Chapter 17
Now transformed into the boy Rune, Lindus nodded lazily.
“Yes, yes. Don’t worry, Your Highness. My age and gender are completely different. Who would think I’m the same person?”
“Well, her eyes were sharp. She might figure it out.”
Theodore chuckled, recalling those unusually clear and piercing green eyes.
“I’m looking forward to what’s to come.”
His quiet murmur carried genuine interest.
It seemed he would spend some time pondering whom to pair her with as a partner.
***
3rd Street in Olsen.
The area was lined with high-end boutiques favored by nobles.
Since this was Claire Ravello’s debut in the social world, she felt the need to dress impeccably and decided to go shopping.
Visiting 3rd Street after so long brought back memories.
“Even while living as the Duchess, I never dared step into these boutiques.”
Brian Muton, ever the stingy miser, lavishly spent on himself but loathed seeing his wife indulge in luxury.
Whenever Priscilla bought even one thing, the staff of the household would rush to criticize her for her spending habits.
As a result, during her time as Priscilla, she had opted for relatively modest and inexpensive boutiques.
“This time, I’ll try somewhere different.”
Resolving to do so, Claire alighted from her carriage and began exploring the street.
But reality proved to be just as challenging, albeit in a different way than before.
“What’s your name, miss?”
“Claire Ravello.”
“Oh… I’m sorry, miss. We’re fully booked.”
The boutique staff, who had initially complimented her beauty, immediately changed their demeanor upon hearing her name.
They had realized she was the rumored illegitimate child.
“We’re booked solid for the next year, so unfortunately, we can’t serve you. Have a good day. Next customer, please!”
Even as they claimed there was no availability for her, they ushered the next person into the boutique without hesitation. Claire let out a dry laugh.
“How dirty and petty.”
She faced similar rejections at several boutiques.
No one wanted the label of “the boutique frequented by an illegitimate child.”
Claire, giving up on the high-end boutiques in the heart of 3rd Street, moved to its outskirts and entered a shop that seemed decent enough.
“Ah, Miss Claire Ravello…”
The staff, who had been delighted to see a customer, visibly deflated upon recognizing her.
After a moment of obvious calculation, the staff reappeared with something in hand.
“If you pay according to this price list, you’re welcome to use our services.”
Claire glanced at the price list and couldn’t suppress a silent chuckle.
“Ha, look at this.”
The prices were easily double the standard rates.
“I could afford this without issue, but…”
Tap.
She closed the price list with an audible snap.
As much as she wanted to flaunt her wealth out of spite, the Claire of today carried the wisdom of 34-year-old Priscilla.
Paying double or triple the price for spite would only mark her as a fool or a pushover.
Money should always be spent wisely.
This was a lesson she had learned thoroughly while managing the Muton Duchy’s finances.
There was nothing more foolish than spending money recklessly in the heat of the moment.
Claire quietly returned the price list and prepared to leave.
“Are you leaving? No other boutique will take you.”
The staff, clearly mistaking her for a fool, tried to stop her.
“Honestly, we didn’t even raise the price that much. We barely make a profit as it is.”
Claire looked at the staff calmly and smiled.
Her eyes curved softly, and her full lips formed an elegant arc. The staff stared, momentarily dazed.
Finally, her gentle voice broke the silence.
“If that’s the case, you might as well close up shop.”
“Pardon…?”
“If charging me double or triple doesn’t leave you with a profit, then what’s the point of running this business? Just how incompetent must you be…”
Claire’s words trailed off with a small sigh, leaving the staff’s face burning red.
“D-Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?
“It’s not over yet.”
With an angelic face as if descended from heaven, Claire delivered harsh truths.
“These clothes aren’t even worth their original price. Outdated designs, copies of popular boutique patterns, poor-quality fabric—utterly dreadful.”
“I-I…”
“If you want to make money, stop scamming customers and reform your boutique instead.”
The employee, unable to refute her entirely accurate critique, hung their head low in silence. Without hesitation, Claire left the boutique.
Wandering through 3rd Street in search of another boutique felt increasingly pointless.
She even briefly considered using Franz’s name for a purchase as she returned to her carriage.
“Ahhh!”
A scream from somewhere nearby caught her attention.
A soaking wet young woman was sitting on the ground, crying.
“That girl…”
Claire’s eyes widened in recognition. Both the woman on the ground and the man who had drenched her were familiar. Even the shop behind them was a place Claire knew well.
It had been her go-to boutique during her time as Priscilla.
The man was the boutique owner, and the woman was an apprentice seamstress.
“I warned you, didn’t I? If you couldn’t bring in new customers, you’d regret it! Since you didn’t meet your quota, don’t expect to be paid this month!”
“No, please! I haven’t been paid for three months already. I can’t even afford bread…”
“Then you should’ve done your job properly! Where did this useless fool come from? Such bad luck.”
The man spat on the ground and went back inside the store. Left alone, the woman covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
Nearby, employees from other boutiques gathered to gossip.
“Marie, that poor girl. She’s only being treated like this because she made clothes for the former Duchess of Muton.”
“I can see why the boutique’s upset. Their business tanked after customers found out their regular was that scandal-ridden woman who died.”
“It’s Marie’s fault, really. She convinced the Duchess to switch boutiques in the first place.”
Claire stood frozen, listening to their words and looking at Marie.
It was true—she had switched to that boutique because of Marie.
Though merely an apprentice, Marie had undeniable talent. Her potential had been stifled under an exploitative employer who failed to nurture her gifts.
Claire, as Priscilla, had taken notice of Marie and frequented the boutique, intending to scout her someday.
Of course, the fact that it was a more affordable boutique on the outskirts had also played a role.
“And now, to think she’s being treated like this just because she made my clothes…”
Claire’s heart ached deeply. This was all Brian’s fault—that wretched man.
Suppressing her surge of emotions, Claire approached Marie.
“Are you all right?”
“Sniff… sob…”
The gentle question caused Marie to pause and lift her tear-streaked face.
Upon seeing who stood before her, Marie’s tears abruptly stopped, and her mouth fell open.
“D-Duchess Muton…? No, an angel…?”
The beautiful noblewoman, bearing an uncanny resemblance to the deceased Priscilla Muton, held out a handkerchief.
Though she appeared much younger than Priscilla, her soft voice and kind green eyes were strikingly similar.
“Here, take my hand and stand up.”
“Th-thank you…”
Marie scrambled to her feet, clutching the handkerchief as she hesitated awkwardly.
Her face flushed red, all the way to her neck, as she felt deeply embarrassed by her disheveled appearance.
Claire, watching her intently, asked suddenly, “Do you have some time?”
“Pardon? Y-yes.”
“Then come with me.”
Marie, feeling as though she were in a dream, followed Claire obediently.
From her silky hair to her radiant skin, perfectly symmetrical features, jewel-like eyes, and elegant frame—
“How could someone embody perfection so completely…?”
To Marie, Claire was her ultimate muse made real.
If Claire were a monster luring prey with beauty, Marie would still have been powerless to resist.
Such was the allure of her ideal brought to life.
“Not since the Duchess have I encountered someone like this…”
Marie’s original muse had been the late Priscilla Muton, Duchess of Muton.
They had first met when Priscilla was 29.
Marie had accidentally dropped her sketchbook, and Priscilla, intrigued by its contents, had taken notice of her.
“Would you like to make my clothes, Marie?”
Priscilla’s direct interest had granted Marie her first opportunity to design clothing.
Until then, she had only been a nominal apprentice seamstress, doing little more than menial tasks for her employer.
Priscilla’s interest had allowed her talent to shine.
But there had been one regret.
Priscilla always preferred simple and conservative styles.
Whenever Marie suggested bold and extravagant designs, Priscilla would reply:
“Marie, this kind of thing suits young noble ladies, not me.”
“But you’re still young, Duchess.”
“I may be young, but I’m a noblewoman. It’s more important to convey dignity than indulge in frivolity.”
Priscilla, having married an older man at a young age, had been forced to adopt an air of maturity far beyond her years.
Marie had lamented deeply:
“Oh, Duchess. Why did you marry so early…?”
Though she understood there must have been reasons, she couldn’t help but feel sorrow. Even in death, Priscilla had never dressed her age.
But now, in this moment—
Before Marie stood a young noblewoman who had never married—a version of Priscilla free of all the constraints that had bound her.
—
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