Chapter 62
A Night at the Town Hall

“Did you see, Miss Llewellyn? The Duke of Herhardt is here!”

Miss Greber whispered breathlessly, her face flushed as she rushed up to Layla. Layla had just stepped out into the lobby after checking the children’s final rehearsal.

“Not the duchesses, but the Duke himself?”

“Yes! The Duke himself. He brought his grandmother along. Ah—look, there he is.”

Layla turned her head in the direction Miss Greber pointed. Surrounded by people, the Duke stood tall. At that very moment, his gaze shifted—and their eyes met. Breath caught in her throat, Layla ducked her head quickly, pretending to bow in greeting. Thankfully, the Duke soon moved away.

“You must see him often, living in Arvis, don’t you?”

Miss Greber, still staring wistfully after him, asked. Layla clasped her hands together nervously.

“Well… sometimes.”

“I’m so jealous. Even if it’s just from a distance, how wonderful it would be to see him every so often.”

Ever since the school outing to Arvis in the autumn, Miss Greber had carried an unshakable admiration for the Duke. She never tired of praising his elegance, his refinement, and his noble bearing.

Soon she returned to the concert hall to check on her upper-grade students preparing for their choir. Layla, passing through the hall to join the other teachers, caught sight of Matthias again. He was speaking with a middle-aged gentleman, composed and dignified as ever.

Layla stopped in her tracks, her gaze carefully drawn to him.

Since childhood, Matthias von Herhardt had been only a figure of fear and unease for her. That was why the Duke, so lavishly praised by others, had always seemed foreign to her. She had never agreed with those praises, nor cared to.

But now, at least, she could not deny that he lived up to them. In his rightful place, carrying out his role perfectly, Matthias was indeed such a man. And the man only she knew—the one hidden from everyone else—seemed all the more like a dream.

A beautiful, merciless nightmare.

Her eyes followed the long shadow he cast across the marble floor, then slowly rose up his frame. He really was tall. His figure seemed lean, almost slender, but standing before him brought an overwhelming sense of strength and intimidation.

And those blue eyes… Wait. Why could she see them?

Layla realized something was wrong only when she found his gaze fixed on her. He had been standing in profile, but somehow… he was looking right at her.

Stunned, she met his gaze, dazed, caught by eyes calm yet faintly curved at the lips.

“What are you doing here, Miss Llewellyn?”

The headmaster’s voice startled her from behind. She turned quickly.

“No need to be so surprised. Now, everyone, let’s go greet them.”

He led the teachers toward where the Duke and the Dowager Duchess were standing. Layla, swept along with the group, found herself standing before Matthias.

His eyes moved across the line of teachers, and inevitably settled on her at the end. Just before she lowered her head, she caught a fleeting smile tug at his furrowed brows.

Why?

The question burned in her, but she couldn’t raise her head again. Fixing her eyes on the polished tips of his shoes, she prayed for the performance to begin quickly—never guessing that would be the greater ordeal.

“You look rather spirited these days, Matthias.”

The Dowager Duchess studied her grandson’s face with a pleased expression.

“Has something good happened?”

“No, nothing in particular, Grandmother,” Matthias replied with a polite smile, his tone calm as always. Yet something about him was different.

Yes—he looked his age. A young man in the prime of youth. It made her suddenly conscious of just how young he still was.

“Whatever the reason, I’m glad to see you like this,” she said warmly.

“Events like this may seem trivial, Matthias, but goodwill and respect begin in places like these.”

Her gaze swept the concert hall before settling back on him.

“How proud I am that you, as the head of this house, are mindful of such things. Neither your grandfather nor your father had that kind of attentiveness.”

She praised him fondly.

The masterpiece of the Herhardt family.

So many called him that. Outwardly, she always brushed it off as excessive praise, but in her heart, she agreed more than anyone. Hadn’t she lived on, even after husband and son were gone, to see this day? The day the greatest of the Herhardts would bring the family its brightest glory.

As she basked in her pride, the lights dimmed. The hall fell silent, and the announcer stepped onto the stage.

Matthias straightened instinctively, applauding at the right moment. But none of what happened on stage truly held his attention.

Layla was wearing the necklace.

He had only guessed before, but now that she stood closer, he was certain—the emerald necklace. It was a mark, and Matthias was satisfied. Whether she knew it or not, it meant she was his.

He first turned his full attention to the stage when the children from Layla’s school began their play. He recognized their faces—these were the children who had gone on the autumn outing to Arvis.

His eyes drifted below the stage, and as expected, Layla was there, watching anxiously over them. The nervous children kept sneaking glances at her. The smallest girl, the one who had spilled ice cream on Layla’s clothes that day, already looked on the verge of tears.

What sort of face are you making now, Miss Llewellyn?

Matthias watched her, unhurried.

The play was some sort of fairy tale about woodland sprites. Children with flimsy, translucent wings bustled across the stage, drawing warm chuckles from the audience. But Matthias saw only the woman pacing fretfully below.

Then, a child’s sudden sobs broke the air, startling him more than the others.

“Oh dear,” the Dowager Duchess sighed.

Matthias followed her gaze to the smallest girl, now crying loudly.

“Teacher!”

The child wailed Layla’s title, looking down at her through tears. Chaos spread quickly among the other children as the scene fell apart.

Can she handle it?

His eyes narrowed. The headmaster hurried to Layla, whispering urgently. She shook her head in alarm, but at last, unable to refuse, she rushed onto the stage.

All eyes turned to the young teacher now crouched beside the sobbing child.

“That’s her, isn’t it? Bill Remmer’s foster daughter,” murmured Katharina von Herhardt with a smile of recognition.

Onstage, Layla crouched behind a fake flower bush, soothing the child. But even if she calmed her, it was clear the girl couldn’t return to her part. If the confusion dragged on, the other children might start crying too.

The headmaster, clearly desperate, handed Layla a bundle of script pages at the stage wing. She shook her head again, but in the end, she couldn’t defy him.

She flipped frantically through the pages, cleared her throat, and began reciting the fairy’s lines in the child’s place.

“Wow—loook, eveeeryone. Such preeetty flooowers blooooming here!”

Her trembling voice rang out, making the audience fall silent once more—not from order, but from stunned disbelief.

“No, no! If you pi-iick them carelessly, the flooowers will huuurt!”

For a moment, even Matthias wasn’t sure what he was hearing. Stilted, awkward, almost comical—yet somehow, the play lurched forward again. The other children calmed and returned to their parts.

The fairy’s lines weren’t many, but each time she spoke, the audience rippled with suppressed laughter. Maintaining composure in the face of her overly serious, hopelessly clumsy performance was nearly impossible.

One by one, chuckles broke loose until the hall was filled with laughter. Even Katharina, usually the epitome of dignity, eventually gave in and laughed aloud.

Watching his grandmother smile, Matthias turned back to the stage. There Layla sat stiffly, hunched with the script clutched in her hands, unaware of the little girl placing her flower crown gently on her teacher’s head in thanks.

“Wh-at a wo-onderful pa-aarty! Ha-ha-ha! So muuch fuuun!”

At that line, the fairy’s laugh, even Matthias himself burst into laughter. Layla’s cheeks glowed as red as the roses in the crown atop her head.

He was certain of it—throughout the entire performance, the audience had waited most eagerly for the fairy’s lines. And tonight, the village schoolchildren’s play had won the warmest applause of all.

By the final scene, Layla scampered off the stage, script in hand. The audience rewarded her with generous clapping.

Smiling faintly, Matthias joined in. The true star of the play was not the children, but the pretty fairy who had given such a wonderfully terrible performance.