The day Dory came to visit. Tristan had resolved to gradually and naturally act as if he were falling for her.
Yet, what had he done when he met her for the first time since her visit?
Tristan thought back to the moments when Dory had been "charming enough to fall for" and realized he should have commented on or shown interest in them.
"First… how was it when we met in front of the library?"
Perhaps it was the effect of her singing; her cheeks were flushed, as appealing as a ripe peach full of summer.
He hadn't complimented her.
Then, they watched a play together.
The sight of Dory's sharp focus on the stage, only to burst out laughing at an unexpectedly funny joke, was endearing. Every contour of her face in that moment was utterly adorable.
But he hadn't mentioned it.
After the performance, they had a serious discussion about the play.
He admired her insightful perspective and sharp observations.
And yet, he hadn't acknowledged it.
Then there was the chocolate cake incident.
The way her face lit up like lightning with desire when the cake passed their table was refreshing. Her determined effort to suppress that craving was almost heroic. Her delicate slicing of the cake into bite-sized pieces, showcasing her self-control, was charming. Even her flustered reaction when cream accidentally fell off was endearing.
Even her walk was beautiful. No one else walked so gracefully, neatly, and efficiently.
"…But I didn't mention a single thing!"
Damn it, what a huge misstep. This left too little justification for why someone usually so aloof would suddenly decide to open his heart to Dory.
"I still haven't received the letter she didn't deliver during the hunting competition… but asking for it now would make me seem shameless."
If he hadn't expressed anything in words, he would have to evaluate his actions.
"Did I do anything today that might have made me appear attractive to her?"
Actions speak louder than a hundred compliments.
…But no matter how hard he tried, Tristan couldn't think of any actions today that might have impressed Dory.
"The chocolate cake situation? That ended up disrupting some agreement between her and Natalie."
The only good thing he could recall was the final moment when he told Dory, "If there's anything troubling you, I'll help."
"But that's just what a fiancé is supposed to say. There's nothing special about it!"
No matter how many times he replayed the last few hours in his head, the only vivid memory was Dory savoring three bites of chocolate cake. There wasn't even 10% of the "strong, wise, and dashing Tristan subtly falling for his fiancée" image he hoped for.
Tristan felt like banging his head against the tree in front of him.
"What did I even do today? I took the time, and yet!"
But both his pride and reason refused to let him sulk and go home just yet. Even if he hadn't accomplished anything, he needed to draw at least one productive conclusion from the time he'd spent.
After desperately scouring his mind, he recalled one fragment of her voice:
"There are many things I like more than a slice of cake."
A gift based on her preferences.
It was a clichéd move, but its effectiveness was proven throughout history.
One thing he knew she liked besides desserts was reading.
"But you can't carelessly gift a book to someone who loves reading."
That's a common mistake people unfamiliar with books tend to make.
Books are an area of highly specific preferences. If someone likes sweets, you can safely gift them a cake or cookies. Even if you get it slightly wrong—say, giving lemon meringue cake to someone who prefers chocolate—it won't provoke outright annoyance.
But if you assume someone loves books and gift them a horror novel when they prefer romance? Or give a person interested in welfare and sociology a book on The Art of War for "efficient governance"?
It's the most effective provocation ever.
"If I don't know what kind of books she likes, I'd be better off exploring another area of her interests."
How to figure it out?
The first person who came to mind was Natalie, but Tristan immediately dismissed the idea. There was no need to invite trouble by poking a hornet's nest just to find out her preferences.
The next option was…
Excluding family, there was only one other option: her friend, Maria Meyer.
Yet defining Lady Meyer merely as "Dory's friend" was slightly ambiguous.
"Would it really be okay to ask Lady Meyer about this?"
For the first time in years—perhaps in his entire life—Tristan's mind stumbled over concepts like tact and propriety regarding someone outside the royal family.
***
Everything was going smoothly.
In the morning, the maid fitting her dress said, "Miss, the dress seems a little loose on you."
At noon, the music instructor teaching the ladies exclaimed, "Everyone, you've improved so much since the first day! I dare say you're among the finest choirs I've ever taught!"
After repeated practice, the young ladies' singing skills improved dramatically, especially as they grew more confident and began to understand the context of the lyrics. The music instructor looked genuinely moved.
However, not everything was fully in place.
After today's lesson, the instructor—who had somehow become the group's unofficial leader—asked me, "Have you finished revising the final song's lyrics? The group should start practicing with the updated version soon."
"We're in the final stages. I don't plan to make many changes to the lyrics themselves," I replied.
"That's good to hear. Keep it up. If things continue this way, even those sitting in the audience out of duty will remember your performance as the highlight of their summer!"
It was a praise that felt more sincere because of its cynicism, something she would never say in an official setting. The young ladies burst out laughing.
And now, before testing the revised lyrics, I came to confirm whether my intentions would resonate with the audience hearing our song for the first time.
My destination was the residence of Baron Meyer, where Maria Meyer was currently staying.
***
The baroness greeted me politely.
"You must be the young lady of House Redfield. Thank you for the friendship you've shown my foolish niece. Since Maria debuted so late, I worry that her ignorance might cause trouble."
"It's I who am always comforted by Maria's kind heart. I've long wanted to meet the people who nurture such kindness, and I truly appreciate you hosting me today."
"Ahem, it's nothing."
In truth, the baroness had no hand in Maria's kindness—not even 1%. She forced a smile.
The baroness originally found Maria bothersome. Having a dependent was already irksome, and now she had to deal with her dependent's friends visiting too. I had complimented her deliberately, and thankfully, her reaction wasn't bad.
'Though the fact that I'm the daughter of a count likely played a part.'
However, instead of exchanging just the expected pleasantries and letting me inside, the baroness said something unexpected.
"There are so many ladies in society who'd love to invite Lady Doris to their tea rooms. After all, you received a gift during the hunting competition that no one else has ever received."
"Oh, are you referring to the monster?"
"Yes, that's right. I heard that His Highness Tristan not only fought the monster but also led the guards. Could it be that he's been preparing to deal with such creatures in other lands?"
Ah, I see. Now I understood what these noblewomen were curious about.
By "other lands", she undoubtedly meant Blue Atrium—the peaceful territory Tristan was originally meant to inherit but is now rumored to be under the northern duke's jurisdiction due to monster outbreaks.
After Tristan's monster hunt at the competition, speculation must have arisen: "Perhaps…?" It would undoubtedly make for interesting gossip.
Unfortunately, I had nothing to add.
'It's true Tristan has been preparing more diligently for his inheritance than expected, but he hadn't anticipated the existence of monsters.'
I could make up a convenient story, but the intrigued look in the baroness's eyes made it clear that anything I said would likely fuel unnecessary rumors among the noblewomen.
In such situations, there's only one way to protect oneself: Deliver a completely earnest-sounding absurdity.