106. Charlotte on the knees
“To say something like that to my lady, this is not like Miss Erna.”
Mrs. Greve declared with a confident face.
Baroness Baden, who had been looking at her with pensive eyes, returned her gaze to the letter in her hand without giving any answer.
“If you can’t stand it there, how about bringing the young lady here?”
“If only I could do that, I would too...”
Baroness Baden's eyes, having left the letter she had read over and over again, turned to the window. Beyond the white fence, freshly painted last spring, lay a field, scorchingly warmed by the sun. The weather had been just as sweltering that day, when the child, longing to dye his hair in the sunlight, had stopped by that field.
From that childhood to the present day, the sorrow and hurt that poor thing had to bear simply because she was born the daughter of a man like Walter Hardy rose up in a haze of fading light. Perhaps she should be grateful that, thanks to that terrible event, she can now at least cut him out of Erna's life.
The news of the Grand Duchess's severance of ties with her father stirred up a stir even in the remotest part of the countryside. It was Prince Bjorn who declared that Walter Hardy was neither Erna Dneister's father nor a royal relative. He had renounced that claim, and he should never again be called the Grand Duchess' father.
Despite the public outcry for the unworthy Grand Duchess's removal from the royal court, Prince Bjorn remained utterly unresponsive. His resolve was so firm that Erna's position would not be jeopardized by this. Baroness Baden cannot express how deeply grateful she was for that.
But even with her husband's unwavering protection, how could Erna possibly hold her head up high? She was such a delicate child that she felt guilty even for the color of her hair, inherited from her father, who had hurt her mother. The thought of how Erna must be looking at her husband now made the Baroness feel dizzy.
“Madam, please ask the Prince a favor.”
Mrs. Greve, who had been deep in thought, made a suggestion with a smile on her face.
“Well, that makes sense.”
Baroness Baden nodded coolly.
Believing Prince Bjorn to be a man unlike the rumors, she entrusted Erna to his care, but a lingering worry remained. However, after closely observing the two men who had visited this place last spring, Baroness Baden was able to put aside even her last worries.
Bjorn was a difficult man.
Although he'd now laid aside his crown, he was a Prince born and raised as a monarch of a nation. He was a man possessed of the elegant arrogance and pride characteristic of a man who had never bowed to anyone throughout his life. Traces of his life were evident in every little action, expression, and glance. This was precisely why it was so difficult to treat the young Prince, who was his grandson's age.
But Prince Bjorn, with Erna, seemed like just another ordinary young newlywed. She liked that look, and there were many moments when she found herself quietly observing the two of them. If only such a man had stayed by her side, Erna's remaining life would be peaceful and happy. A sense of relief filled her heart.
Baroness Baden, holding Erna's letter, stood up with a determined look on her face.
She decided to trust her instincts once more. She believed Prince Bjorn would know what was best for Erna.
“Today is Wednesday.”
Duchess Arsene's tone as she opened the conversation was extremely somber. It was hard to believe she was a guest who had barged in unannounced, bearing a mountain of gifts.
“So, I just stopped by for a bit, so don’t worry about it.”
A wrinkled hand, having folded and set down its fan, cupped a cold crystal glass. A Duchess visiting her grandson's home in broad daylight, sipping whiskey soda. It was a rather unconventional sight, yet her demeanor was perfectly natural. This made Leonid, who was sipping hot tea, appear even more refined on a sweltering summer afternoon.
“By the way, why are you here? What’s with all that tacky stuff?”
Duchess Arsene pointed to the bouquet of flowers beside Erna with a disapproving look. Almost as large as Erna herself, the bouquet was clearly made by someone who didn't know how to coordinate colors. The dazzling array of colors was dazzling.
“I had some free time, so I stopped by for a bit. I wanted to say hello to the Grand Duchess for the first time in a while, and also see my nephew.”
"You're a good liar. I guess we won't see your nephew until next year, will we?"
“I’m watching with my heart, Grandma.”
Leonid gave a brazen answer with a consistently serious expression.
Duchess Arsene's laughter, glancing at her grandson, eased the awkward atmosphere. A faint smile appeared on Erna's lips, who had been timid.
“Yes. Please tell me, even though I don’t have the eyes of the heart, what your nephew looks like in your eyes.”
“He seems like a good kid.”
The sound of Leonid's teacup hitting the saucer resonated clearly.
“Thanks to the fact that he resembles his mother so much.”
There was a faint hint of a smile in the words he spoke to Erna. The smile, slightly tugging at one corner of his lips, was strikingly similar to Bjorn's. Indeed, it was a smile Bjorn had never once given to a child.
"Thank you."
Erna faced Leonid with a much more relaxed expression.
“Thank you for the flowers. They are really pretty.”
Only then did Erna truly encounter the large bouquet of flowers beside her. The vibrantly colored flowers were all large and beautifully shaped. Even a glance revealed the meticulous care put into selecting them.
“Depending on your taste.”
Even as she clicked her tongue, Duchess Arsene's gaze on Erna remained consistently gentle.
The weather these days. The book she'd recently read. Plans for the coming fall. As they continued their conversation on mundane topics, Erna, who had been feeling timid, gradually regained her composure. Relieved by this, yet also filled with pity, she couldn't take her eyes off Erna. The news of Bjorn's return reached Erna just as she was regaining her usual smile.
“The Prince has returned.”
Not long after the quietly informed servant withdrew, Bjorn appeared. The sound of a teaspoon dropped by Erna, who was fidgeting, rolling across the table, resonated loudly.
Bjorn was an uninvited guest.
It wasn't difficult to realize that. Erna's eyes, her expression, and her every action proved it.
In the place where the woman who had once smiled so comfortably disappeared, only a lifeless doll remained. Bjorn had to muster every ounce of his meager patience to keep from lashing out at Erna, who was watching him closely like a child being punished.
“How about letting that kid stay at Arsene’s for a while?”
Duchess Arsene, who had sent Erna, looking exhausted, back to her bedroom, made an unexpected suggestion. Bjorn's eyes, bathed in the midday light, narrowed.
“I think that would be better for both of you.”
“Erna’s place is right here, Grandma.”
Bjorn answered without a moment's hesitation.
Did you ever think about leaving this house?
Bjorn's expression grew anxious as he tried to guess what conversation the three had had in his absence. She had been noticeably depressed since the day she'd mentioned divorce, but it was nothing more than a marital quarrel.
“Don’t you think that position is burdensome for Erna?”
Duchess Arsene's expression became graver. Bjorn met her grandmother's gaze with a cold gaze.
“I know best what is best for Erna.”
"Yes?"
"Yes. Now that all the problems have been resolved, Erna is protected within the walls of Schwerin Palace. My place is perfect, Grandmother. And of course, it will remain so."
“Bjorn Dneister.”
The voice of the Duchess of Arsene, calling out that name with emphasis, shook the air in the tired drawing room.
“You treat your wife like Charlotte on your lap.”
Duchess Arsene clicked her tongue, looking at Bjorn as if she were looking at the most pitiful and pathetic thing in the world.
“Charlotte?”
Bjorn frowned, as if he didn't understand what it meant, and glanced at Leonid. From that, Duchess Arsene realized that the heartless Prince couldn't remember the name of a single cat he'd been watching for ten years.
"Cat."
Leonid, who couldn't stand to watch, spoke softly.
“Grandma’s white cat.”
Only after that explanation was added did Bjorn give a brief, "Oh, my," reply. But that was all. His expression was devoid of any further emotion.
"Ah."
Sighing in shock, she quickly spread out her feather fan.
Of the two children, Bjorn was by far the one who adored Charlotte the most. Unlike Leonid, who would only glance at her from afar, Bjorn would always take the cat on his lap and pet it whenever he visited the Arsene household. Charlotte seemed to enjoy the touch, and she followed Bjorn's every move. She could tell the twins apart perfectly, and she would circle Bjorn's feet.
Charlotte probably believed her affection was amply repaid. Every time, Bjorn would hold the cat in his arms and caress it affectionately. His gaze and smile were as sweet as those of a lover, even though he was so indifferent that he couldn't even remember her name.
On days when Bjorn visited, Charlotte, who would perch on the windowsill and gaze out for long moments, floated over Erna's former seat. Her face, radiant with beauty as she spoke of her husband, had been so beautiful. The old woman's heart had been tingling with excitement at the sight of them, newlywed, who had fallen in love. That's why Erna's appearance today, seen here, was all the more astonishing.
The child who had once looked upon Bjorn as if he were her entire world was desperately trying to avoid her husband's gaze. Her eyes, empty and clear, no longer shone as they once did. If Charlotte were human and had discovered that she was, in fact, nothing more than a nameless cat to Bjorn, would she have looked at him like that?
Duchess Arsene sighed deeply and raised her head. A ray of sunlight, now significantly less intense, fell upon Bjorn, who straightened his neck. Well-shaped eyebrows and light-filled gray eyes. A smooth, straight nose, lips tinged with red, and a graceful, sharp chin. Her gaze, slowly following the light's trail, stopped once more on Bjorn's eyes.
“Live with gratitude for the faces of your ancestors every moment you breathe.”
That was all the advice she could offer this fool, whose only useful thing now seemed to be that the Creator had clearly failed to balance outward and inner beauty.
Well, thanks to that, the beauty of the child to be born was secured.
“To say something like that to my lady, this is not like Miss Erna.”
Mrs. Greve declared with a confident face.
Baroness Baden, who had been looking at her with pensive eyes, returned her gaze to the letter in her hand without giving any answer.
Erna sent a letter of refusal in response to the letter announcing her intention to visit the Grand Duke's residence. She wrote that the royal household was still in disarray and would be unable to receive guests for the time being. She added that she was doing well thanks to her husband and hoped the Baden family would also find peace and spend their days in tranquility. Her final greeting, promising a formal invitation when the season of cool breezes arrived, meant she would not see her until the end of this summer.
“If only I could do that, I would too...”
Baroness Baden's eyes, having left the letter she had read over and over again, turned to the window. Beyond the white fence, freshly painted last spring, lay a field, scorchingly warmed by the sun. The weather had been just as sweltering that day, when the child, longing to dye his hair in the sunlight, had stopped by that field.
From that childhood to the present day, the sorrow and hurt that poor thing had to bear simply because she was born the daughter of a man like Walter Hardy rose up in a haze of fading light. Perhaps she should be grateful that, thanks to that terrible event, she can now at least cut him out of Erna's life.
The news of the Grand Duchess's severance of ties with her father stirred up a stir even in the remotest part of the countryside. It was Prince Bjorn who declared that Walter Hardy was neither Erna Dneister's father nor a royal relative. He had renounced that claim, and he should never again be called the Grand Duchess' father.
Despite the public outcry for the unworthy Grand Duchess's removal from the royal court, Prince Bjorn remained utterly unresponsive. His resolve was so firm that Erna's position would not be jeopardized by this. Baroness Baden cannot express how deeply grateful she was for that.
But even with her husband's unwavering protection, how could Erna possibly hold her head up high? She was such a delicate child that she felt guilty even for the color of her hair, inherited from her father, who had hurt her mother. The thought of how Erna must be looking at her husband now made the Baroness feel dizzy.
“Madam, please ask the Prince a favor.”
Mrs. Greve, who had been deep in thought, made a suggestion with a smile on her face.
"When you visited Burford, I saw how much the prince cherished the young lady. This recent incident proves it, too. So if you convey your wish to bring her here, wouldn't he readily grant permission? After all, the prince himself would surely want her to live in peace."
Baroness Baden nodded coolly.
Believing Prince Bjorn to be a man unlike the rumors, she entrusted Erna to his care, but a lingering worry remained. However, after closely observing the two men who had visited this place last spring, Baroness Baden was able to put aside even her last worries.
Bjorn was a difficult man.
Although he'd now laid aside his crown, he was a Prince born and raised as a monarch of a nation. He was a man possessed of the elegant arrogance and pride characteristic of a man who had never bowed to anyone throughout his life. Traces of his life were evident in every little action, expression, and glance. This was precisely why it was so difficult to treat the young Prince, who was his grandson's age.
But Prince Bjorn, with Erna, seemed like just another ordinary young newlywed. She liked that look, and there were many moments when she found herself quietly observing the two of them. If only such a man had stayed by her side, Erna's remaining life would be peaceful and happy. A sense of relief filled her heart.
Baroness Baden, holding Erna's letter, stood up with a determined look on her face.
She decided to trust her instincts once more. She believed Prince Bjorn would know what was best for Erna.
***
“Today is Wednesday.”
Duchess Arsene's tone as she opened the conversation was extremely somber. It was hard to believe she was a guest who had barged in unannounced, bearing a mountain of gifts.
“So, I just stopped by for a bit, so don’t worry about it.”
A wrinkled hand, having folded and set down its fan, cupped a cold crystal glass. A Duchess visiting her grandson's home in broad daylight, sipping whiskey soda. It was a rather unconventional sight, yet her demeanor was perfectly natural. This made Leonid, who was sipping hot tea, appear even more refined on a sweltering summer afternoon.
“By the way, why are you here? What’s with all that tacky stuff?”
Duchess Arsene pointed to the bouquet of flowers beside Erna with a disapproving look. Almost as large as Erna herself, the bouquet was clearly made by someone who didn't know how to coordinate colors. The dazzling array of colors was dazzling.
“I had some free time, so I stopped by for a bit. I wanted to say hello to the Grand Duchess for the first time in a while, and also see my nephew.”
"You're a good liar. I guess we won't see your nephew until next year, will we?"
“I’m watching with my heart, Grandma.”
Leonid gave a brazen answer with a consistently serious expression.
Duchess Arsene's laughter, glancing at her grandson, eased the awkward atmosphere. A faint smile appeared on Erna's lips, who had been timid.
“Yes. Please tell me, even though I don’t have the eyes of the heart, what your nephew looks like in your eyes.”
“He seems like a good kid.”
The sound of Leonid's teacup hitting the saucer resonated clearly.
“Thanks to the fact that he resembles his mother so much.”
There was a faint hint of a smile in the words he spoke to Erna. The smile, slightly tugging at one corner of his lips, was strikingly similar to Bjorn's. Indeed, it was a smile Bjorn had never once given to a child.
"Thank you."
Erna faced Leonid with a much more relaxed expression.
“Thank you for the flowers. They are really pretty.”
Only then did Erna truly encounter the large bouquet of flowers beside her. The vibrantly colored flowers were all large and beautifully shaped. Even a glance revealed the meticulous care put into selecting them.
“Depending on your taste.”
Even as she clicked her tongue, Duchess Arsene's gaze on Erna remained consistently gentle.
The weather these days. The book she'd recently read. Plans for the coming fall. As they continued their conversation on mundane topics, Erna, who had been feeling timid, gradually regained her composure. Relieved by this, yet also filled with pity, she couldn't take her eyes off Erna. The news of Bjorn's return reached Erna just as she was regaining her usual smile.
“The Prince has returned.”
Not long after the quietly informed servant withdrew, Bjorn appeared. The sound of a teaspoon dropped by Erna, who was fidgeting, rolling across the table, resonated loudly.
***
Bjorn was an uninvited guest.
It wasn't difficult to realize that. Erna's eyes, her expression, and her every action proved it.
In the place where the woman who had once smiled so comfortably disappeared, only a lifeless doll remained. Bjorn had to muster every ounce of his meager patience to keep from lashing out at Erna, who was watching him closely like a child being punished.
“How about letting that kid stay at Arsene’s for a while?”
Duchess Arsene, who had sent Erna, looking exhausted, back to her bedroom, made an unexpected suggestion. Bjorn's eyes, bathed in the midday light, narrowed.
“I think that would be better for both of you.”
“Erna’s place is right here, Grandma.”
Bjorn answered without a moment's hesitation.
Did you ever think about leaving this house?
Bjorn's expression grew anxious as he tried to guess what conversation the three had had in his absence. She had been noticeably depressed since the day she'd mentioned divorce, but it was nothing more than a marital quarrel.
“Don’t you think that position is burdensome for Erna?”
Duchess Arsene's expression became graver. Bjorn met her grandmother's gaze with a cold gaze.
“I know best what is best for Erna.”
"Yes?"
"Yes. Now that all the problems have been resolved, Erna is protected within the walls of Schwerin Palace. My place is perfect, Grandmother. And of course, it will remain so."
“Bjorn Dneister.”
The voice of the Duchess of Arsene, calling out that name with emphasis, shook the air in the tired drawing room.
“You treat your wife like Charlotte on your lap.”
Duchess Arsene clicked her tongue, looking at Bjorn as if she were looking at the most pitiful and pathetic thing in the world.
“Charlotte?”
Bjorn frowned, as if he didn't understand what it meant, and glanced at Leonid. From that, Duchess Arsene realized that the heartless Prince couldn't remember the name of a single cat he'd been watching for ten years.
"Cat."
Leonid, who couldn't stand to watch, spoke softly.
“Grandma’s white cat.”
Only after that explanation was added did Bjorn give a brief, "Oh, my," reply. But that was all. His expression was devoid of any further emotion.
"Ah."
Sighing in shock, she quickly spread out her feather fan.
Of the two children, Bjorn was by far the one who adored Charlotte the most. Unlike Leonid, who would only glance at her from afar, Bjorn would always take the cat on his lap and pet it whenever he visited the Arsene household. Charlotte seemed to enjoy the touch, and she followed Bjorn's every move. She could tell the twins apart perfectly, and she would circle Bjorn's feet.
Charlotte probably believed her affection was amply repaid. Every time, Bjorn would hold the cat in his arms and caress it affectionately. His gaze and smile were as sweet as those of a lover, even though he was so indifferent that he couldn't even remember her name.
On days when Bjorn visited, Charlotte, who would perch on the windowsill and gaze out for long moments, floated over Erna's former seat. Her face, radiant with beauty as she spoke of her husband, had been so beautiful. The old woman's heart had been tingling with excitement at the sight of them, newlywed, who had fallen in love. That's why Erna's appearance today, seen here, was all the more astonishing.
The child who had once looked upon Bjorn as if he were her entire world was desperately trying to avoid her husband's gaze. Her eyes, empty and clear, no longer shone as they once did. If Charlotte were human and had discovered that she was, in fact, nothing more than a nameless cat to Bjorn, would she have looked at him like that?
Duchess Arsene sighed deeply and raised her head. A ray of sunlight, now significantly less intense, fell upon Bjorn, who straightened his neck. Well-shaped eyebrows and light-filled gray eyes. A smooth, straight nose, lips tinged with red, and a graceful, sharp chin. Her gaze, slowly following the light's trail, stopped once more on Bjorn's eyes.
“Live with gratitude for the faces of your ancestors every moment you breathe.”
That was all the advice she could offer this fool, whose only useful thing now seemed to be that the Creator had clearly failed to balance outward and inner beauty.
Well, thanks to that, the beauty of the child to be born was secured.
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