Percival let out a sly chuckle.
“Really? Lady Redfield? That pale girl who likes books? She doesn’t exactly seem like she has the stamina to even dance, let alone do much else.”
“She has more grit than she appears. Even at the last hunting competition... Actually, never mind. Let’s get back to the meeting.”
“Teasing me with a tasty appetizer and withholding the main dish? What exactly happened at the hunting competition?”
Damn it. Percival had found his excuse to delay the meeting. His fish-like eyes sparkled with mischief, and Tristan knew there was no avoiding it now. With a resigned sigh, he summarized the events in the briefest way possible.
“She fell on a slippery path, got hurt, and walked it off just fine.”
“She fell right in front of you?”
“No. Her clothes were dirty, so I pressed her about it and found out.”
Though even pressing her didn’t get me the full story.
She’d refused to say a word about what had happened, leaving Tristan to piece it together himself. He’d handled the matter discreetly in the end—Alex would be eating porridge for the next year because of it.
As the memory flitted across his mind, Tristan’s lips nearly curved into a small, amused smile. But Percival, always quick to interrupt, took another sip of his brandy and cut in.
“Well, that just shows she doesn’t trust you, does it?”
“...Excuse me?”
“Come on, think about it. For an adult to fall like that—it must’ve been humiliating. In that kind of situation, anyone would turn to a friend or a partner for comfort, wouldn’t they? But instead, she kept it a secret? Sounds like she has absolutely no intention of relying on you. Oh, my, pardon me.”
Percival made an exaggerated show of clamping his mouth shut, feigning regret as if he’d said too much.
“My goodness, look at the time! We really should get this meeting started.”
“Brother.”
“Is today’s topic the renovation of the training grounds? It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it? Some of those practice dummies are still from twenty years ago.”
Percival downed the last of his brandy and picked up the meeting documents.
When did he ever care this much about these meetings?
Tristan clenched his teeth, suppressing the urge to fire back or call him out. Too much time had already been wasted. For the sake of the other participants, it was better to just let Percival play his part and move things along.
Reluctantly, Tristan opened the documents in front of him.
“Yes. Recently, there’s been an increase in young noblemen interested in touring and participating in sparring sessions at the training grounds. However, the facilities are outdated—”
Yet as he spoke, another thought wormed its way into Tristan’s mind, distracting him from the meeting at hand.
“She hid it because she doesn’t trust me?”
***
In this world, there are no computers. That means no access to international research papers or even the ability to search the library catalog.
The one saving grace? This library was organized using a decimal classification system, and the librarian was both cooperative and diligent.
Granted, this was long before the concept of reference services or Ranganathan’s Five Laws of Library Science came into being, so I couldn’t expect anything beyond basic book retrieval.
“Books on regional parish development? Just a moment. I know I’ve seen something like that!”
A few days later, I stood in front of the Crown Princess, presenting her with a neat stack of materials relevant to her work.
“These three volumes are studies on local self-governance structures. These two focus on the impact parishes have had on communities over the past 80 years. And here—”
I made sure to mention that since reading everything would be a monumental task, I’d marked the key sections in the table of contents.
The Crown Princess stared at the pile, her mouth slightly open.
“You found all this? In the library?”
“With the librarian’s help, of course. And here’s another list of resources available at various parish archives. While these can’t be borrowed, if there’s anything you need, I can arrange for copies to be made.”
Even in a world without photocopiers, transcription was a viable option.
The Crown Princess skimmed through the list, nodding as she read.
“I see. This is excellent. Thank you.”
“It’s an honor to be of some use.”
“You’ve been more than helpful. You’ve saved me a great deal of time. But I can’t help wondering—did I disrupt your own work?”
“I’ve found the materials I was looking for, but...”
I sighed, letting out a sound that was part genuine and part theatrics.
“It’s just that I’m unsure if these resources alone will be enough to help the ladies with the charity concert.”
“Helping the ladies? What’s the issue?”
“It’s not a major problem, but during the preparations...”
When sharing grievances with a superior, one golden rule must always be followed:
Never directly blame a middle manager or speak ill of them.
There’s no guarantee the superior shares your frustrations, and badmouthing someone might make you seem untrustworthy. Better to keep it professional and stick to the facts.
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So, I laid out the key points:
“True. So, what’s your plan, Lady Redfield? Were you hoping the palace library might have the operas’ librettos?”
“I didn’t expect librettos, but I thought there might be theater reviews archived in the library. By studying them, I could learn more about the operas’ context.”
“Ah, reviews. I hadn’t considered that. It’s a clever idea. Will that be enough?”
“Not entirely. Even with the context, some scenes might still be challenging to grasp without understanding the cultural background they’re based on. Operas often include moments designed specifically for seasoned opera-goers.”
I gave her an example.
“In The Sorrows of Young Werther, there’s a pivotal moment where the heroine mentions ‘Klopstock.’ For readers unfamiliar with the poet Friedrich Gottlieb Klopstock, this could seem like a random word, but at the time, his poetry was popular among young aristocrats and carried significant emotional weight.”
I paused, letting the point sink in.
“Similarly, modern romance novels have their own cultural shorthand. For example, if a scene opens with a quiet morning, birds chirping outside, and the heroine groaning as she stretches—most readers would instantly know what happened the night before.”
The Crown Princess chuckled.
“Operas, plays, and literature often demand a certain familiarity from their audiences. So, I’m cross-referencing works from the same period to understand the context better.”
“Impressive.”
“However...”
I hesitated.
“I’m not an opera expert. My knowledge of famous works like The Marriage of Figaro or Turandot only goes so far. These operas we’ve been assigned are from an unknown time and place. It’s like trying to piece things together from scratch.”
I sighed again, partly to dramatize my plight and partly because it really was exhausting.
“It’s difficult to grasp the full context of the music, lyrics, and narrative, but somehow—”
“Just listening to you explain this makes it sound like an uphill battle. Perhaps we could change something to make it easier?”
The Crown Princess’s unexpected suggestion made my eyes widen.
“Change something? Do you mean the pieces themselves...?”
“Changing the songs isn’t feasible. The musicians are likely already deep into rehearsals.”
Oh, come on.
“But,” she continued, throwing me a lifeline, “we could adjust the lyrics or staging. Difficult sections could be omitted or replaced with humming. Whatever works best.”
“Oh...”
“And if any audience member complains that it deviates from the original, I’ll handle it myself.”
“Thank you, Your Highness!”
“But make sure to present your proposed changes to me for approval first.”
“Of course! I only hope our efforts don’t end up burdening you further...”
After all, this was supposed to be Percival’s way of easing the Crown Princess’s workload. Now it felt like she was taking on twice as much effort.
Fortunately, she shook her head.
“Not at all. The resources you’ve provided have saved me far more time than this will cost me.”
That was fair. I wasn’t about to feign modesty here, so I smiled, earning a faint laugh from her in return.
“You’re far more interesting than I imagined, Lady Redfield.”
“I hope that what I bring you next will be just as entertaining, Your Highness.”
***
I finally managed to piece together the gist of the opera’s original story.
In short, it’s like a slightly sanitized knockoff of La Traviata.
The heroine’s profession has been changed to that of an actress, but the core remains the same—a tragic love story between her and a nobleman, doomed by societal expectations.
“I can see exactly why that cursed couple chose this piece.”
It’s painfully obvious who they’re identifying with in the story and how they’re romanticizing their love. Even with my eyes closed, I could picture it clearly.
“And naturally, Pearl Snow would take on the climactic, tear-filled solo about their tragic love.”
Fortunately, the earlier acts wouldn’t be too difficult to tweak. But not knowing the stylistic conventions of this era’s theater made me hesitant to make any rash changes.
That’s why I decided to watch a few plays for reference, which led me to the front of the theater.
“Doris, thank you so much for inviting me!”
“It’s nothing, Maria. I’m just happy to enjoy this performance with yo—”
The words froze in my throat.
I’d sent Maria a single ticket—specifically for the Redfield family’s private box, where we could sit together.
Yet here she was, standing with someone I most certainly hadn’t invited.
Rick Ray. The original novel’s second male lead and a man who despises my family.
Looking him over, I noticed he was dressed quite well—polished shoes, a tailored suit, the works. He definitely looked like someone ready to attend the opera.
Maria quickly stepped in to explain, her voice tinged with guilt.
“Rick mentioned he really wanted to see this performance, so he’ll just sit in the general seating area. He’s planning to leave early, so you don’t have to worry about him! He’s just here to say hello.”
Rick Ray tipped his hat, bowing elegantly as he spoke.
“Please, pretend I’m not even here. I genuinely, truly wanted to see this opera. I have no intention of intruding on your time together.”
Oh, please. Who’s going to believe that, you second-lead fool?
You just wanted to spend even a second longer with Maria, didn’t you?