If any good came of Flora bursting into tears whenever she saw her sister, it is the freedom it gave Darlin to leave home as much as she pleases without attracting suspicion.

Dear Flora is yet to forgive Darlin. No matter how often she makes clear her desire to avoid conflict, Darlin fails to apologize for her callous words. 

Flora’s mood has been low. As a result, Isabelle and Howard have advised Darlin to stay out of her way for the time being.

It’s not often they say something pleasing to Darlin’s ears. As she entered the cafe, Darlin recalled her rebirths and quipped, Stranger things have happened, I suppose. 

A quick exchange with the restaurant’s hostess has Darlin being led to a table for two on the restaurant’s second floor.

“Lady Darlin, thank you for accepting my invite on such short notice.” Her lunch date was a woman reminiscent of a lily, elegant and gentle in everything she does.

“How could I not? I have been awaiting your reply, Lady Ingrid. She sat across Ingrid, requesting, “Do forgive me for not removing my hat.”

“It is no bother. I understand things must be difficult for you at the moment.” 

“I appreciate the consideration.”

After that, silence persisted as they waited for the other to show their hand first. 

Ingrid reached for her tea and realized her fingers were twitching. With a stolen glance at Darlin, she thought, What a dangerous woman. 

Darlin partook of her tea and cake as if Ingrid were not there. Certainly not dismissive of her, but content with the silence— heavy it may be.

Her red eyes carry a strange intensity, a trace of something sadistic in the gentle quirk of her lips. 

Impatient, and knowing the source of this feeling is likely aware of it, Ingrid finally said, “His Highness, Prince Lionel, has recently sent me flowers.” 

“The Second Prince has good tastes.”

Ingrid involuntarily smiles. “…I thought you would be more like Her Grace and tell me to be honored by his attention.”

“Her Grace is not without her charm, yet, I cannot reflect all her qualities.”

So, you’re saying you don’t agree with her? Ingrid was not sure how much she could trust Darlin’s words.  

From her aunty and uncle’s reactions, Ingrid was certain she is the only one caught unawares by Prince Lionel’s courting.

It is a matter regarding her future, yet no one mentioned a thing to her. Had she not run into Darlin the other day, Ingrid would have been totally blindsided.

“I just mean it is strange how Lady Ingrid has never had a fiancé up until now. …Could it be…”

“Could what be?” Ingrid had urged, expecting to be insulted. It would be no surprise, seeing how much Heinrich has put Darlin through all these years, only to rip the position of future Duchess from her hands.

“I just suddenly thought how Prince Lionel is also without a fiancée.”

Ingrid’s grey eyes widened for a short moment. Could Her Grace possibly…! 

Ingrid always knew her marriage would be nothing all too favorable to her.

While receiving praises for raising Ingrid as her own daughter, Felicity tacitly limited Ingrid in all she did. To “become a proper lady” is the only benchmark of her life.

To Ingrid, getting to watch her live and die in ordinariness, always lower than her less outstanding cousin, but powerless to do anything about it is exactly the sick sort of joy to tickle Felicity pink. 

How silly she is to only realize through Darlin that she was being tamed.

In the favored, yet dangerous position of Princess, the Fritz household will be her only backing… and her leash.

About to be crushed by the darkness Ingrid had not known was baring down on her, Darlin offered a path, an opportunity;

“Lady Ingrid will make a fine Princess, still I cannot help feeling your talents are better suited elsewhere.”

Darlin’s casual, yet hinting words have echoed in her mind ever since. Perhaps because she agreed with them.

How strange, Ingrid had thought. Darlin is the lady hand selected by Felicity, Through all of Heinrich’s disrespect, she hardly complained. bringing Ingrid to believe Darlin held a great, almost blind loyalty towards Felicity. She could not be bothered to get close to such a person. Unexpectedly, You understand my heart better than the Duchess.

Gulping, Ingrid asked,“Pray tell, what would suit me?”

Darlin glanced off with a pensive hum. “…A mantle of your own, maybe?” She laughed off the words that shook Ingrid to the very marrow of her bones. As she walked past Ingrid, she lowered her voice, “I welcome you to disagree. If not, I think we can help each other realize our full potential another time?”

There was so much Ingrid wanted to know, yet to pursue answers will be to bare her emotions— something she was never able to afford. 

“Her Grace will be saddened to know she has not influenced you.” Ingrid laughs flippantly, “And here she’s gone and told you of matters she is yet to disclose to me.” Are you saying you’re not close to her when she trusts you this much?

Darlin denied the subtle accusation with a shake of her head. “The Duchess did not tell me. I merely heard some gossip and worried for Lady Ingrid’s future all on my own.” We are not as close as you think. Unlike her, I want you to be more than a political tool.

Ingrid quivered. Goodness, She had to lower her head to hide whatever weakened expression she knew had taken over her face. you’re the only one to shake me like this, Lady Darlin. Has anyone ever said that to her before? Seen her for who she is— desire and deafening ambition?

Not even mother did… Since her father died, Ingrid’s mother became a fearful hermit. 

Her father had been Felicity’s last competitor to be the head of Fritz, and despite Felicity’s fierce nature, she spared Ingrid and her mother of any retroactive punishments.

Ingrid’s weak willed mother welcomed Felicity’s mercy like it were heaven’s, completely leaving Ingrid in the Duchess’ care and returning to her paternal home.

Felicity‘s kindness is never free.

Heinrich could pursue the stars to the ends of the world, and Felicity’s only desire will be that he return and take up his mantle when the time is right. He could dream, play, find and indulge in passions as he so wishes.

As for Ingrid, she learnt all, did all, was all, a proper noble Lady should, could, and be. Nothing else.

People envy Ingrid for living as the Fritzs’ only young lady, but she doesn’t think herself enviable. What joy is there in being a well made doll to be sold to the highest bidder?

“I… I don’t want to… marry the Prince…” Ingrid touched her fingers to her lips, shocked by how relieving her admittance was.

Her words tore down the veil of politeness between the two ladies, and Darlin reciprocated her truthfulness. “You are too good to end up as a mere tool, Lady Ingrid.”

“What… What do I do?” There was a trace of desperation her voice, but she could not find the will to care.

“I need to know what you want first. Do you want to escape the Duchess? …Do you want to rule Fritz?”

Ingrid flinched. She’s thought of the latter often. And that’s all it should be— a thought.

She’s already bared her heart so much, but if she admits to these treasonous emotions and they ever become known to Felicity… The consequences will be worse than a loveless, political marriage in which she is reliant on Fritz.

Sensing her hesitation, Darlin drew a shuddering breath, and confessed, “I hate my family.” 

The pure venom in her voice sent a sharp shiver down Ingrid’s spine. On Darlin’s face is something more than hate— This is wrath.

“I am going to leave them. I am going to hurt them. I will have them cry and beg for mercy without a soul in the world to give them any.” 

Darlin’s eyes stare into nothing, overtaken by the image her words paint. The years, and years of unreconciled malice seized her, and she did not resist. “I will ruin them.” 

With a blink, she returned to reality, her unforgiving expression unfurling into a poised smile. “They are not my only targets though.” Darlin counts on her fingers, “The fiancée who disgraced me, the Duchess who did not stop him, and the Duke who thought Heinrich’s affair fine because I am from a lesser family.”

“That… That’s quite the vendetta.” Ingrid said quietly, still shaken by what she just saw. By the gods…! Was that the real you? Despite having interacted with Darlin a handful of times, Ingrid never saw an inkling of such deep-rooted malice. 

Darlin froze, her lips slowly curling into an abnormal smile. “You have no idea.”

This is rich! Ingrid giggled. “Oh, pardon me.” It was fun and frightening knowing Duchess Felicity has unwittingly harbored her own enemy. 

What does this mean for her who has glimpsed this madness? “I want to become Duchess.” It means camaraderie. “I can’t spend my life under those people.”

Darlin knew she and Ingrid were similar, but never imagined they would be sitting across each other as allies. 

In Darlin’s past lives, Ingrid wedded Lionel as planned. As one would expect, she made an excellent Princess for a Prince who was steadily revealing his hedonistic and lascivious nature as his power grew.

Eventually, an assassination attempt from one of Lionel’s spurned lovers results in Ingrid becoming crippled. 

Childbirth would be hard on Ingrid— not that Lionel was willing to lay with a disabled woman. He took it as a chance to bring in his favorite lover as a Royal Consort.

Ingrid would then have to accept the Royal Consort’s child under her title of Crown Princess in order to keep what little authority she had left.

What little good it did you. Darlin laments.

The Royal Consort was a commoner and could not be Princess, no matter how much Lionel favored her. 

Felicity did not miss her chance and offered to adopt said Consort under the Fritz name— not just to please Lionel, but to hold irrevocable control over him and the would-be Crown Princess.

Lionel foolishly accepted, not realizing he was getting closer, and closer to becoming Felicity’s figurehead. 

Ingrid peacefully past away in the middle of the night. The cause was poison.

Darlin could never be sure, but she always knew Ingrid took her own life. You are not the sort to be devoured, not even when you are in the mouth of the beast. 

The Ingrid who lay amongst lilies in a black casket looked too dignified and peaceful to have been anyone’s victim.

Darlin took a letter from her purse and slid it halfway across the table. “I need you to get this to the First Prince.”

“The First…” Ingrid let out a helpless laugh. “I only met His Highness once when I was a child. Not to mention he and Princess Astoria have always been wary of me since I am a Fritz.”

“All the more reason for him to be curious as to why you are playing messenger.” Indeed, the letter was stamped with the Rayne family’s stag insignia. However, that was not the only means by which Darlin intended to grab the Prince’s attention. “While you are at it, send a few pink tulips in my name. I have no issue reimbursing you for the cost.”

“Money is not the issue here.” Ingrid touched the letter as if it might bite her. “Whatever are you planning?”

Leaning closer, Darlin whispers, “I am going to destabilize Prince Lionel.”

The search for Darlin’s dishonesty or madness yielded naught but a mountain of determination. 

“What do you wish to tell His Highness?”

“If all goes south, you are better off not knowing. With all that is happening with my sister, the last thing the Duchess wants is another scandal, so I will stir one up.”

“That won’t stop Her Grace forever.”

“Which is why this,” Darlin gave the letter a poke, “is merely the first of many inconveniences to come Prince Lionel’s way.”

Ingrid’s mouth opened and closed, her fingers inching away from the letter. Fear is not an easy shackle to throw off. If any part of this fails, I…

Darlin’s hand pursued hers till their fingertips touched. “We might be on different ships, but if we do not join hands we will be seeing each other at the bottom of the same ocean. I need you to trust me, Lady Ingrid. Please.”

Against wariness and logic, Ingrid retrieves the letter and tucks it into her purse. She noted how foolish she was being— trusting the words of a woman she’s interacted with a handful of times in nearly a decade. 

Be as it may, she already has little to lose. This unreliable grip is the closest Ingrid has come to seizing her own future. “If anything is discovered, I will not take an iota of responsibility.”

“Naturally.” Darlin nodded and got off her seat. “Please do not forget the pink tulips. Now, I have to be on my way.”

They bid goodbye, and Ingrid slumped into her chair with an exhausted huff as soon as Darlin was out of sight. With all the anxiety and trepidation squirming inside her, there’s no telling what’s got her smiling.

In the carriage, Darlin thinks, She’s more earnest than I thought. She did not expect her emotions to move Ingrid to such a degree. To her, the orange haired girl always seemed much more careful than that. 

Hell, Darlin only showed that side of herself as the disparity between it and the self she’s built until now are too far apart for anyone to believe she houses such wicked intent. 

Whether Ingrid truly empathized with her, or she’s that desperate to not marry Lionel, Darlin was just glad things worked out. 

Also, it’s been much too long since she bore her heart. “It was healing in a way.” 

“Did you say something, my Lady.” The maid, whose name starts with “M”, asked.

“No.” Darlin did not know why the maid became more alert than usual, but she didn’t appreciate it. 

As Darlin alights in front of Madame Gisselle’s store, the maid inquires, “Will my Lady be shopping alone again?”

“Yes. I will call for you if I need any help.”

The boutique’s greeter put little effort into her smile. “I am glad you can still visit us, Lady Darlin.” She loudened her voice a little, drawing eyes from shoppers and other workers.

I see I am no longer welcomed. Since she’s been outed, Darlin took off her hat as it’d be worse for her if she made the effort to hide herself now. “There is something about the Madame’s store that keeps me interested, I guess. How is she anyway, Lobelia?”

“The Madame’s been very busy these days, I’m afraid the Lady will not be able to see her from now on.” Lobelia cooed. 

“Is that right~?” As expected of Madame Gisselle. She’s quick to jump ship. 

Back when Darlin was set to assume the position of Duchess Apparent, Gisselle would always come down to greet her with a syrupy attitude. 

It was all to secure the patronage of the Fritz family, and with Darlin no longer in line to attain a position in the Duchy, Gisselle will not waste time on a some abandoned woman anymore. 

The back of Darlin’s mouth sours. Despite her large capacity for patience, Darlin has come to learn she can keep quite the grudge. Very good, Madame~! Now, she can spearhead Gisselle’s downfall with a clean conscience.

In Darlin’s past lives, Gisselle was completely overcome by a young designer. 

In the lives Darlin married Heinrich, she tried to help, even when she knew it would amount to nothing, only because Gisselle was being sponsored by Fritz. The designer’s success gave the Ducal house influence over high society’s fashion trends.

Still, their efforts would waste. The young designer’s brilliance was undeniable— his work downright revolutionary! 

Once he received the sponsorship of Princess Astoria, Gisselle completely lost her throne as high society’s fashion icon. 

The spiciest bit of Gisselle’s loss was that the young designer once worked in her boutique.

“Then, far be it from me to bother the Madame. I would like a private room and—”

Lobelia snorted. Isn’t she too arrogant for an abandoned woman? “My Lady, we’re terribly busy right now and won’t be able to serve you.”

Why people love to keep accounts with her, Darlin will never know. 

She knew Lobelia also serves as one of Gisselle’s assistants, nonetheless, it is not a mere greeter’s place to speak informally to a noblewoman, or backhandedly tell her to leave.

“…Are you saying there is no one who can tend to me? Not even for a short spell?” 

Lobelia’s coy smile deepens. She was all too happy to affirm Darlin’s unimportance. “I’m afraid so~”

The bitterness was spreading, whipping up Darlin’s normally well kept temper. “If that is the case, I will be sure not to bother the Madame from now on.”

Ignoring the surge of whispers and looks of incredulity, Darlin spun on her heel and left.

“Y-You…!” Lobelia was as shocked as all who heard Darlin’s words. “You don’t really mean—!” Her words stuck in her throat when she realized she just lost Madame Gisselle a faithful customer.

She… She didn’t have to be so childish! Lobelia merely intended to put Darlin off until another day as a small tease, yet in a stupid show of pride Darlin has publicly severed ties with Madame Gisselle!

Her nervousness evaporated once she realized, Hmph! Isn’t it her loss? Every Lady wants to wear one of Gisselle’s creations— the designer barely has any competition! 

Once other Ladies take a bite out of Darlin for not being able to keep up with the trends Gisselle sets, She’ll crawl back once she accepts she’s no longer the future Duchess!

“Done so soon, my Lady?” The maid wondered why she could find no signs of a purchase.

“There was not much to see today.” Darlin climbed into the carriage and rubs her throbbing head. “We are going to Sir Raymond’s now.”

Unlike at Gisselle’s, Darlin is welcomed warmly. Raymond, the whimsical older man with a fantastically curled mustache ambled down the stairs excitedly. 

Although, from Henrietta’s expression, Darlin couldn’t help suspecting he is using her to escape his work.

In a parlor upstairs, Raymond props his elbows on his knees and rests his face between his palms. “So, tell me… have you worn it?” 

Something about Raymond always manages to cut past Darlin’s formality and pull out a playful grin. “It worked like magic, Sir Ray. I have never had so much fun in my life!”

“That’s it, my darling girl! That’s what youth is all about!” Leaning back, Raymond gave his tea a stir. “You know, I have always worried about you. It breaks my heart to see one so young not living their life to the fullest, and—!”

“AHEM!” Henrietta put aside her work persona and pulled her husband out of the sofa by the arm. “Lady Darlin, I hope you will forgive Ray. He tends to jabber when there’s work to do.”

“J- Jabber?!” Raymond gasps. “Honey, you don’t really mean that… do you…?”

Despite her tough exterior, Henrietta will always be the most affected by Raymond’s puppy-like eyes. 

Try as she might to resist, she soon slumped with a sigh. “No.” She ran a hand trough her short, grey hair, quietly admitting, “I shouldn’t have said that… I know you’ve been wanting to hear how the two-way skirt worked out, and… I’m sorry.”

Henrietta’s blushing face and apologetic glance had Raymond falling in love all over again. “Honey~!” He launches himself at her, and if Henrietta were not the sturdy woman she is, they would both be on the floor.

Darlin is forgotten in the suddenly romantic atmosphere. 

Finally, Henrietta coaxes Raymond back to work. Over her shoulder, she requests of Darlin, “Please wait a moment, Lady, there’s someone who’s been dying to see you.”

The pair left Darlin pondering just who in the world would want to see her so badly.

Three knocks sign the arrival of her answer. The young man who entered had kind green eyes, his brown hair a mess with threads and hair pins.

“Mason?!” Why, Darlin could barely believe her eyes! “You… What are you doing here?”

Judging by his uniform, anyone could deduce he worked in Raymond’s store. It was just too unexpected for Darlin to believe.

Mason rubbed the back of his neck, an ecstatic smile on his lips. “I work here, Milady.”

Darlin shook her head as her mouth opened and closed until she managed to breathe, “How?”

“Where do I begin?” Mason shrugged. “My sister is doing better. I, well…” Picking at his nails, his eyes narrow on a bitter memory, “I couldn’t go back to Madame Gisselle’s— I wouldn’t even if I could.” he spits.

“I had to find work, and somehow,” He held his hands out in presentation. “I mentioned Milady and Sir Raymond immediately put me to work.” 

“I… I…” What a strange, yet lucky turn of events for both of us. Darlin left Madame Gisselle’s frustrated, wondering how to get in touch with Mason without drawing unwanted attention. But you’d already found your way into my path without me meaning for you to be there. Her initial anger now seemed so silly she laughed. “That is wonderful, Mason.” 

Darlin signals Mason to have a sit, but he remains on his feet. Rounding up his courage with a deep breath, he takes a red gift box out of his jacket. 

Darlin gulped. Could it be? “Is something wrong, Mason?” Her voice remains gentle and unknowing despite feeling as if nervousness would choke her blue.

Brown eyes aflame with resolve, Mason bows and holds out the box. “Lady Darlin, you have been kind to me and helped my family more than words can say! I would be honored if you would accept this as a token of my appreciation!”

Darlin was grateful Mason was bowing. From that angle there is no way to see how violently her hands are trembling. 

She tries to convince herself to stay calm. I’ve not looked yet, it might not even be that. The little calm she built shattered as soon as she opened the gift. “Oh gods…!”

Within are a pair of netted lace gloves. Around the cuffs, a flurry of black feathers chaotically stick out in all directions, and nested in the center are square cut rubies. 

The design betrayed the popular fashion young noblewomen abide by. Where young or unmarried ladies do their best to lean towards the innocence of femininity, the gloves’ color and angular pattern denote seriousness.

The feathers were not brushed to perfection or gently arranged. Mason deliberately placed them in a manner that forsook grace for explosive dynamism.

The square cut gems normally seen on men gleamed between the feathers with an allure Darlin did not know they could possess.

The gloves are, without a doubt, meant for a woman, still, Darlin could not give to words the bewitching solemnity of the design.

That was, however, not all that befuddled her. These are not “Ruby’s Hands”.