Chapter 173: The Subtle Sway

Claire stared at her reflection in disbelief. She looked stunning! She couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him. Having attended countless Fashion Weeks and galas since childhood, she was confident in her sense of style. The dress fit like a glove, accentuating her figure perfectly and highlighting all her best features. And to top it off, Frederick had picked this dress himself—now he was saying it wasn’t good enough.

“Fine!” she conceded. There was no point arguing about a dress when he’d chosen and paid for it himself. He was the sugar daddy, and it wasn’t worth making a fuss over one outfit. Men could be so petty sometimes. There was no need to stoop to their level.

Frederick’s mood improved as he watched Claire head upstairs. Claire was his woman now. He could look, he could admire, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let any other man do the same!

“General Hawthorne, what’s wrong with Ms. Prescott’s dress? She looks incredible. I’ve never seen anyone rock a red dress quite like that!” Richard unwisely chimed in.

“Word from the border is that Kanea’s stirring up trouble again. Pack your bags! You’re shipping out tonight,” Frederick said coldly, his eyes narrowing.

“But isn’t Madam Prescott’s birthday gala tonight?” Richard paused, puzzled. One minute they were casually discussing Claire’s dress, and the next, Frederick was suddenly talking about rushing off to fight at the border. He ventured cautiously, “You have to go?”

Frederick sat ramrod straight, shooting Richard a fierce glare. “Of course not. But military orders are absolute. I’m heading to the border, and I won’t return until the conflict is resolved.”

Richard realized he must have said something to offend Frederick, though he couldn’t figure out what. He’d only said, “Absolutely stunning…” Suddenly, it hit him, and he had to stifle a laugh. As he walked out of the Halfmoon Manor, he glanced back and shook his head with amusement. “Sir, how have I never noticed how stubborn you are? Face it! You’ve got it bad for Ms. Prescott.”

Unlike Frederick, Richard didn’t share the same intense dislike and hatred toward Claire. Frederick’s animosity stemmed from Anna’s death, which he blamed on Claire, leading to his current attitude. As an outsider, Richard could see things more clearly than those directly involved. From his perspective, while there was circumstantial evidence about the incident, there was no direct proof. Even the physical evidence hadn’t been adequately verified. It was hardly enough to condemn someone. Moreover, the Claire he knew seemed utterly different from the woman Frederick described.

As the cherished princess of the Prescott family, Claire had been spoiled and could be arrogant at times. But that was just a strong personality, and she had a kind heart underneath. Like Elizabeth, he firmly believed Claire wasn’t capable of such cruel acts, let alone arranging for thugs to rape and kill her friend Anna. But all of this was just his speculation. There wasn’t any concrete evidence to back it up. What a shame, he thought, that the once-cherished princess of the Prescott family had spent four years behind bars.

Richard wondered if Frederick had ever really looked at Claire’s hands. The first time he saw her after she was released, he noticed her once delicate, pampered hands were now rough, calloused, and scarred. Richard let out a heavy sigh. These matters were beyond his control—he needed to focus on his duties, particularly quelling the unrest at the border.

Back at the Halfmoon Manor, Claire was still caught up in an endless cycle of outfit changes. After ditching the red gown, she tried on a white cocktail dress, then a black evening gown, followed by a gold mini-dress… Despite going through more than a dozen outfits, Frederick wasn’t satisfied with any of them. The designer stood by, looking completely overwhelmed. “Mr. Hawthorne, could you perhaps describe what kind of look you’re going for? Just give me some direction here.”

Claire was getting fed up. She was convinced Frederick was just being difficult for the sake of it, trying to get under her skin without any real purpose. But it was almost 6:30 already, and the banquet was set to begin at 8:00. Even if they left right now, it would take a good hour to reach the Prescott Manor.

“I think all these outfits look fine. What exactly is the problem?” Claire asked, anxiously watching the clock. Claire was genuinely worried about being late.

Frederick gave her outfit a dismissive glance. “None of those clothes were forgiving enough. How could someone with your figure pull them off?” Claire was speechless, fighting the urge to punch Frederick right in his smug face.

“I understand. I’ll find something more accommodating!” The designer caught Frederick’s drift immediately. Finally, the designer returned with a modest, matronly dress that wouldn’t highlight Claire’s figure and had her try it on. Frederick was finally satisfied, but as the designer watched Claire leave with him, she couldn’t help but notice how the conservative dress actually made Claire more alluring. The subtle sway beneath her loose-fitting clothes sparked imagination.

Once the pair disappeared from view, the designer called her assistant to pack up all the clothes and equipment. After everyone had cleared out, Caroline emerged from her room wearing a cocktail dress. [Diana, they’re headed to the Prescott family party now.]