Azalea looked out from the second-floor window at the elegant carriage of House Lazarus, which had just hastily departed from the front entrance of Rosenwald. Ophelia Hansen approached her mistress soundlessly.

“Lord Lazarus arrived in person, just as you anticipated,” she began, catching her breath. “However, mistress... how did you deduce all of this? And most importantly - how did you manage to get her intoxicated? Why, there was not a drop of strong spirits on the table.”

Azalea smiled lightly, almost imperceptibly, and turned slowly toward her assistant.

“There was indeed no alcohol on the table, but there was plenty of sweet things. I simply converted the sugar into alcohol right inside her stomach,” she explained matter-of-factly.

Ophelia looked at Azalea Rosenthal in bewilderment, with a hint of superstitious awe, as though all laws of nature were subject to her mistress.

“But... why did you need to do this?”

“I needed to obtain a genuine revelation from her, and a couple of glasses unties the tongue wonderfully. All the more when the guest is completely unaccustomed to it,” Azalea strolled unhurriedly to a deep armchair and settled into it, kicking off her shoes out of habit. “That is precisely why the note had to reach Lord Lazarus's hands at the exact moment we sat down at the table.”

“You wished to verify in person whether his feelings were sincere,” Ophelia finished for her with reverence and hidden wonder. “He appeared anxious to the utmost degree. I do not believe such sincerity can be acted out for the public.”

“Indeed so,” Azalea stated briefly, and then looked attentively at the girl, noticing a shift in her expression. “You appear happier than usual, Ophelia. Has something good transpired?”

Her assistant’s face lit up instantly with a radiant smile. She leaned forward, unable to conceal her joy.

“Tom sent a letter! He and Sarah are expecting a child. I shall become an aunt again,” she practically beamed with happiness. “The third little one in the family. I truly hope a girl is born this time. The boys resemble their father, so a child resembling her mother is needed.”

Azalea smiled genuinely and warmly.

“We must unquestionably visit them this coming winter. I have already managed to miss Miradeli,” she rose from the armchair and approached her work desk, which was littered with papers. “By the way... how are things with Simon? Has he still not resolved to openly confess his feelings to Emilia?”

Ophelia’s smile dimmed slightly, replaced by her customary thoughtfulness.

“No, mistress. It appears my brother has resolved to postpone that conversation once more. Emilia is already having a difficult time as it is - raising a child alone while simultaneously nursing her sick father...”

The fate of Emilia Bothmer truly evoked sympathy. Following her father's arrest, her husband abandoned her with a tiny child in her arms, and a heavier blow struck right after: Hubert Bothmer ended up completely paralyzed, and now the entire burden of his care fell upon the young woman’s fragile shoulders. Fortunately, Simon doted upon her little one and hastened to help at every opportunity, supporting their family.

“It is worth helping your brother, Ophelia. I do not believe he can handle this alone. Simon finds it far easier to manage red-hot metal than a woman who is truly dear to him,” Azalea pronounced with a heavy sigh.

“No, mistress. My brother will manage on his own, I am certain,” Ophelia shook her head firmly, preparing to return to her duties. “I shall bring you cold fruit tea with mint.”

Azalea pulled her gaze away from the stack of papers.

“You are not forgetting to take your medication on time, are you?”

“Of course not, milady.”

“Very good then,” Lady Rosenthal nodded. “If your supplies run low, tell me immediately.”

Ophelia smiled warmly, offered a brief bow to her mistress, and quietly closed the door behind her.

Josephine de Valois, comfortably settled in her seat, attentively inspected the parlor's decor. She was genuinely amazed by how everything was arranged here. Items that seemed simple at first glance proved in truth to be crafted from the finest materials; there was not a single redundant detail in the interior, and the walls were adorned with paintings.

It became entirely understandable why this place had so rapidly conquered popularity among the nobility. The works of art upon the walls appeared as though alive: they spellbound, stirred the imagination, and anchored every gaze.

“And what do you think, Josie?” one of the ladies asked, carefully returning her cup to its saucer.

“What was that?” the Vicomtesse's voice sounded soft and melodious. “I beg your pardon, I was distracted by that painting over there and completely missed what you were speaking of.”

Her open, luminous smile disarmed anyone in an instant. Josephine de Valois appeared unbelievably light, like a cool breeze on a sultry summer day. A subtle scent of fresh peaches always wafted from her, and a smile almost never faded from her face.

“We were gossiping about the old Marquise Lazarus here. Is it not repulsive how she conducts herself?” a third lady fanned herself irritably with a lace fan. “Not content with having practically driven her husband to the grave with her disposition, now she tormenting her son as well. Why, the Marquis has already made it explicitly clear that he does not intend to marry that girl she is imposing on him, yet she drags the poor thing everywhere after him anyway, introducing her to everyone as his future betrothed.”

Elena Rosenthal was quite surprised by what she heard, but preferred to remain silent for the time being, wishing to hear all the details.

“Ah, are you on about that again?” Valois drawled with slight disappointment. “Understand, Lady Lazarus is simply desperately trying to arrange her son's fate according to the old mold, though she fails completely to see that she is merely achieving the opposite effect by doing so. Even if he eventually submits to his mother's will by marrying that girl, it is hardly likely this marriage will last long.”

“Precisely, I mean the exact same thing!” the second lady chimed in. “Any day now he might follow in his father's footsteps and simply put a bullet through his forehead with that cursed ancestral rifle. And what then? Who shall inherit the Marquis's title and all his wealth?”

The ladies set about whispering eagerly once more, relishing a fresh portion of other people's misfortunes.

At that moment, the massive doors of the parlor opened, and Azalea entered the room, accompanied by her assistant.

“I beg your pardon for the delay, ladies; I was forced to linger on account of urgent affairs,” she pronounced in an even voice.

“Have you selected a strict male hunting style today, Lady Rosenthal?” Josephine de Valois swept her gaze over the hostess's attire with curiosity. “I see you are set in earnest upon driving the conservative section of our nobility to distraction.”

“Indeed so,” Azalea smiled, gathering her loose hair at the nape of her neck into a tight bun with a careless movement. “What have I missed?”

“Oh, we managed to discuss the upcoming bidding session, a couple of fresh pieces of gossip, and, of course, could not bypass the dramas of the Lazarus family,” Elena responded with a sly smile.

The conversation continued in the same vein; however, Azalea herself maintained silence for the greater part of the time, attentively observing the guests and noting every tiny detail. When the social reception drew to a close and the contented ladies set about departing for home, she personally escorted Lady de Valois to her carriage.

“My aunt mentioned that your opinion regarding local customs at times differs greatly from the stance of the other ladies. And today I had the opportunity to verify this,” Azalea noted calmly, looking at the Vicomtesse.

“Ah, truly? It must be that the whole matter lies in my being a foreigner here,” Josephine giggled merrily. “Thank you for such a warm and soulful reception. Next time I shall be glad to gather you at my place. I shall unquestionably introduce you to my husband.”

Azalea and Elena waved together in farewell to the guest, waiting until the elegant carriage vanished around the bend.

“Well then, shall you accept an offer of friendship from such an interesting individual?” Elena inquired with a light smile, adjusting her shawl upon her shoulders.

“I believe so, Aunt,” Azalea answered thoughtfully, looking after the departed carriage. “Right now we possess in our hands practically everything needed for success. With a single exception - we are critically lacking good information. And Lady de Valois, judging by appearances, will be capable of changing that.”