Chương 69: Chapter 70: “Pawlite Society (2)”

'Imperial Princess Maribelle Aurelis.' Celestia held her teacup in both hands and let the steam rise toward her face for a moment before she sipped. In the original novel, this woman was the one who had drawn Arthur into the Imperialist faction. By the time Arthur understood what he had become a part of, his blade had already been used, and one of the casualties had been Jade. The Jade currently working under Celestia's company was now a different future. There was a certain degree of safety in that arrangement.

The Imperial Prince was many things, but even he would not be foolish enough to try to take Jade's weapons by force when it was clear he was under her protection. But that was only assuming everything would happen like the original story. Maribelle was originally not supposed to make a major appearance until the third semester. The novel had only shown her appearance in Summit Academy during the latter half of the year, by which point she would notice Arthur and slowly start to feign innocence to recruit him.

The annulment had changed the original plot's course, and Celestia had been working under the assumption that no major effects of her actions would take effect until next year. The fact that they had reached as far as drawing the First Imperial Princess to this tea party was a development she had not planned for. She lowered the cup.

"Lady Hill," Celestia said.

"The blend is excellent. I commend your kitchen." Beatrice's hand twitched at her saucer. The other women around the table were holding very still.

"Y-you flatter me, Lady Reingarde." Beatrice recovered with a smile.

"I shall pass your compliment on to the staff."

"It is indeed quite fine," Maribelle said.

"I was just thinking that the leaves must be from one of the southern continents. There is a particular brightness to them that one cannot achieve from our farms."

"You have a discerning palate, Your Highness."

"I have had a great deal of practice." Celestia turned the cup in her hand.

"Practice in tea, Your Highness, or in matters more elaborate?"

"Oh, both, of course." Maribelle smiled.

"It is a great pity, do you not think, when one's palate matures faster than one's circumstances allow it to be exercised? One ends up tasting the same blend a hundred times, and remembering the flavor of one that has been taken away."

"How wistful of Your Highness." Celestia let her own smile rise the smallest bit.

"Although I confess, I am of the opinion that one should not develop a fondness for blends one cannot afford to drink. It tends to leave a sour taste."

"Then it is fortunate, is it not, that some blends remain on the menu, even if the customer has changed her mind."

"Indeed. Although I find that menus do change. And so do customers." A teacup clinked too loudly against a saucer further down the table. Beatrice's hand had gone to the edge of her napkin. She was holding it tightly enough that the fabric had begun to crease.

'W-were they talking about the tea…?' This was a mistake. Beatrice kept her smile in place. and her face was beginning to ache from the effort.

'I shouldn't have invited them both.' She had genuinely believed, when she had drawn up the invitation list, that Celestia von Reingarde and Imperial Princess Maribelle Aurelis would be a complementary pairing. The two of them had been on cordial terms for years. Beatrice had personally seen them at multiple balls and state functions together, sharing small remarks that two old acquaintances would. And, of course, there had been the engagement. Celestia had been Maribelle's brother's betrothed for over a decade.

They were close enough at one point to becoming sisters-in-law. Today's table should have been a quiet catching-up between the two. But it was not.

'Something happened between them.' Then a thought struck her.

'... What if this was one of the reasons why the engagement was annulled?' And Beatrice had just sat the two of them across from each other at her tea party. She had to change the subject now, before the verbal duel escalated into something one of the witnesses would carry back to her family by sundown, and before Beatrice's tea party would become a point of discussion for a much bigger fall-out between the First Imperial Princess and the Reingarde heiress.

"Ladies—" Beatrice began to talk. But Celestia and Maribelle were already speaking again.

"Tell me, Lady Reingarde," Maribelle said.

"Does the improving of one's character also include the rearranging of a city's roads? I confess, I had not thought embroidery and music to be quite so… ambitious in their reach." A small ripple of attention moved around the table. Several of the women had not made the connection yet.

"Your Highness flatters me by noticing." Celestia inclined her head.

"It is a small project. The common folk of Summit have rather more pressing transportation needs than the nobility, and a humble railway is one way to address it. Some of us prefer to spend our afternoons being useful, rather than admiring our own portraits." A teacup clinked, set down a touch too hard. Maribelle retorted back.

"How wonderfully selfless. Although I do wonder, Lady Reingarde, whether the common folk truly require the personal attention of a ducal heiress. Most of them have managed perfectly well on their own two feet for several centuries. One might almost say that the railway addresses a need they did not know they had."

"That is the nature of progress, is it not, Your Highness? Most people did not know they needed candles, until someone tired of stumbling about in the dark."

"Ah, but candles are at least a comfort everyone can afford. A railway, by contrast, is the sort of grand gesture that draws a great deal of attention. One does begin to wonder where the money for such a thing might come from. And to what end."

"It comes from the Reingarde purse, Your Highness. As for the end, I should think the answer to that is plain enough. A city that moves more easily is a city that prospers more readily. And a noblewoman who builds something useful for the people tends to sleep better at night than one who merely supervises others." Maribelle's smile sharpened.

"How very charming. Although I have always found that those who insist upon their own usefulness most loudly are often those who have the least faith that others will see it for them."

"Then it is fortunate, Your Highness, that some of us speak quietly enough to let our work speak for us." A genuine silence followed. The other six women at the table were speechless at this entire exchange; the pressure between both powerhouses made their eyes lower, and not one of them was breathing any louder than was necessary. It was at that point, into that silence, that someone spoke.

"Lady Reingarde… sorry, but, are you the one who owns the Silk Road?" The voice came from a woman seated on Celestia's side of the table. She looked like a lovely, plump woman with bright eyes and cheeks that had gone slightly pink with what could only be excitement. She had leaned forward in her chair without seeming to realize she had done it.

"The Silk Road Transportations Industry, I mean," the woman went on quickly.

"I— sorry, I've just been wondering since no matter how much I tried, I couldn't find the owner, and I—" She seemed to catch herself, and her cheeks went a brighter pink. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Celestia turned her head toward the woman. The other ladies at the table looked at her with renewed interest.

The connection had not yet been entirely public, the corporate filings had been routed through enough intermediaries to keep Celestia's name from publicly appearing immediately. But the question, asked aloud at this tea party, was its own confirmation.

'Ah, Lady Wimbleton.' Villet Wimbleton. The Wimbleton family had purchased their noble name from the Imperial Family three years ago through a substantial donation. They were the lowest noble house represented at this table. Celestia said, "Yes, Lady Wimbleton. Silk Road Transportations Industry belongs to me." Hearing this, she forgot what to do for a moment, and then gave Celestia a small bow from her chair.

"Pardon me. I-I'm Villet Wimbleton, of House Wimbleton. We're new to the peerage. Only got our name three years back, so I shouldn't be speaking up to you like this, but…" She trailed off, then started again.

"What you've built. It's going to change this city. I've been in the trade my whole life, Lady Reingarde, before the name and after. And what you've done just changes everything." Celestia could see that the praise had no calculation behind it, no angling for favor. It was the same fervor Anna had when she spoke about her plants or potions.

'How interesting.' Celestia had assumed Villet Wimbleton to be the standard merchant-turned-noble, corrupt greedy merchants who only wanted to side with the Imperialists just to fatten their purses even more. But this was someone who genuinely understood what a railway meant. A merchant who understood logistics, and the personal enthusiasm to recognize an infrastructure project for what it was.

'Perhaps coming here was not entirely a waste of an afternoon.'

"Lady Wimbleton." Celestia inclined her head.

"Your praise is generous. The Silk Road is, as you say, ambitious. But it is only the beginning of what I have planned for this city. I should very much like to discuss matters further with you, when the schedule of the future permits." Villet's eyes went round.

"O-of course, Lady Reingarde. Anytime. I mean, at your convenience. Whenever you like."

"Excellent." Beatrice, at the head of the table, had begun to breathe again. The minutes that followed brought a return to safer ground; weather, the new fashions arriving from the capital, a shared anecdote about a clumsy footman at a recent state function. Maribelle laughed at the appropriate moments, Celestia made the appropriate replies, and Beatrice managed to keep the conversation moving from one harmless subject to the next. Eventually, the shadows in the garden began to lengthen.

Beatrice took the moment with both hands.

"Esteemed ladies." She set her teacup down.

"The light is beginning to leave us. I have arranged for a small dinner to be served, should anyone wish to remain. The kitchen has prepared a roast of veal with stewed cherries, and a bottle from the cellars that I have been saving for an occasion." It was the standard form. Any guest with sense would decline with thanks and take their leave. The other six women stood as one.

"Lady Hill, you are too kind." The Margrave's daughter spoke first.

"But I am expected at home before the evening bell. The afternoon was wonderful."

"Truly wonderful," said one of the countesses.

"I would have loved to stay, but my father is hosting a small gathering tonight, and I cannot disappoint him."

"And I have a letter from my brother that I must reply to before sundown. Lady Hill, thank you for your gracious invitation." The bows came in succession. Each guest curtseyed to Beatrice, then to Maribelle, then to Celestia. Villet's bow was the deepest, and a fraction late.

"Lady Hill, this was lovely, truly. Thank you. And Your Highness. And Lady Reingarde, I shall await your word."

"I look forward to it," Celestia said. Maribelle was already standing.

"Lady Hill. The afternoon was a delight. You must invite me again."

"I would be honored, Your Highness." A maid stepped forward to guide each of the departing women toward the path that led around the manor. The garden emptied in stages, and within a few minutes, the table was nearly empty. Beatrice exhaled slowly through her nose. At the very least, the party had not become a scandal. The Hill family's reputation would emerge from the afternoon roughly intact. She turned, ready to thank her remaining guest for the day. But Celestia had not moved.

She was still seated at her place, with her white-haired maid standing several paces back from her chair as before. Beatrice's stomach sank.

"Lady Hill," Celestia said.

"I would love to join you for dinner." Beatrice did not respond at once. The dinner offer had only been a formality. No one ever accepted it, the whole point was to allow the guests a graceful exit.

'Did I overstep?' The favor had been granted. Celestia had publicly given her blessing. The whole arrangement was meant to conclude here. If Celestia was now staying for dinner, it could only mean that there was much more to discuss regarding the favor. Beatrice's smile rose into place.

"Oh, Lady Reingarde, I would be honored. Truly. The kitchen will require an hour to have everything ready in proper order. May I have one of the maids show you to the parlor in the meantime? You will be more comfortable indoors, and refreshments can be brought up at once."

"That would be most kind." Celestia stood. A maid hurried forward and bowed, and the three of them, including the white-haired maid, began to walk back toward the manor. Beatrice stayed at the table until they were out of earshot. Then she turned to her senior maid, and the cheer fell off her face.

"Helen. Tell the kitchen to throw out whatever they had planned. I want the southern roast, the candied apricots, the imported white from the cellar, and have the silver service brought out, what we used during the Margrave's last visit."

"At once, my lady."

"And tell Yvette to come to my chambers immediately. I need to change into something modest."

"Yes, my lady."

"Go. Now." The maid bowed and went. Beatrice took one slow breath, and then she walked at a brisk and dignified pace back toward the house. * An hour later, Celestia and Beatrice sat across from each other at the dining table. The candles had been lit, the food was laid out, and the wine had been decanted into a crystal flask. Beatrice was now in a deep cream dress with a high collar and minimal embellishment. Her hair had been redressed into a simpler twist. The first courses came and went.

Beatrice ate what was on her plate, though her stomach was tight enough that she barely tasted any of it. Then, they reached the second course. Celestia set down her fork.

"Lady Hill." Beatrice almost flinched. She set her own fork down with more care than the motion required.

"Yes, Lady Reingarde?" Celestia took a small sip of her wine and set the glass down.

"Are you certain you wish to proceed with this favor regarding the Imperial Prince?" Beatrice's throat tightened.

"Y-yes, Lady Reingarde." Beatrice kept her voice steady.

"It is my family's wish that we form a connection with the Imperial Family. I shall do what I can to fulfill it." Celestia studied her for a moment. Then she picked up her wine glass again, and took another sip.

"That is your family's wish," Celestia said.

"But what is yours, Lady Hill?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me well enough. Do you, personally, wish to be wedded to a man who thinks nothing of you?" The blood drained out of Beatrice's face.

"... Those are only hearsay rumors, Lady Reingarde. I would hope that you do not speak ill of your former fiancé in the home of a prospective bride."

"Let us be casual with each other, Lady Beatrice." Celestia's voice did not rise.

"I do not wish for you to waste your life chasing after a man who will not look back at you. And do you truly believe those are only hearsay rumors? Especially coming from me?" Beatrice's hand stopped moving over the stem of her glass. She looked up. Across the table, Celestia was watching her, crimson eyes that felt like they saw through her. The silence stretched.

"It…" Beatrice's voice was quieter than she had wanted it to be.

"My family's wishes are mine, Lady Celestia."

"Are they? Lady Beatrice?" Celestia leaned forward a fraction.

"I see value in you. Do you intend to rot away as your family's puppet?" Beatrice's grip on the glass tightened until her knuckles paled. Why was Celestia doing this? Why now?

"What do you know about my life?" The words came out sharper than Beatrice had intended.

"My family's honor rests on me. I'm only a princess by name, and my father is the third son of his line, and our standing is fragile, do you understand? An imperial connection is the only path that secures my family's future. Do you think I have the luxury of refusing it because the prince is a… a fool?" She stopped, breathing hard.

"Do I need to know everything? I see someone who doesn't know what they want in their life." Celestia's voice was still even. Beatrice wanted to slap her. The Beatrice that Celestia claimed to see was a person who her family didn't need, a person who she had never shown to anyone. Everything else in her life had been built by her family, for her family. Who was she to claim she saw her? Who was she to accept or deny her? Indignity rose to her throat, and she wanted to scream at Celestia.

But the manners ingrained into her had forced her to lower her eyes to her plate.

"I… I will follow through with my family's wishes." Celestia did not move for a long moment, then she picked up her fork.

"If that is what you want, then I will support you." The rest of the evening proceeded silently; wine was finished and the dessert was served. When Celestia finally took her leave, Beatrice walked her to the front steps and watched the carriage roll back down the road. She stood there until the gates closed and the wheels were no longer audible. Then she turned, and went back inside.