The Sixth

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

Dear Flora is yet to forgive Darlin. No matter how often she tries to fix things, Darlin just won’t 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 enters the cafe, Darlin recalls her rebirths and quips, Stranger things have happened... 

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 coming on such short notice.” Her lunch date is a woman reminiscent of a lily.

“Oh there is no need to thank me. I have been awaiting your reply, Lady Ingrid. She takes her seat while requesting with a sheepish smile, “I hope you can forgive me for not removing my hat.”

“It is no bother. Things must be difficult for you at the moment.” 

“I appreciate the consideration.”

After that, silence persists as they wait for the other to show their hand first. 

Ingrid reaches for her cooled tea and realizes her fingers are twitching. With a stolen glance at Darlin, she sighs, What a dangerous woman. 

Darlin partook of her tea and cake as if Ingrid were not there. She’s not dismissive of her, but eerily comfortable in 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 caves, “His Highness, Prince Lionel, 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.”

“Am I not allowed a different opinion?”

When Darlin has dutifully followed Felicity’s teachings? No. Ingrid didn’t think Darlin capable of a different opinion. 

From her aunty and uncle’s reactions, Ingrid is 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 find 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, only to rip the position of Duchess Apparent from her reach.

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

Ingrid, for all her wisdom and care, had stared at Darlin with wide grey eyes, speechless.

Ingrid was never included in Felicity’s dealings with Lionel, and, frankly, she was too concerned with herself to care. 

After all, she knew well enough that 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” has been the only benchmark of the life of Ingrid Fritz.

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

Ingrid began to tremble in her chair. I… I’m a fool… What she’s counted as caution was actually her unknowingly yielding to Felicity’s hand. She was taming me.

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

With all of Ingrid’s efforts crashing down around her, Darlin hinted at an escape.

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

Darlin’s casual words have echoed in her mind ever since. It reminded Ingrid that there was a time she thought she would— she wanted to be Duchess of Fritz.

Oh but the caution that’s brought her this far hasn’t been completely for naught. How strange, through all of Heinrich’s disrespect she hardly complained. This brought Ingrid to believe Darlin held a great, almost blind loyalty towards Felicity. But unexpectedly, neither she or anyone else might not know as much about Darlin as they thought. 

Gulping, Ingrid had to ask, “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, “You are welcome 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 might be saddened to know you disagree.” Ingrid laughs flippantly, “And here she’s gone and told you of matters she is yet to disclose to me.”

Darlin denies the subtle accusation with a shake of her head. “She would never. I merely heard some gossip and worried for Lady Ingrid’s future all on my own.” “We’re not as close as you think, I am acting independently.” Is what Darlin means. 

Desire and deafening ambition— that’s what Ingrid sees in those bloody irises. Before her father died, that was the look in her eyes as well.

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.

But Felicity‘s kindness is never free.

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 presses her fingers to her lips, shocked by the relief of her admittance.

Her words tear down the veil of politeness between the two ladies, and Darlin is more than ready to reciprocate her truthfulness, “You are too good to end up as a mere tool, Lady Ingrid.”

“W-What should I do?”

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

Ingrid flinches. The latter had become a distant, embarrassing dream from her childhood. She’s already bore so much of her heart, 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…

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

The pure venom in her voice sends a sharp shiver down Ingrid’s spine. On Darlin’s face is something more than hate… 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 bore through Ingrid’s skull to peer into the future she speaks of. The years, and years of unreconciled malice seduces her, and she does not resist. “I will ruin them.” 

With a blink, she returns to reality, her unforgiving expression unfurling into a poised smile. “They are not my only targets, however;” Darlin counts on her fingers, “the fiancée who disgraced me, the Duke and Duchess who did not stop him, the sister who betrayed me… among others.”

“I… I s-see...” Ingrid said quietly, still shaken by what she just saw. By the gods…! Despite having interacted with Darlin a handful of times, Ingrid never saw an inkling of such deep-rooted hate. 

This is rich! Ingrid giggles. “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.”

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. In fact, she 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.

And what little good that 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 never seemed like the sort to be devoured, not even when you are in the mouth of the beast. 

The Ingrid who lay amongst white flowers in a 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.”

“All the more reason for him to be curious as to why you are playing messenger.” While the letter is stamped with the Rayne family’s stag insignia, that is not the only means by which Darlin intends 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 prods 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 yields nothing but a mountain of determination. 

“What do you wish to tell His Highness?”

“If all goes south, you are better off not knowing anything. 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 pushes the letter closer to Ingrid, “is merely the first of many inconveniences to come Prince Lionel’s way.”

Ingrid’s mouth opens and closes, 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. “It may not look like it now, but as it stands we are on the same boat. Lady Ingrid, I need you to trust me. Please.”

Against wariness and logic, Ingrid retrieves the letter and tucks it into her purse. She notes how foolish she is being— trusting the words of a woman she’s shared no more than a formal conversation with in the near decade they’ve known each other. 

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

“Naturally.” Darlin nods and stands. “Then, I will be on my on my way.”

They bid goodbye, and Ingrid slumps into her chair with an exhausted huff as soon as Darlin is 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 the interaction over. 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 empathizes with her, or she’s that desperate to not marry Lionel, Darlin is just glad things worked out. 

Also, it’s been much too long since she’s had such an open conversation. Her heart felt just a little less choking. “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 loudens her voice a little, drawing eyes from shoppers and other workers.

I see I am no longer welcomed. Since she’s been outed, Darlin takes off her hat as it’d be worse for her if she shrinks and withers under so many eyes. “Madame’s store is one of a kind. Speaking of, how is she, 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 coos. 

“…Is that right…?” As expected of Madame Gisselle, so 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 place to be Duchess Apparent, Gisselle’s time is now too expensive for her.

The back of Darlin’s mouth sours. Darlin has come to learn she isn’t as patient as she thought, she just keeps grudges like a hoarder. 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, because Gisselle was being sponsored by Fritz. The designer’s success gave the Ducal house influence over high society’s fashion trends, and to an extent, the markets.

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 interrupts her with a snort. 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.”

Darlin knows 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 with her sense of superiority growing. “I’m afraid so~”

Perfect. “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 turns on her heel and leaves.

“Y-You…!” Lobelia was as shocked as all who heard Darlin’s declaration. “You don’t really mean—!” For a moment she’s frozen with the realization that 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!

It- It’s probably not that big a deal. She reasons, It will be her loss anyway! 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 Duchess Apparent!

“Done so soon, my Lady?” The maid is quizzical upon not seeing signs of a purchase.

“There was not much to see today.” Darlin climbs 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 ambles down the stairs like an excited child. 

Although, from Henrietta’s expression, Darlin can’t help suspecting he is happier to escape his work than to see her.

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 my girl, HAHA! Style and mischief, that’s what youth is all about!” Leaning back, Raymond gives 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 slumps her shoulders with a defeated sigh. “No.” She runs a hand through her short, grey hair, quietly admitting, “I shouldn’t have said that… but you and I know damn well you’re only trying to get out of work.”

“So I can spend more time with you.” With Raymond’s flirting Henrietta’s face burns red. Her blush has Raymond trembling with all sorts of ways to put his work off for a while longer. “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 heated atmosphere. 

Not missing her chance, Henrietta scoops Raymond up into her arms. Over her shoulder, she requests of Darlin, “Please wait a moment, Lady, there’s someone who’s been dying to see you.”

The pair leave Darlin pondering just who in the world would want to see her so badly if not Raymond.

Three knocks sign the arrival of her answer. The young man who enters has 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?”

Going by his uniform, anyone can deduce he works in Raymond’s store. Yet the longer she looks the more Darlin is perplexed.

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

Darlin shakes her head as her mouth opens and shuts until she manages to breathe, “How?”

“Where do I begin? I, well…” Twiddling his fingers, eyes narrowing on a bitter memory, “I couldn’t go back to Madame Gisselle’s— I wouldn’t even if she begged. I needed work, and somehow,” He held his hands out in presentation. “I ended up here! Man, really threw me for a loop when I found out you and Sir Ray know each other.”

“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. Her initial anger now seemed so silly she laughed. “That is wonderful news, Mason.” 

Darlin signals Mason to have a seat, 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 gulps. Could it be? “Is something wrong, Mason?” Her voice remains gentle and confused despite feeling as if nervousness would choke her blue.

Green 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 gratitude!”

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 shatters as soon as she opens 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 betrays 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 forsakes grace for explosive dynamism.

The square cut gems normally seen on men gleam 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 cannot not give to words the bewitching solemnity of the design.

What befuddles her most, These are not “Ruby’s Hands”.