick blouse buttoned all the way up to her neck, and a stiff, plain bonnet that could only be worn by nuns, could not possibly be an opera singer singing on a glamorous stage.

"This is not the Miss Peildon I know, either."

"No. What kind of business is it to have a clerk here who doesn't know how to look at people? Get Madame Veronica, and talk to her. I don't want a young man who doesn’t know how to communicate.”

"Commotion is prohibited in Amarine's. It's disturbing the other customers, so please leave."

"That's why I asked for Madame Veronica, so I don't have to make a fuss. Speak to her yourself.”

The chatter drifted over the gentle melody of the piano. Christine's cheeks burned as she stared down the unsightly leather nose of her shoe. A cold sweat trickled down her spine beneath her blouse.

Why did it have to be this dressing room?

With all due respect to Count Gounod for his care, she didn't deserve to be treated so unfairly. Christine was about to ask Lady Joan in a quiet voice to leave when she heard a familiar voice.

"Miss Peildon?"

"....!"

Turning, she saw a woman with soft hair pulled up in a bouffant bun and a floating olive-colored hat walking toward them with graceful strides.

It was Cecilia Deimos.

"Hello. I didn't expect to see you here again."

Cecilia greeted her with a bright smile, her presence once again drawing attention to the uncomfortable surroundings.

"Hello, Miss Deimos."

Christine greeted her calmly, her face stiff.

"I presume you're here to have your dress fitted?"

“Yes, I've been invited to a Christmas night event hosted by the Duke of Deimos."

"You mean the charity auction?"

Green eyes widened a little as if she'd never heard of it before. Cecilia looked genuinely unaware.

"That’s strange. My mother said they're inviting Miss Bennett this year."

"......"

Christine hid her embarrassment as she watched Cecilia's brow creased slightly as if she were trying to remember.

It was Miss Fiona Bennett.

She had unwittingly usurped her position again. Her healing palm burned at the thought of what would happen if Fiona ever found out.

"You looked like you were having trouble here, is there anything I can do to help?"

Shame washed over Christine at the realization that she had embarrassed herself. As she looked away from  shame, her eyes caught sight of the fine satin shoes beneath the sable fur coat on display, and it seemed to her that her worn, shabby black shoes represented her life.

It was then that Lady Joan spoke up and explained the unpleasant situation.

The unpleasant situation was neatly ended by Cecilia's words. She had the kindness to introduce Madame Veronica herself.

"I see you are acquainted with each other. Now, come, let us sit down and talk, Miss Deimos. And Miss Peidon."

Madame Veronica led them to the parlor sofa and motioned for the waitress to bring them tea.

"But first, perhaps I should apologize. Of course it was rude of Amarine to treat you the way we did."

Lady Joan grudgingly accepted the clerk's apology.

And a moment later, in the faint winter sunlight that filtered through the display windows, tea time with Cecilia Deimos began, against Christine's wishes.

"If you don't mind, Miss Peildon, may I be of some assistance?"

"...."

"I'm afraid you're not quite up to speed on the laws of society and the unwritten rules of ladies' behavior."

Madame Veronica had a look of determination that an opera singer who had come from a commoner background and lived a life at the bottom could not possibly know anything about high society.

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