A Way to Confirm Your Husband’s True Feelings - Chapter 7
About half a year passed between the Crown Prince’s abduction and the resolution of the incident, and perhaps as a rebound from the tense atmosphere during that time, this year’s social season was more lively and combative than ever.
“He really is as handsome as they say. And that build… very impressive.”
With a more vigorous flutter of her fan, another noblewoman responded to the remark.
“The young gentlemen of the capital had better be on guard. To be honest, all the eligible bachelors in high society are more or less the same, so I’ve had quite the headache over my daughter’s marriage prospects. But someone like him… he’d make quite the fine son-in-law…”
Remarks, evaluations, and satisfied exclamations about one particular man continued to ripple out.
Beatrice also knew very well who they were referring to. At this point, anyone living in the capital would find it impossible not to know of him, even if they wanted to.
Margrave Caesar Valentin.
She had only seen him from afar so far, but just as the rumors claimed, he seemed to possess remarkably fine looks.
Still, regardless of that, Beatrice found the overheated atmosphere of the banquet hall—tinged more with blood than with romance—rather uncomfortable.
Perhaps it was because she herself often became the subject of gossip among the nobility.
It was only last year that she had endured all the talk and whispers surrounding her debut.
She had never even met the man, but the way Margrave Valentin was being torn apart by the nobles’ wagging tongues didn’t sit well with her.
‘He’s the hero who saved the Crown Prince, after all. Isn’t this a bit too much…?’
Though he had accepted the commission and reward as a mercenary, if he hadn’t stepped in to rescue the Crown Prince and quell the uprising, it might have escalated into a full-blown civil war—or even war with another nation.
For someone like that to be treated like a mere stud horse and ogled with such greedy eyes was something the still-young Beatrice couldn’t quite understand.
Of course, it wasn’t as if she didn’t know what the capital’s high society was like. A battlefield without arrows, where nobles actively mingled and sought appropriate marriage prospects for their children in order to protect their wealth and honor. Every social event she had attended had been like that.
There were the occasional gatherings genuinely devoted to knowledge and the arts, like the salons run by her older sisters Freya and Camilla, but such meetings were small in scale and few in number.
‘Not that I’m really in a position to judge.’
As the youngest of five daughters, Beatrice’s debut had come a little later than average. Thanks to her sisters, who had protected her, saying there was no need to rush, she made her debut last year just after her nineteenth birthday. Which meant this year, now twenty, was her second season.
Her first season had been overwhelmingly successful. It felt a little embarrassing to say it herself, but to exaggerate only slightly, the number of marriage proposals she received had nearly overflowed from her father’s desk.
Of course, there was the prestige of the Ducal House of Estern, but the gentlemen of the capital most praised Beatrice’s youth, her gentle nature, and her outstanding beauty.
Aside from Freya, who had long been married for political reasons, the remaining four daughters of the ducal family—Camilla, Amelia, and Regina—were all still unmarried, having no desire for marriage.
The gentlemen often found it difficult to approach her strong-willed and sharp-tongued older sisters and struggled to deal with them.
In contrast, Beatrice, who was naturally kind, affectionate, and sociable, gave off the impression of someone easy to approach.
At times, she worried, “Am I too lacking in dignity for someone of the Estern name?” But as someone who simply enjoyed being around people, Beatrice found it hard to turn away those who spoke to her and sought her attention.
The ducal pedigree, her lustrous golden hair, clear light-green eyes, and charming personality—
The men had practically lined up for a chance at the jackpot.
All throughout the season, the Duke’s receiving room was flooded with visitors seeking Beatrice, and the bouquets they brought stacked up into a small mountain.
But Beatrice felt no particular thrill watching that farce unfold. She didn’t dislike socializing, and it was enjoyable meeting people, but not one of the men had caught her eye—none had felt like destiny.
There was only one thing that weighed on her heart: her parents.
“I never realized how difficult a child’s marriage could be, since Freya married so easily. Your sisters are one thing, but Beatrice, we hope you’ll meet a good husband before we grow too old.”
It hadn’t been pressure or persuasion—just a small, sincere hope. But as the youngest daughter born much later than her siblings, Beatrice saw the Duke and Duchess of Estern as older and more frail than the parents of her peers. And so, their words carried a weight she could not easily ignore.
