Chapter 39
“That’s problematic.”
Max narrowed his well-defined brows. Freya offered a troubled smile.
“I know. Entrusting all assets and estates managed under the Russell family name entirely to Lorenzo isn’t a proper solution. But at least for two years…”
“You can do it yourself.”
Freya blinked her large eyes at Max, stunned by the unexpected suggestion.
“But…”
“To fully uphold the duties of a married couple. That clause was certainly mutual, wasn’t it?”
Max asked, one eyebrow arched. Before Freya could answer, he added,
“Freya Russell, until you leave this mansion, you are Madam Russell, my wife, and the mistress of this house.”
A large hand cupped Freya’s face.
“You should put in as much effort as I do. Or is my effort lacking at the moment?”
“…I understand.”
Freya eventually nodded. She knew this decision was more for her sake than his.
If they were a couple with no issues, it would be natural for the wife to manage the household and the estate. In the end, Max was being considerate, letting her remain the mistress as long as she stayed here.
“Goodnight, Max.”
As she bade him goodnight and turned toward her bedroom, a voice reached her from behind.
“Has the ball gown arrived?”
“No, it’s a little delayed. But it should arrive by the day of the ball.”
Freya turned around as she answered. Max was still looking her way. As their eyes met, the corners of Max’s lips curled up pleasantly.
“Have sweet dreams, Freya.”
There were so many dreamlike things happening that she felt as if she were already living in a sweet dream. To the point where she was terrified of waking up.
✦ ✦ ✦
“*Haa.* What kind of sins did I commit to end up with a daughter like that?”
Kazimir Solnie had been having a lot of trouble lately.
He had expected that his daughter, a troublemaker since childhood, would improve once she reached adulthood. Instead, his adult daughter caused even bigger disasters.
The scale was so immense that it threatened the very existence of *Présent Luthès*, the newspaper he had spent his entire life building.
“You didn’t commit sins to meet me, Father—you met Mother and gave birth to me.”
“Yes, well, since you’re so good with words, why don’t you write the articles and run the publishing company yourself!”
Beside the irate father, his wife gestured to Louise to stop talking.
When Louise had argued passionately that they must properly cover the scandal involving Lady Blanc and the Countess Rossignol, both parents had agreed with their daughter’s stance.
Back then, neither of them had known what it would mean to go against *Le Xixe Siecle*.
For days, cancellations of contracts from advertisers and sponsors poured in, endless and relentless. The advertisements that had canceled with their newspaper soon occupied a prominent spot in *Le Xixe Siecle*.
Whether out of a shred of conscience or pure mockery, the *Le Xixe Siecle* paper carried an ad every day that read, ‘Accepting New Advertisers.’
The retaliation for making a newspaper owned by a grand aristocrat a laughingstock was terrifyingly swift and efficient.
“But did they really have to go this far? It’s not like we caused any real damage yet.”
Kazimir clicked his tongue at his wife’s lament.
“They’re making an example out of us, showing they can shut down a mid-sized newspaper in a matter of days. They want us to bow down and crawl.”
Kazimir and Albanne were so overwhelmed with headaches that they lay half-collapsed on the office sofa.
When they had first published the article about the incident at Madam Russell’s salon, they had felt a thrill and a sense of reward at the explosive reaction…
The staff, who had rejoiced with them at the time, claiming it was finally a chance for their newspaper to grow, had all submitted their resignations and fled the moment the newspaper faced bankruptcy.
Kazimir had sent the one remaining loyal reporter home, telling him he would call him when they were back in business.
He couldn’t very well drag the one kid who stayed loyal down into the abyss with him, could he?
“What are we going to live on now…?”
Kazimir, staring blankly at the ceiling, muttered.
“Should we go south and grow grapes?”
Albanne echoed, staring at the same ceiling.
Could they really do that? Just as Kazimir was seriously considering a career change, the door of the office—which never had visitors—opened.
Kazimir jumped up, and Albanne hurriedly straightened her half-reclined posture in confusion.
“H-how can I help you?”
The atmosphere surrounding the man who entered the office was unusual. Kazimir watched him with guarded eyes.
The mustachioed man was a head taller than Kazimir and seemed at least one-and-a-half times as bulky as a normal man. Furthermore, the upper part of his right ear was missing, making him look all the more menacing.
Perhaps sensing Kazimir’s wariness, the man flashed a grin, revealing his teeth.
“Good morning, Boss.”
Unlike his appearance, his tone was incredibly friendly. And he was just as straightforward.
“I’d like to place an ad in *Présent Luthès*. Could we sign a contract now?”
“Pardon? An advertisement…?”
“Ah, I jumped the gun, didn’t I? Haha.”
The man laughed heartily and began his introduction.
“My name is Fereol Dretre. As you can see, I’m a former soldier. I lost my ear in exchange for my head during my service. I opened a small bakery after leaving the army, but business has been quite lackluster. So, I thought I’d try placing a newspaper ad. Oh, do you perhaps not accept ads from very small bakeries…?”
“We accept them! We certainly do!”
Kazimir approached the man, beaming as if his previous gloom had never existed.
“Ah, that’s wonderful. In that case, I have some friends who would like to place ads with me as well.”
“Of course, of course! Tell all your friends to come by!”
“My friends won’t need to come; I can contract as their proxy.”
*Haa.* Kazimir, who had been conversing with a smile, let out a long sigh. Then, he spoke with a face full of resignation.
“That’s a bit problematic.”
“Hmm, what exactly is problematic about that?”
“You’re not exactly a prince on a white horse. Our newspaper is on the verge of closing its doors, and you arrive for a group ad contract? On top of that, as a proxy? I’m not foolish enough to jump into such a suspicious deal.”
Fereol kept his good-natured smile as he tried to persuade him.
“What’s so suspicious about it? I might actually be a prince on a white horse.”
“I don’t believe in princes on white horses.”
“That’s fortunate. I don’t believe in princes, either.”
“Seriously, if you’re just going to keep playing word games, please leave. Don’t rub any more salt in the wound.”
Eventually, the smile vanished from Fereol’s face. Fereol returned to the appearance of a typical soldier and said,
“I spoke lightly to avoid burdening you, but it only bred suspicion. However, the ad contract is genuine. Someone felt that it would be a terrible shame for *Présent Luthès* to collapse like this and wanted to help. It is a purely good deed, so you need only accept it.”
“I also don’t believe in relationships built solely on 100% good deeds. May I at least know the name of the person who liked our work?”
“The advertiser and the ads are all real. That person’s kindness was merely in introducing *Présent Luthès* to the advertiser. And while I cannot tell you their name, I can give you their nickname.”
The tanned man added meaningfully,
“Madam Étincelle.”
“*Huff.*”
Whether it was a sharp intake of breath or a dry laugh, Kazimir made a sound. The man asked,
“Well, will you accept the help of Madam Étincelle?”
“…Having heard the nickname, I can hardly refuse the help. Yes, give it to me. That help.”
“A wise decision. Then, please provide as many contract forms as you need. I will fill them out and return.”
Kazimir took several sheets of paper from his desk drawer, placed them in an envelope, and handed them over. As the man took the envelope, he said one last thing.
“Madam Étincelle asked me to relay a message: ‘I look forward to more good articles in the future.’”
As the man who had blown in like a storm vanished outside the door, Louise, who had been quiet the whole time, asked,
“Father, do you know someone called Madam Étincelle?”
“No, I’ve never heard of her.”
“Then why did you make that face when you heard the name?”
For a split second, her father had clearly looked beyond surprised—he had been horrified.
“Because I think I know what kind of people they are.”
“Who are they?”
In response to her question, her father, who was glaring at the door the man had exited, answered quietly.
“The kind of people in *Grandcen* you should never, ever get involved with.”
✦ ✦ ✦
The last Friday of June was the day of the Imperial Ball, a tradition dating back to the monarchy.
For this one day alone, the ladies of noble families endure months of grueling, bone-thinning discipline.
It is common for there to be intense under-the-table maneuvering, involving underhanded methods and schemes just to secure their preferred tailor.
It’s no wonder people say it is the only day of the year that noblewomen consider more important than *Noël*, the day of honoring God—even at the risk of committing heresy.
Consequently, on the day of the event, all sorts of incidents and accidents occur: women who have starved for days collapsing before the ball, or those who find themselves rushed to doctors after the bone in their ribcage cracks from lacing their corsets to the limit to fit into an overly tight dress.
The Russell family was no exception.
“The dress has finally arrived!”
Milla said with an excited voice. The maids of the mansion, specially chosen for this day, glowed with curiosity beside her.
The first Imperial Ball dress for Lady Blanc. Just being able to see it with their own eyes felt like it used up a whole year’s worth of luck.
“I was worried it might arrive late, but I’m so relieved. Madam, are you going to try it on right…”
At the very moment everyone was filled with anticipation, Milla’s rapid-fire speech cut off abruptly.
“Madam… the, the dress is…”
Milla couldn’t continue, her face turning pale with bewilderment.
“T-that is…”
“Milla, what’s wrong?”
As Freya turned her head with a puzzled expression, Milla squeezed her eyes shut and lifted the dress from the luxurious packaging box.
The moment the dress inside was revealed, everyone in the room clamped their mouths shut, as if a cat had stolen their tongues.