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Hamizel didn’t respond to her words, instead turning his gaze to the men and women spinning together in a lively dance.
The women leapt lightly into the air, occasionally brushing their partner’s shoulders or chest, savoring the playful tension that could arise between a man and a woman.
Hamizel imagined the prince grasping his wife’s slender waist, lifting her slightly into the air as the other men did with their partners. The thought filled him with an unexpected wave of revulsion.
“Mr. Hamizel.”
“I don’t particularly enjoy it.”
He stepped back, avoiding Juliana Plafins as she subtly reached for his hand. He disliked her intensely.
For a woman carrying the marquis’s child to behave this way, expecting something romantic or intimate from one of his close aides, was utterly repulsive.
“I-I’m sorry.”
Juliana quickly withdrew her hand and lowered her gaze, trying to appear contrite. The attempt to evoke pity, with her head bowed so demurely, struck him as ridiculous.
He recalled her true nature—how easily and without hesitation she tore others down. As far as he remembered, Julia Plafins had never hesitated to tarnish someone else’s reputation to elevate her own.
She, of all people, knew how ruthless and difficult it was to survive as a lady in high society. She understood the struggles of not having a supportive family or influential backing, having lived through such hardships herself. And yet, despite this understanding, how had she treated Lara?
Hamizel knew that Juliana, like Gladys, harbored a deep hatred for Lara. Her expression toward Lara was one of disdain, as though she viewed her as an intruder who had no right to step into the social sphere. Lawrence knew that scorn all too well.
“I’ll be leaving now.”
He turned and left Julia behind, ignoring her attempts to salvage the situation. Once he escaped her suffocating presence, reeking of desperation and perfume, his head cleared.
He suddenly heard hurried footsteps and spotted a woman pushing her way through the crowd.
“Ah!”
The woman, seemingly unaware of his presence, dashed forward and collided with him, stumbling over her own feet.
Lara.
Yes, it was Lara. Her sandy hair was braided and adorned with violet flowers, and she carried the elegant scent of gardenias. As she staggered, Lawrence grabbed her to steady her, looking at her face to confirm her identity.
“Are you alright?”
Before she could fully recover or stand upright, she tried to push him away, panting heavily. Lawrence placed his hands on her shoulders, helping her regain her balance, and gazed down at her.
“Lady Lara, isn’t it? We meet again,” he said, letting out a low chuckle as he greeted her. Although he had recognized her instantly, he feigned the pretense of confirming her identity by looking at her face.
“Is something wrong?”
He addressed her again as she pressed her lips tightly together. The dim light obscured her features, but her labored breathing was enough to tell him that she had been crying. Her suppressed sobs, as if she were biting back her pain, broke through the quiet.
“Your Grace,” she said sharply, brushing him off. Her movements were rough, almost defensive. Lawrence didn’t let go so easily.
“Tell me,” he insisted.
“Move,” she demanded.
Lara tried to pass him, and Lawrence finally released her, watching as she disappeared into the shadows. After a moment, he began to follow her at a slow pace. Keeping his footsteps silent, he trailed behind her unnoticed.
Lara moved deeper into the garden, seemingly intent on escaping the crowd. Lawrence inhaled the fresh scent of the lush greenery surrounding them as he continued to follow her slender figure.
Lara stopped beneath a tall oak tree and slowly began to sob. As if even the pale moonlight was unwelcome, she stood in the darkened spot, her shoulders trembling, a pitiful sight.
‘Lara.’
After calling her name, Lawrence wanted to turn her around and ask what was wrong. He stood, staring at her, unable to hold her in his arms.
‘Hello.’
As he watched her, avoiding even the moonlight, memories of her childhood resurfaced in his mind. The faint memories in Lara’s mind were always vivid in his. She would approach him without fear, smiling…
‘Do you want to eat this?’
He remembered the slave girl holding out a yellow plum, cut in half. Even back then, Lara had been a pale, small child, as delicate as a snowman. Her tiny body, rough hands, and worn-out shoes that dragged across the ground as she cleaned the windows.
She had brushed her half-sister’s hair, washed her feet, and arranged her bed, all while enduring exhausting days but never losing her smile. Lawrence had always been fascinated by her.
“Lara.”
The girl who had laughed so often, who had approached him fearlessly, speaking to him without hesitation…
“Ah.”
The woman turned. Tears that had collected on her lashes slid down her cheeks. Lawrence tried to force a smile, attempting to look indifferent.
Even after their reunion, he didn’t reveal the feelings that had been stirring inside him. It would be better for Lara this way. The Highdelbern she had run from, the past she wanted to hide, and the chains of slavery that she still hadn’t broken free from.
“What are you doing?”
But now, he couldn’t smile. Even if he tried to stretch the corners of his lips, it wasn’t right. How could he smile when she was crying? Slowly, he stepped closer to her. Lara, trembling with fear, hunched her shoulders and clasped her hands together.
“Why are you crying?”
“……”
“Is it because you can’t fit in with the others? Or did someone say something hurtful to you?”
His voice was excessively gentle. With a soft, deep tone, Lara looked up at him, shivering, as he held her shoulder.
“Lara.”
“…Hamizel.”
“It’s okay. I’m not any different from before.”
“I… I…”
“You don’t need to be afraid. Even if the whole world scares you, I won’t.”
He whispered as he wiped the tears from her face. Lara looked up at him, her face filled with confusion. He understood. After all, Lara wouldn’t remember him. Just the faintest recollection was enough for him. She had been only seven, then fourteen.
For him, the memories of her childhood were clear, like a kind image from youth, but for Lara, they might only be vague, drifting memories. Yet, when they had met again at the hotel, she had recognized him.
“Even if your husband scares you, I won’t. Because…”
Lawrence embraced her. Lara, caught off guard, sank into his arms and blinked her eyes. Along with the scent of whiskey, there was the bitter aroma of cigars emanating from his broad chest.
Lara bit her lip, trembling. What was Lawrence Hamizel to her? Just a man she had spent part of her childhood with…
Yet, even so, she felt at ease. His words, “Even if the world makes you afraid, I will be fine. Even if your husband makes you afraid, I will not make you afraid.”
Those two phrases comforted her like a lullaby. Lara, gasping as she sobbed, buried her face in his chest. Upon reflection, this wasn’t the first time they had embraced.
Lawrence was the eldest son of Marquis Oppreesé, born out of wedlock.
Before marrying the daughter of a wealthy but not overly affluent landowner from Travis, the marquis had fathered a son with a young maid, and that son was Lawrence.
Even after marrying, the marquis continued to bring Lawrence’s mother into his bedroom, frequently sleeping with her and keeping her locked in the castle, spending nights with her whenever he desired.
‘You are the byproduct of your mother.’
To the marquis, his mother was merely a source of pleasure, and Lawrence was the inevitable disgrace that resulted from it. The marquis didn’t consider him his son. Even when looking at his mother’s swollen belly, he didn’t think of the child inside as his own. It didn’t matter to him.
To his father, his mother was just a slave for a single night. He never treated Lawrence as a person. Not even as a child, but rather as someone without any humanity or worth.
Just like the woman who gave birth to him, the marquis didn’t view Lawrence, his mother, or his young sister as people.
‘Do not speak to this child.’
Even now, it was incomprehensible. Even when Lawrence had grown and was able to understand adult matters, and even after learning about the ways of the rich, he couldn’t understand why the marquis had been so cruel to his mother and sister.
The marquis was especially cruel to him. His mother, as a concubine, and his sister, Helen, because she resembled their mother, were sometimes treated kindly, but Lawrence received no mercy. He was treated with disdain simply because he was born from a slave.
Perhaps it would have been better if he had been a girl. Yes, if he had been a girl, things would have been different. The marquis had been kind to Helen.
Of course, Helen was also treated as less than human, but she was well-fed and well-clothed. The marquis sometimes even looked at her with affection, as if she were his beloved daughter.
But Helen would never become like Valerie. Looking at Valerie, Lawrence always thought that she, too, was not a person to him, just like his mother.
For a time, Lawrence had wondered if the marquis had truly loved his mother as a woman, keeping her in the castle for that long.
At least he had shared a bed with her for many years. But in the end, his mother was nothing to him. She was simply a woman who brought him pleasure for a night.
The reason the marquis insisted on keeping her in the castle was that she was more enjoyable to him than his legitimate wife. His mother was exceptionally beautiful compared to his other concubines and was even admired in high society. If there had been any woman more beautiful than her, the marquis would not have been interested in her.
‘You are my bitch’s dog.’
With a hand that caressed his mother, the marquis whispered as he patted Lawrence’s head. In his castle, neither his concubines nor his dogs were considered human, so they were not to be spoken to or even looked at.
For that reason, Lawrence had been alone in the castle for a long time.
His mother and sister were confined to the marquis’s bedroom and her chambers, while Lawrence, the illegitimate child born of a slave, lived with the servants.
When a slave gave birth, it was customary to either send the child to a monastery or out of the territory, but the marquis did not allow anyone to leave.
Being born a slave meant that Lawrence could not even live safely in the castle. He would have rather lived among the other slaves, as he was so despised.
But the marquis never allowed Lawrence, nor his mother or sister, to live outside the castle.
The marquis denied him any opportunity to ease his loneliness. When he thought about it again, he could not understand. If the marquis had simply expelled them, Lawrence would not have been this bitter. His only purpose in life had not been to live for his own destruction.
“Lara.”
He grabbed her wet cheeks. Her dilated pupils moved anxiously, searching. He whispered her name softly. He remembered what the man who had fathered her had called her.
‘Rose.’
Yes, that was the name.