Deceived 23

Chapter 23

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Sponsored by LC. Thank you ❤️ (2/6)

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The reading club was a gathering she would normally have found thoroughly unpleasant. On the surface, it was a place where upper-class women gathered to read and appreciate various literary works, but in reality, it was a venue for superficial conversation and subtle psychological warfare. 

If it had stopped there, it might have been a relief, but occasionally it became a social club where time was filled with gossip and slander about others.

Blair, who had been pointed at since childhood for having a scandalous mother, certainly didn't enjoy this closed, private gathering. She wasn't a social butterfly to begin with.

Nevertheless, her reason for attending was clear. The person Blair sought to meet wasn't someone for refinement or gossip, but someone who could give her certainty.

"...Huh."

The doors to the reading room, accessible only by invitation, swung wide open. The space, specially prepared in a corner of the Royal Library for today's reading, was remarkably spacious and bright. A hired musician sat at the piano, playing a melody as smooth as flowing water, while ladies of high society, who had arrived earlier, were seated around a round table adorned with pale pink orchids.

As Blair stepped inside, their gazes turned to her all at once. Margaret Doman, the reading session's hostess and Isaac's mother, beamed and pushed back her chair to rise.

"Welcome. You look as prim and pretty as a doll today, don't you?"

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Marchioness Doman."

"Indeed. Now, everyone, please greet her. This is Miss Blair Twyford, who will be our Isaac's bride. She's only recently arrived from the North and is not yet familiar with Borsa culture, so I hope you'll all be kind to her."

Blair scanned the women seated around the large table. The group consisted solely of young ladies her age, eight in total, each exquisitely dressed.

Margaret Doman, born commoner, had been an opera singer in her youth before meeting Marquis Doman. After conceiving Isaac in a single night, she ascended to become the marchioness.

Having thoroughly taken to playing the part of a noblewoman, her greatest pleasure was gathering marriageable young ladies to host such social gatherings. Margaret's philosophy was that elevating one's dignity through refined company increased one's value as a bride and led to a suitable match.

Though Margaret herself hadn't used her refined grace to entangle herself with a wealthy nobleman, young ladies eager for social advancement gladly attended her gatherings. Women seeking Margaret Doman’s friendship did the same.

Blair stared intently at the red-haired young lady seated at the center of the round table. She was Nicoletta, from the Viscount Underhill family.

Nicoletta seemed slightly surprised. Since Margaret Doman’s reading gatherings were essentially events for unmarried women, Blair's appearance—already engaged—seemed unexpected.

"Since it's a reading gathering, your throat will get dry soon. Have some tea first. What would you like? Black tea? Lemon tea?"

"Black tea, please. Thank you, Marchioness."

Blair responded politely while greeting the other women. Nicoletta, who had been looking elsewhere pretending not to notice, belatedly acknowledged her.

"Miss Blair Twyford, we've met before, haven't we?"

"Of course. Pleased to see you."

Unlike when seen at the Biso Club House, Nicoletta, with her lightly made-up face and neat attire, ended the conversation after that greeting. Instead, she clutched the book in her hand, preparing for the reading session.

"Welcome. Literature is a topic of conversation for women who never lose their dignity. I trust everyone has read interesting short stories for today's gathering."

Margaret Doman, seated at the head of the table, continued with exaggerated hand gestures.

"I would be delighted if we could take turns sharing passages from books that left a deep impression and your interpretations. So, is there a young lady who would like to demonstrate first?"

"I will do it, Marchioness Doman."

Nicoletta raised her hand modestly. Margaret Doman smiled warmly.

"Exemplary as always. Very well. Let us begin with Miss Underhill."

"Yes, Marchioness."

Nicoletta adjusted her posture, exhaled softly, and began her recitation.

"'She bit into the crimson rose and swallowed it whole. A rose whose stem bore thorns and whose veins flowed with deadly poison. Though she knew her breath would never return, she longed to be intoxicated by its crimson scent.'"

As Nicoletta finished reading with a strangely sorrowful expression, the women exchanged secretive glances, except for Margaret. Blair listened silently to Nicoletta's subsequent interpretation.

"I read the novel 'Red Breath, Black Stem,' and I believe it speaks of a fatal love. People crave love, knowing it is dangerous. Even if it can never be fulfilled."

"A sensual and dizzying ruin. Our lives are well captured in it. Then, next is..."

A relationship with Isaac Doman would be dangerous, all right. Not because he was a man about to marry, but because he was a man with a filthy venereal disease. Assuming, of course, that Edmund's words were true.

Blair's self-deprecating gaze met Margaret Doman’s. The Marchioness gave a faint smile.

"Shall Miss Twyford give it a try?"

"I shall, my lady."

Though the expectation of high-level conversation felt burdensome, Blair silently turned the page.

"'The world within the dried portrait remains unchanged. The brushstrokes have ceased, and the colors are fixed. When a single drop of water falls, the painting begins to bleed. And only then does time flow.'"

Blair lifted his gaze from the book and spoke cautiously.

"This is an excerpt from the poem 'The Dry Portrait.' I think life is sometimes like a portrait painted by someone else. It's clearly one’s face, yet it's trapped within a frame and colors chosen by someone else. Once the paint dries, it stops forever within that space. But even a tiny change, like a single drop of water, can turn life upside down. I fear it might ruin the painting, but that might just be one’s true color.”

“Hmm… That’s very profound and beautiful.”

Margaret Doman seemed confused but clapped anyway. Nicoletta, who had been watching Blair intently as she read, tilted her head.

"So you mean a messed-up, smudged painting could become a better work?"

"If we follow the poetic metaphor, yes."

"What if I don't like the smudged painting?"

"If it's a change I chose, I'll have to accept it."

Brushing it off lightly, Blair took a sip of her cooling tea. Suddenly, the strength drained from her hand holding the teacup. As if waiting for that moment, the lukewarm, rosy liquid spilled downward.

“…Oh, dear.”

“Goodness gracious! Are you all right, Miss Twyford?”

Blair quietly looked down at the wet hem of her dress.

"Fortunately, it wasn't hot. Excuse me for a moment, Marchioness."

Then she met Nicoletta's eyes.

"Miss Underhill, if it's all right, might I request your company?"

Faced with this sudden request, Nicoletta couldn't hide her bewilderment. Soon, her raised eyebrows suggested she felt insulted. She took it as being treated like a maid.

But what could she do? Blair needed time alone to speak with Nicoletta. Nicoletta, eager to impress Margaret Doman, would never refuse Blair's request.

"Of course. The ladies' lounge is at the end of the corridor. Please come with me."

"Thank you."

Blair rose from her seat, clutching the hem of her dress stained by her own hands. She couldn't see Nicoletta's expression as she began walking a few steps ahead.

***

The moment the lounge door slammed shut, Nicoletta crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes.

"Lady Twyford, do you have something to say to me?"