Chapter 18
Emerald

“Uncle, this is… this is far too much.”

Layla’s voice shook as she stared wide-eyed into the box. Bill, just as stunned, couldn’t find a proper retort.

“How much did you even spend on this?”

She now looked at him almost reproachfully.

“Well… I… just enough! Why are you fussing over everything?”

Bill finally pulled himself together to answer.

The dress Madam Mona had arranged for Layla arrived on the very day of the party. Bill had expected the postman, but instead a well-dressed young man—clearly from the dress shop—delivered it himself.

Bill had thought Mona had gone a little overboard, but when they opened the box, it was far more than that. Even with Bill’s clueless eye for women’s clothing and jewelry, the white gown adorned with golden thread looked luxurious and stunning. The shoes, gloves, and necklace were no different.

How much had he given Mona, again?

Bill counted off with his fingers, brow furrowed.

Did she even take money for a necklace?

As he recalculated, Layla firmly shut the lid of the box.

“What? You don’t like it?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then why—”

“We should return it. I can’t let you spend so much for just one evening—a party where I’ll barely show my face at all.”

Contrary to Mona’s confidence that Layla would be delighted, her face was heavy with worry.

“Layla, if you don’t wear this dress to the party, I’ll never look at you again.”

Bill’s expression went cold.

“You hate being indebted, I know. But, Layla, you can’t draw such sharp lines between people. That’s not how it works.”

He rose slowly.

“They only look grand, but they’re cheap imitations, all of it. You know as well as I do that I can’t afford the truly fine things, no matter how much I might want to give them to you.”

“Uncle…”

“If you won’t take them, I’ll burn the lot for kindling. And I’ll never look at you again, Layla.”

Bill’s face flushed red. He stormed out to the front garden, chain-smoking by the flowerbeds, before guilt finally crashed down. He shouldn’t have said that—not that he’d never see her again.

He was debating whether to go back in when Kyle came striding up the lane, dressed smartly in formal evening wear. For the first time, Bill thought the boy almost looked like a man.

“Uncle, where’s Layla?” Kyle asked, grinning with excitement.

“How should I know?”

“What? She’s not here? The party’s about to start!”

“Not exactly, but…”

Bill faltered, unsure how to explain. Just then, the front door creaked open. Both men turned, and both gasped alike.

A stranger stood there.

“Do I… do I look strange, Kyle?”

Layla’s face pinched nervously.

“I feel so awkward in this…”

“Beautiful.”

Kyle’s voice broke through, firm.

“You’re beautiful, Layla. I mean it.”

He said it again with certainty, though his boyish grin had vanished, replaced by a faint blush. Bill had told him Layla would receive a gift, but never in his dreams had Kyle expected this.

He’d worried over Bill’s taste—after all, the man had thought a straw hat was stylish—but this… this was beyond anything.

“Pull yourself together, Kyle Etman.”

Bill clicked his tongue and clapped the boy’s back hard.

“Tonight, you’re standing in for me.”

Bill’s gaze turned serious.

“That means you’re responsible for Layla. Guard her well. Can you do that?”

“Of course, Uncle,” Kyle said solemnly.

“I’ll protect her. I promise!”

His face reddened as he made the vow. Bill watched him a moment, then burst into hearty laughter.

Meanwhile, Layla walked carefully over.

Kyle, taking a deep breath to steady his racing heart, held out his hand with exaggerated formality.

“What’s this?” Layla asked, puzzled.

“It’s a party tonight. We’re partners.”

“Yes.”

“So then…”

Summoning all his courage, Kyle guided her hand to rest on his arm.

“This is how it’s done. A partner’s place.”

His nerves were so raw he nearly stammered.

Layla thought for a moment, then nodded, linking her arm through his.

“Let’s go, Kyle.”

Her smile broke radiant as sunlight. And Kyle thought, I’ll never forget this moment as long as I live.

Layla Llewellyn entered with the doctor’s son.

Matthias, greeting guests at the entrance, turned his head at just that instant. Layla stepped in on Kyle Etman’s arm.

Hessen’s perfection as a butler was proven in her appearance. Dressed in what he had provided, Layla Llewellyn was beautiful. Even if she had merely draped the gifts upon herself, she was beautiful.

Matthias’s eyes traveled up from her shoes, along the hem of her gown, until they halted at the necklace at her throat. Pearls and emeralds intertwined in delicate harmony.

Everything else, Hessen had prepared. That necklace, however, Matthias had chosen himself. Not on purpose—he’d seen it displayed in a shop window on his way to an appointment at a hotel. The finely cut emerald, its green as clear as summer leaves, had struck him. On the drive home, he had ordered Hessen to purchase it.

Sensing his gaze, Layla turned abruptly. Her eyes—like the summer forest—met his and lingered. Without her glasses, she squinted before recognition dawned.

Matthias did not flinch. But Layla startled and quickly looked away, clutching the boy’s arm, hiding behind him.

“Good evening, Lord Herhardt.”

A familiar face drew his attention, smiling as she spoke. Matthias turned back smoothly, exchanging the necessary pleasantries.

Even when all his senses were elsewhere, Matthias von Herhardt performed flawlessly.

When he glanced again, Layla and Kyle were already at the far end of the hall. Kyle led her with triumphant ease, cloaking her entirely in his presence—as if she belonged to him.

“This is Layla, my friend,” Claudine said brightly, presenting her to a cluster of young ladies.

“Good evening. I’m Layla Llewellyn.”

Once again, Layla executed her role with polite perfection, as if she were a doll with no will or feelings.

Claudine smiled more radiantly still, introducing Layla with earnest care—how pitiable she was, but also how good, how clever, how diligent.

“She’s preparing to become a teacher. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The ladies chorused their admiration. But their praise, of course, was directed at Lady Brandt—for condescending to count a poor orphan among her friends. Everyone knew it wasn’t true friendship. And so, Claudine’s dignity remained intact.

“I heard you’re soon to be engaged, Claudine?” one lady prompted delicately, as if to change the subject. At once, their interest shifted to Claudine Brandt’s engagement.

Claudine played her part with shy modesty. The betrothal had yet to be formally announced, and to act as though she were already mistress of Arvis would be gauche.

“Ah, the Duke of Herhardt is here!”

One girl exclaimed in excitement.

All heads turned, including Layla’s.

Matthias passed close by, naturally falling in beside Claudine. She looped her arm through his without hesitation. Layla’s face blanched.

“These are my friends, Lord Herhardt,” Claudine said, presenting them.

Matthias greeted them with elegant courtesy. His eyes, however, paused on the girl at the edge of the group.

“This is Layla,” Claudine added, tightening her hold on his arm.

“You hardly recognize her, do you? She looks so different tonight—I almost didn’t recognize her myself.”

Cloaked in jest, the words struck. Layla flushed red, caught out. She had endured many humiliations in silence, but in Matthias’s presence, her composure cracked.

“Excuse me.”

The warm voice cut through the tension. Kyle Etman, who had been hovering uneasily ever since Claudine had drawn Layla in, stepped forward.

“Pardon me, but may I take back my partner now?”

Without hesitation, he caught Layla’s hand. Surprised, she didn’t pull away. Instead, relief washed over her face, like a lost child finding her parent again.

“My friends have been dying to meet her.”

Though his words were easy, his eyes toward Claudine were cold, unyielding.

“Of course. We can’t monopolize her,” Claudine replied with gracious cheer, turning to Matthias. He was watching without a flicker of expression.

“Thank you, Lady Brandt. And Your Grace.”

Kyle bowed neatly, then turned.

“Come, Layla.”

Only when facing her again did he smile brightly, warmly. And in that smile, it was clear—he loved her.

Beside tall Kyle, Layla seemed smaller, frailer than ever. And yet he held her like something precious.

And Layla?

Claudine studied closely. Layla was smiling too—smiling more freely, more softly than she ever had before. Smiling like a girl in love.

Not the Duke of Herhardt. But the doctor’s son.

The thought left Claudine unsettled. Layla Llewellyn—had it been this boy who had dressed her up as a princess?

“Layla!”

The impulse struck, and Claudine called out. Layla paused beneath the chandelier’s glow.

“You look lovely tonight. Especially that necklace.”

“M-me? Oh… thank you, my lady.”

Flustered, Layla’s hand flew to her throat.

The necklace suited her perfectly. The emerald, green as her own eyes, rimmed with petals of diamond. Pearls glowing softly like moonlight. Too fine, too intricate to dismiss as imitation.

Could Kyle Etman—wealthy or not, still only a doctor’s son—have given her such a piece?

“Don’t you think so, Lord Herhardt?” Claudine asked sweetly.

“So it seems,” Matthias replied at once, his face composed, untroubled.