“Another failure today?”“I’m ashamed to say so, sir…”To put it plainly, every attempt Edgar made to meet Angela had ended in rejection.At first, he had sent a courteous letter through the post to request a meeting. Angela, however, sent no reply and declined through the doll shop owner.Even after he sent two or three more letters, all of them were refused. The last one included a polite note pointing out that sending letters to an address she had never disclosed was discourteous and unseemly.“Ha… she certainly knows how to play hard to get.”He had thought that, since she’d tried to attend his party, she must have at least a little interest in him. Apparently, he’d been wrong.“If she wasn’t interested, then why come to my party in the first place? Was she really planning to curse me?”In truth, Edgar had considered winning her over to be an easy task.Part of it was that he had once helped her years ago; part of it was the conviction that a woman so reclusive, yet who’d tried to attend his party, must already hold a fondness for him.“If she had any fondness at all, she wouldn’t have slammed the door on me again and again.”But he had to admit now that his assumption had been mistaken. If she had been even slightly interested, she would at least have shown her face once out of courtesy for all the effort he’d made to meet her.Gifts, letters written with care, messengers—none of ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) it worked. Angela refused them all without so much as a flicker.“I suppose I’ll have to go myself.”Though he prided himself on treating everyone equally where business was concerned, Edgar was still, to the bone, a highborn noble. His upbringing had never left him.No matter the reason or purpose, the fact remained that the person he sought out was merely a dollmaker of title in name alone. For the King’s son and a Duke to personally travel to some remote corner of nowhere to meet her was, by any measure, beneath his dignity.“You intend to go yourself, sir…?”Timothy’s face said plainly what he didn’t dare to put into words: Is that really necessary?That the proud, imperious Edgar de Grace should be driven to seek out a lone dollmaker in a run-down house buried in the woods—if anything went wrong, the blame would surely fall squarely on him.“Just make sure no reporters catch on. Once a man starts something, he has to see it through, doesn’t he?”It had already been a month since Edgar had boasted before his social-club circle that he could win her over with ease. Yet here he was—not only had he failed to seduce her, he hadn’t even managed to see her face.For the man who had charmed everyone from famed musical actresses to the most envied ladies of the court, it was an intolerable blow to his pride.***“Hm…”“Are you sure you’ll be all right on your own, sir?”“What sort of impression would it make if a whole group of men turned up at a single woman’s house? Don’t fret—come back for me in an hour.”Checking the time on his pocket watch, Edgar gave Timothy a sharp look.Any good negotiation, he believed, began with meeting one’s counterpart halfway. So, at last, he had hauled himself out here to the edge of nowhere, standing before Angela’s house with a firm resolve to achieve his aim this time.“Still…”Timothy eyed the isolated little house in the woods with unease.After all, his employer was the head of House Grace, the King’s eldest son, and the representative of the Signor Guild. However insufferable or sharp-tongued Edgar might be, Timothy couldn’t help worrying for his safety.“Timothy, don’t tell me you still believe those witch tales. If she truly had any power, she wouldn’t have spared the people who’ve spent years slandering her.”“That’s true, sir, but even so…”“She’s just a delicate lady swallowed up by cruel rumors. Enough. Go now—you’re only in my way.”Edgar all but pushed him off, then took a moment to smooth down his already immaculate attire.“This looks more like a ruin than a workshop.”The Geppetto Doll Workshop was an old-fashioned house of wood-colored brick with a faded brown roof. Its broken fence, lack of a proper gate or doorbell, and the fact that one could walk straight up to the door did nothing to recommend it.The windows were grimy, and the yard was overgrown with weeds and scattered debris, as if no one had lived here in years.And now he was meant to walk into such a place.He felt a pang of dismay—but retreat was not an option. Forming his fingers into a hook, he grasped the metal loop of the door handle and rapped lightly.“Is anyone home?”Even Edgar, who rarely felt nervous, found himself tensing. According to Timothy, Angela usually didn’t even show her face; she simply called out for unwanted visitors to leave.Still, surely it would be different once she learned he had come. Even those she’d refused before had at least managed a few words with her.Once he got her talking, he was certain he could make her open the door—no one had ever resisted him for long.In his arrogance, Edgar didn’t even consider that he might be turned away. He only worried that she might prove difficult to handle, being unlike anyone he’d ever dealt with before.Even so, not even the master negotiator Edgar de Grace could be sure he’d get the answer he wanted once the conversation began.“…Is she not home?”He had been knocking for quite some time, yet no sound came from within. He tried again and again, but still no answer.“Damn it…”That was an unexpected complication. He had come here believing the reports that she was always home when she wasn’t in town.He knocked once more, with dwindling hope—silence.“Damn it all. And there’s still plenty of time left.”He sighed, taking out his pocket watch. He had deliberately sent the carriage away to prove his sincerity; until the appointed hour passed, there was no way to summon it back.Timothy would, of course, be waiting somewhere discreetly nearby.But walking down that rough path himself was out of the question. He would never risk his coat or shoes on such terrain.“Is there really nothing else around here?”He looked about, but the answer was obvious. He had seen it with his own eyes on the way—nothing but forest and emptiness.“…Sigh.”Perhaps this was punishment for abandoning his conscience.“Where on earth am I supposed to wait…”Irritation prickled through him. He pulled on the handle in frustration—Clack.The door swung open.“Uh…”What kind of era was this, that a house could be left unlocked like that? Startled, Edgar snatched his hand away from the handle.“Ahem… Baroness Faber? Are you home?”Either way, the door was open—unintentionally, perhaps, but open.Rather than stand there like a fool for minutes on end, Edgar leaned forward and peered through the crack.“Impressive…”The interior was nothing like the exterior. The entire space was packed with materials, tools, and supplies, as if the house itself were one vast workshop.Drawn in, he stepped over the threshold. Along the wall stood shelves fashioned from stacked wooden barrels like honeycomb cells, each round compartment neatly filled with fabric organized by color.“High-quality cloth, at that.”Running both a fashion boutique and a ready-to-wear line, Edgar had a keen eye for textiles.Before he knew it, he had wandered all the way into the center of the house, unable to resist brushing his hand over the displayed fabrics.“So these are patterned fabrics.”Unlike the plain bolts, the patterned ones hung in easy view on a rack like a ladder with several rods.There must have been dozens of types—an impressive sight.“Dolls?”Beside the shelves of fabric stood several dolls placed here and there. Even to an untrained eye like Edgar’s, they were masterpieces.“Collectors would salivate over these.”Their skin texture, facial expressions, and proportions were so flawless they could have been mistaken for living people.Even Edgar de Grace—who had never once cared about dolls—felt an involuntary desire to possess them.

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