I Proposed to My Childhood Friend After Regressing - Chapter 9

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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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After Regression, I Proposed to My Childhood Friend
Episode 9
Throughout the Empire’s High Society, innumerable balls, galas, concerts, and reading circles were held in grand and intimate scale alike.
They served as venues where nobility exchanged intelligence and deliberated partnerships.
Among them, the Masquerade Ball being held this evening was the second-largest event of the spring season and the most popular affair of its kind. Naturally, it was.
‘A hidden face meant freedom to move as one pleased.’
Seeking new acquaintances, making bold proposals under the shield of anonymity, indulging in small transgressions one would never dare in daylight—all such things found a degree of acceptance here.
One could discover anyone’s true identity if one wished, but it was the unspoken law of the Masquerade that people turned a blind eye unless matters grew truly grave.
Yet Beatrice and Clyde had chosen to attend wearing masks that scarcely concealed their faces—masks that were hardly masks at all. The reason was simple.
‘It was time Valois’s patience finally wore thin.’
She dismissed the possibility that Valois would skip the Masquerade entirely. The woman adored parties and revelry far too much.
‘What are the odds Valois would behave herself demurely at such a ball, where even ordinary folk lose their restraint, then waltz home smiling?’
Such odds did not exist. One might sooner spot a flying pig.
But the inverse probability was devastatingly real.
That is, the likelihood that Valois—poisoned by resentment toward them—would see an apparently devoted couple on the ballroom floor and have her eyes roll back in her skull.
‘Even without certainty that we’re what offends her, Valois would act. I’m sure of it.’
And afterward, she would say, ‘It’s your fault for making me misunderstand.’
Better to be hated and offer oneself as the target willingly. Easier to respond when signs of trouble emerged later.
Though certain of this logic, still—
“Isn’t that Lady Hartwell and Lord Dalton over there, feeding each other?”
“They’re wearing lace masks, but you can tell it’s them. I saw them dancing earlier, whispering and laughing about something. It was quite charming, really.”
“Ah, then that must have been Lord Dalton fetching her shawl near the Powder Room. Goodness, newlyweds do seem delightful, don’t they?”
“Having kept it hidden so long before revealing it now—well, it does make sense. Perhaps that’s why they chose such light masks? A declaration of sorts: ‘I don’t wish to hide anymore’?”
“Oh dear, oh my, such talk might be unseemly, but it’s rather endearing, isn’t it?”
……She hadn’t expected that revealing oneself beneath anonymity would draw such relentless attention!
Beatrice, thoroughly worn by the unceasing stares, finally fled to a corner of the Hall.
Seeing her exasperation, Clyde quietly followed, beverage in hand.
“Here.”
“……Ugh. What are you doing here? I wanted a moment alone. If you’re here, people will start gossiping again.”
“And leave you unguarded? Who knows what Valois might do? Don’t worry. I won’t let it bother you.”
“Fat chance.”
“I mean it. People lose interest in what caught their attention before.”
Well, now that he said it that way, perhaps there was something to it—
Yet even so, Beatrice shifted her body closer to the decorative elements that would shield her. Clyde leaned in slightly, tilting his chin as he opened his mouth.
“Besides, look carefully. There’s a gain to be had here.”
“Hm……?”
Following his chin tilt, she scanned the gathered crowd and let out a small gasp.
“Ah.”
Though he’d given no hint beforehand, she understood at once. Among the revelers, each concealed beneath masks of every hue, there existed one figure who stood out unmistakably.
“Wow, really frightening stare. I can’t tell who they are, yet somehow I can.”
“Right?”
“It’s remarkable—dressed head to toe in costume, and you can still identify them.”
Beatrice meant it sincerely.
Without those eyes alone, she would have been as lost as a parrot, unable to distinguish this figure adorned in every color of silk from the rest. But those eyes—they would give anyone away.
The way they circled a wine glass with ease amongst the throng, yet never missed a detail of this corner of the room, was almost admirable in its persistence. The problem was only that such persistence was directed at them.
Beatrice brushed her arm and leaned toward Clyde.
“But honestly, you’re right—she’s just watching. I thought she’d kick up a fuss like she did at the wedding, no holds barred.”
“Perhaps she’s waiting for her moment. Besides, I did tell you: she’ll try to separate us first.”
“By spilling wine? By calling someone over?”
“Yes. And if that happens, do you remember what I told you to do?”
At his question, Beatrice gave him a sideways look—a glare that promised violence if he asked even once more.
Yet Clyde didn’t blink, pressing forward with shameless assurance.
“What, Beatrice? You’ve already forgotten? I suppose I’ll have to walk you through it again from the start—”
“The meeting place! The old tree in the Garden Behind the Estate. Satisfied?”
“Good.”
“Don’t laugh. Honestly, I can’t even hit you with all these people around—”
“Exactly my plan. How else could I coax you into some cold water to cool that temper?”
“Go to hell.”
Even as she fumed, she flinched at the surrounding gazes. Clyde’s muffled laughter spilled out.
Inevitably, the price of his amusement was sharp pain blooming across his ribs.
“Ow!”
“Shh! Smile, darling. Come on—anyone watching will think I’m tormenting you.”
Alongside that familiar, not-quite-threat—
* * *
Valois’s gaze traced the two figures huddled in the furthest corner of the ballroom with persistent attention.
Her lips, painted vivid red to match her dress, twisted naturally.
“Strange. What on earth could they possibly find so amusing……”
Not viewing some magnificent artwork or breathtaking vista. Not receiving some precious, costly gift. Not savoring the rush of obtaining something long desired.
All they did was sip their beverages while exchanging trivial chatter, or dance to music. Was that truly so entertaining? So happy?
‘To the point of fouling my mood merely by watching?’
Valois barely suppressed the urge to hurl her glass and blinked slowly.
‘No. I should do this my way.’
People called her reckless, a miscreant, but she had tried to obtain what she wanted through proper, aristocratic means whenever possible.
She had sent proposals, made confessions, voiced her objection at the wedding ceremony itself. She had even petitioned His Imperial Majesty to annul their marriage—all conducted with perfect propriety.
And what had she received in return?
‘Lady Crawford. As I have said each time you’ve pressed the matter: I am not yours to claim. I am not an object, not prey—I am a person. How could I become anyone’s possession?’
‘Have you lost your mind? There is no grounds for their divorce, so abandon this folly and leave. I warn you one final time: this lenience ends now. Should you attempt such nonsense again, I will not stand aside. Valois, when will you learn that there are things in this world that do not bend to your will?’
Valois recalled the rejections that had rained down upon her and bit her lower lip.
‘Things that won’t bend to my will. Where?’
Certainly not in her world.
‘One need not divorce formally for a Marital Bond to be severed.’
A spouse’s death, or disappearance, would dissolve such bonds just as surely.
Her gaze alighted upon the youngest of the Hartwell Family rising from her seat. Clyde was not at her heels this time—she must be heading to the washroom.
‘Alone, even. See? There are no impossible things in this world.’

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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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