For the Lady's Wise Regression - Chapter 80

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 80
“She declined.”
As the Grand Dame’s words fell onto the table, silence descended.
“That girl did what you would have accepted without hesitation, yet she ended it with ‘I’ll pass along the offer.'”
The rebuke followed in quick succession.
“That’s saying she’ll act as nothing more than a messenger. Whether to accept or refuse—that decision rests with her husband. That’s what it means.”
The Grand Dame’s gaze turned to the woman who had just spoken of silk trade and the Jeongjeong Flower.
“It would be best if you visited with your husband shortly. The door will open, I suspect. For that girl.”
The Grand Dame’s gaze settled on Vanessa, who stood with Ian.
“Remarkably clever, that one.”
Her tone was approving.
“Even though she said she’d send an invitation, she didn’t mention waiting for a response. She knows how to avoid burdening others.”
The Grand Dame watched the corner of Marquess Leonard’s Wife’s mouth, hidden behind her fan.
“If it were you, you’d have said you were waiting for word.”
It seemed the evening’s gathering was shaping up to be a venue where the Marquess’s wife’s pride and dignity would be mercilessly crushed and trampled.
The Grand Dame gazed quietly at where Vanessa Ruscliffe was heading, then smiled with evident satisfaction.
Just then, the music in the hall changed. After announcing the Crown Prince and his betrothed, a small dance began in the center of the hall.
Vanessa moved naturally toward her husband.
“That she bears her heart so openly and yet remains unbitter—she takes after my granddaughter.”
At these words, Marquess Leonard’s Wife’s fan closed slowly.
“Isn’t it? I confess, I thought her far too good a match for my son.”
Watching her speak as though nothing were amiss, Magrita smiled to herself.
Before the Grand Dame’s arrival, there had been such a commotion in the hall.
“Speaking of which, where is your son? He caused that fuss earlier, yet he’s nowhere to be seen.”
Though she hadn’t witnessed the disturbance herself, the Grand Dame’s ears were keen. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have raised the subject.
It seemed the young Duchess, who had seated herself uninvited and somehow managed to gain an actual invitation, had quite captured her fancy.
Vanessa Ruscliffe became an invisible blade on the table, spinning and spinning before piercing Marquess Leonard’s Wife.
The fresh young Duchess had lingered scarcely long enough to finish a cup of tea, yet for one person to dominate conversation at this table for so long was unprecedented.
Marquess Leonard’s Wife ground her teeth in silence.
So that’s how she was going to hint at poor child-rearing.
Magrita Linne pressed her lips firmly together and quietly popped a piece of candy into her mouth.
***
The ball was in full swing.
In the transformed ballroom, at the center of the hall.
The first dance was between the Third Princess, announced as the Crown Prince’s betrothed, and Tesse Decart.
For the assembled nobility, a dance of the Kingdom of Antuela was prime intelligence.
The court’s method of sharing information was always thus: strictly controlled, withheld, then delicately disclosed at official gatherings.
Most knew only that she was the Crown Prince’s betrothed; they didn’t know precisely which nation’s princess she was.
Soon enough, the court would certainly be flooded with all manner of delicacies and rare gifts meant for the Third Princess.
To win the favor of the Crown Prince’s betrothed and the Third Princess of the Kingdom of Antuela.
Then came the next matter.
The problem was what came after the Crown Prince and his bride.
Ordinarily, those of higher rank danced in sequence, which meant it would soon be her turn and Ian’s.
The difficulty lay in the Contact Prohibition clause plastered throughout the marriage contract.
Dancing required holding hands, linking arms, embracing at the waist or shoulders—but her partner had imposed such restrictions.
This predicament troubled only Vanessa’s mind.
As she watched Tesse and the Third Princess dance, Vanessa approached Ian and lightly squeezed his collar, then released it.
“Will you?”
To be honest, they didn’t have to.
The rumors would be something they’d have to accept.
“Will I what.”
“Dance. It’s the next turn.”
Ian’s jaw tightened once.
“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. Participation is voluntary.”
The rumors would be unavoidable either way.
A newlywed couple, and a duke of high rank at that, not dancing with their spouse at an official imperial ball for the first time since their marriage?
It was certain that tomorrow morning’s headline would read: [Duke of Ruscliffe and Duchess, Cold War at Imperial Ball?]
Of course, if Ian Ruscliffe had given it that much thought, he would have taken her hand long ago.
In any case, Vanessa had entered this marriage with such considerations in mind, so if he refused, she would simply shrug and move on.
“…Take my hand.”
A grinding sound filled the air.
Her teeth were going to shatter. No, at this rate, it wouldn’t be strange if a few pieces came loose.
Ian extended his hand.
The moment the Crown Prince and his wife finished their turn, as if he’d been waiting for exactly this.
The music changed.
She hesitated briefly, then carefully took his gloved hand.
And slowly, matching his pace, they moved toward the center of the hall.
Her feet stopped.
And his hand, rising toward her waist, froze in midair.
“…Ian, you don’t have to force yourself,”
“Who said I was.”
His hand, separated by the thickness of a single sheet of paper, touched down as if with resolve—just barely.
The problem was that he wasn’t making full contact, but rather resting it precariously against the fabric of her gown, as if he might brush it away at any moment.
Look at his face.
A dragon had nothing on him.
The furrow between his brows had become completely rigid.
‘I can’t exactly tell him to relax his expression.’
Even from the front, his jaw jutted out prominently.
His tightly clenched mouth trembled slightly.
His face was twisted with effort, and yet his hand—barely managing to hold onto the fabric of her gown—looked almost comical.
As the music began in earnest, four feet moved slowly in unison.
At least neither of them was uncoordinated.
In this lifetime, it was her first dance.
She’d never imagined she’d dance it with Ian.
But as the dance continued, Ian’s normally even breathing kept faltering—skipping a beat, then recovering, again and again.
As if he were desperately suppressing the urge to say something.
“Ian, are you alright?”
“…What?”
His answer came half a beat too late.
With the music at such a slow tempo, their joined hands, their breath, the distance between them—everything seemed to stretch and drag interminably.
Creak. A sharp sound followed. Now he was clenching his teeth without mercy.
She could feel Ian’s hand, barely resting on her waist, trembling finely.
‘Is he going to collapse like this?’
Up close, Ian’s expression looked the same as always, but his complexion was growing increasingly flushed.
The chandelier’s light was helping for now.
By the end of the song, he’d look like a tomato.
Vanessa deliberated for a moment, then struck the floor sharply with her heel—short and hard.
A signal to change the music.
The tempo gradually quickened in response.
Ian’s eyes widened noticeably.
Now that she thought of it, she hadn’t expected to ever look at Ian from this distance again.
Not on the day she returned to the past, and not now.
Up close, she could see his irises trembling finely.
And his chest—it hadn’t been rising and falling since earlier….
Wait. What? His chest wasn’t moving?
“…Ian.”
“….”
He didn’t answer.
His hand, resting on her waist, was tensing with effort.
Even his gloved hand in hers, his usually quiet and composed gait—everything had changed.
The rhythm shifted briefly, just once.
“…Hey, Ian.”
“….”
Still no answer.
Something was increasingly wrong with Ian’s state. Only then did Vanessa clench her teeth.
And she began to take the lead in the dance, instead of following as she had until now.
A half-step back, forward, then sideways. One full step again.
Fortunately, the music’s rhythm was quickening, so her feet could move faster.
From a distance, it would have looked as though the husband led in the first dance and the wife in the second, but the two of them were engaged in a silent war.
The hand at her waist was now gripping her dress.
Their clasped hands felt as though the bones might crush beneath the pressure.
Tap, tap-tap, tap.
Yet even as they moved, the two dancers’ strides flowed smooth as water, their steps light and buoyant.
The final measures of the waltz.
Ian’s face had crossed past “flushed” into something altogether deeper—too far gone for him to blame the lighting.
Vanessa pulled their joined hands toward her in one fluid motion, gentle yet unyielding.
Their faces drew close enough that she could feel his breath.
The distance between Ian’s eyes and hers narrowed to less than a whisper.
“Ian. Breathe.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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