Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 97

97.

Even in the provinces, there were famous designers—but Ibelin hadn't cared about fashion.

The scene before her was beyond imagination: Madame Dupont, from the capital's most popular boutique, had brought dozens of gowns made of the finest materials.

All just for her.

"Amazing."

She said involuntarily.

"But is this okay?"

"What?"

She whispered.

"How do I hide weapons in a dress like that?"

She'd chosen concealable weapons, but doubted how many she could hide in such a dress.

Kite laughed, snapped his fingers—the attendants left, leaving only Madame Dupont and a tall maid.

Madame Dupont bowed gracefully.

"Hello—I'm Madame Dupont, working under Lord Kite."

He ran a boutique? She blinked—then realized they weren't just business associates.

Surprised, Kite wrapped an arm around her waist and whispered.

"Madame Dupont is one of mine."

"Connected to your intelligence network?"

"Yes—she handles it. Speak freely here. The dress will be made to your specifications."

She clicked her tongue in admiration—there was a reason he'd survived his madness.

"Reassuring."

Madame Dupont smiled and showed her a catalog.

"Whatever you want, we can make."

"Then—"

She pointed at the waist.

"Can I hide a gun here?"

"Yes—with a small pocket and a large ribbon or veil."

"Knives?"

"How many? We'll place them for easy access."

It was supposed to be an engagement dress, but it was becoming combat gear. Any normal noble would have objected—but Kite didn't blink. He was pleased with her thoroughness.

The final design satisfied her.

"Good?"

"Yes."

She was truly unique. He moved to accessories matching her chosen dress.

"The first dress is pale yellow—these jewels suit it."

He pointed to large pale green stones, surrounded by diamonds—clearly expensive. She didn't ask; she'd rather not know.

"An excellent choice—green complements yellow."

It's too expensive! She barely held back.

Kite insisted on spending—high society required money to prove love.

"More than anything, I want to give you the best."

How could she refuse? She could only thank him.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

He kissed her forehead—her face flushed, but he didn't care. Madame Dupont hadn't seen, but she was embarrassed.

"Why did you do that?"

"I wonder."

His sly answer made her bite her lip—she poked his side.

"Watch the place!"

"Would anywhere be okay?"

Speechless, she chose silence. They'd only held hands—why was he acting differently?

She didn't notice Madame Dupont's gaze.

Love is great.

Making the fussy Kite so anxious—she resolved to be kind to Ibelin.

---

The century's engagement news spread across the Empire—and naturally reached the provincial Frillie barony.

"Pfft!"

Berman, the current Baron Frillie, sprayed his tea reading the morning paper.

[Love's Miracle: Baron Frillie's Daughter and Archduke Gracias Announce Engagement!]

"Huh?"

His daughter Vivian was right there—what nonsense? Then he realized.

Ibelin!

After Kailun died, Ibelin had vanished—he'd expected her to beg him, but she'd left. For a while, rumors had plagued him: that he'd disposed of her. Kailun and Ibelin had been well-liked.

Bad luck.

The barony had been cursed lately. His invested trading company lost everything when a carriage fell off a cliff; an epidemic struck. Later, it was food poisoning from contaminated well water, but people blamed him.

Superstitious fools—but they were many, and the barony had few knights. He'd barely calmed them, then the storehouse caught fire. No one was hurt, but the laundry and storage were damaged.

All caused by outsiders, but he didn't know—he considered calling a priest.

His nerves frayed—then came Ibelin's engagement news.

She'd been sly, somehow catching a duke.

"What strange taste."

Ibelin was unapproachable—warm to Kailun, quiet with him. She'd avoided him. And she'd won this fortune?

"I'm not dreaming."

"Father!"

Vivian burst in.

"Heard the rumor?"

She'd gone to a tea party but returned early, furious.

"Ibelin's engaged to a duke! It must be someone else, right? How could she! It's nonsense!"

As she ranted, his son Derick arrived.

"Vivian—calm down."

"Brother!"

"I can hear you without screaming."

Derick also held a newspaper—same headline, different paper.

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