16.
“What are you thinking?”
Auguste, who had dragged Freya out of the office entirely after promising to show her around the company, asked with an expression of barely suppressed rage.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you did that on purpose. Why on earth would you bring up your business with Erle Tristan?”
Auguste distorted his face, eyes fixed on Freya with a menacing intensity. She merely looked back at him, wearing the same mask of feigned innocence she had maintained throughout their time in the office and the president’s room.
Freya wiped the look of bewilderment from her face, her expression turning blank.
“I don’t see what the problem is with mentioning a marriage proposal, simply because I received one.”
“Is your goal to break the partnership between Erle Tristan and Max?”
Freya turned the question back on him, her expression one of genuine curiosity.
“Delaporte, if I told you that was my goal, would you run to Max right now and demand he kick me out?”
That was impossible. As long as the divorce agreement existed, Max could never fully exclude Freya from his business. Regardless of her private intentions, her status remained that of a ‘business partner.’
“You’re doing this on purpose….”
Auguste, on the verge of bringing up the contract with indignation, clamped his mouth shut. Freya spoke, her voice chillingly detached, as if mocking him.
“You people were wrong from the start.”
It was easy enough to guess why they had joined hands with the Tristan family.
Since the scathing articles about Freya surfaced last year, the relationship between the Tristan and Blanc families had supposedly soured. That was the consensus. It was only natural, really—Erle Tristan, a moderate Royalist, had offended the only daughter of the Blanc family, the very heart of the hardliners.
But that was knowing one thing and missing two others.
“If you wanted to avoid my father, you should have tried to involve the Delaporte family instead.”
At the mention of his own kin, Auguste’s face twisted violently.
“Don’t speak so recklessly when you know nothing.”
“You, Delaporte, should really rethink what it means to send a marriage proposal to the Blanc family.”
Auguste started to demand an explanation, but he caught himself and hastily shifted the subject.
“Where are you going now?”
Freya was walking forward, ignoring him as if she had already said everything necessary.
“I’ve seen enough of the office. I should return to the president’s room; I’m concerned because it seems Erle Tristan came here to discuss something important.”
“No, after the scene you just caused…!”
“Delaporte, I didn’t come here to play.”
This time, it was Auguste who was left dumbfounded. Freya looked down at him with the chilling, arrogant poise of an aristocrat about to crush a bug beneath her heel.
“Or are you suggesting that my desire to listen to a vital business matter is less significant than some tawdry gossip about how Erle Tristan once proposed to the Blanc family?”
*Then why is it so important for you to hear what’s coming out of that room!* The retort died in his throat. Pressed by her sudden, overwhelming momentum, Auguste could only click his tongue inwardly. *This is exactly why aristocrats are…!*
Freya walked into the office without hesitation and pushed open the door to the president’s room. The two men inside stiffened simultaneously.
On Freya’s face, the mask of a lively, free-spirited bourgeois lady had already slid back into place.
“Please, do continue. I’ll just sit here.”
As if she hadn’t just dropped a ‘marriage proposal’ bomb, Freya sat down in Auguste’s chair with utter composure. Max glanced at Auguste, who had trailed in behind her, flustered. He then turned to Freya with the look of a man who still had more to say, finally sighing before speaking.
“Please, continue.”
*Why on earth is that woman in the office?* The question was written plainly on Erle Tristan’s face, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. He simply sighed and began to speak.
“I had anticipated that the canal shipping agents would do some lobbying. However, the proposals are more threatening than we expected.”
What Freya already knew flowed from Erle Tristan’s lips.
“The clause limiting the fare for cargo railways to 1.5 Sekt per ton, and the clause limiting the fare for passenger railways to at least 50 Sekt or more.”
Max, who had been lost in thought, spoke quietly.
“The one we must focus on blocking is the cargo side: the 1.5 Sekt per ton.”
“That is what I think as well.”
*No, you’re wrong.* Freya shook her head inwardly.
If you live the same time over and over, sometimes even a trivial change can expand into an uncontrollable wave; yet, there are things you cannot alter, no matter how hard you try.
The cargo railway bill being discussed by these two men—as contrasting as day and night—was one of those fixed points.
1.5 Sekt per ton of coal was an absurd figure. It was a ruinous proposal, but there was no way to prevent that specific bill from passing. Furthermore, considering the results this amendment would bring—though they looked disadvantageous in the moment….
“Then I shall meet with the assemblymen who are likely to cast a dissenting vote. The voting schedule is set for a month from now, so I will do my best to bring the moderates to our side by then.”
The Marquis’s voice pulled her from her ruminations. She looked up to see him rising from his seat, clearly finding her presence in the room too uncomfortable to endure any longer.
“I would appreciate it. We will also see what we can do on our end.”
“Don’t overexert yourself. As you know, your name needs to be kept in the background.”
Erle Tristan lightly patted Max on the shoulder and turned to Freya.
“Madam Russell, I shall see you next time.”
“Let us meet in a more appropriate setting next time.”
The Marquis chuckled, nodded at Max and Auguste, and left the room.
I wonder which way he will head now, she thought. Will he visit the senators to gather dissenting votes? Or will he go to report that the Duke’s only daughter seems to be stirring up trouble again?
One thing was certain: since Erle Tristan had seen her in this office, a letter addressed to her would arrive within days.
So far, it was going according to plan. From now on, it was her turn to intervene.
“Can we really leave the gathering of dissenting votes entirely to Erle Tristan?”
Auguste asked Max as soon as the Marquis disappeared.
“If I step forward, it might only invite backlash.”
Max, forever walking a tightrope between being the grandson of a hero and the son of a swindler, had to be cautious with every move he made as a businessman.
“Why leave the lobbying only to Erle Tristan? You have Delaporte on your side.”
“Haa….”
As the noblewoman with a field of flowers in her head interrupted again, oblivious to the room’s atmosphere, Auguste’s patience finally snapped. He let out a sharp, audible sigh and turned to her.
“Madam, you seem unaware, but my father and I share a relationship worse than enemies. Have you ever heard of disownment? Do you really think the Delaporte family will help us?”
He assumed she would grasp the situation unless she was a complete fool. But his friend’s wife, already slated for divorce, went a step further and spouted something even more ridiculous.
“Then I’ll just go and meet them myself.”
“Madam Russell.”
Just as a harsh word was about to escape Auguste’s lips, Max cut into the conversation.
“What do you intend to do if you go?”
“I’ll meet Monsieur Delaporte as a business partner and ask him to sway the votes in favor of the opposition.”
Freya replied with wide, blinking eyes, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It was infuriating how genuinely convinced she looked—as if the Delaporte family would simply bow to her request.
“Freya….”
“Even if you don’t plan on trying, isn’t it fine if I go? If the proposal is accepted, great, and if it’s rejected, there’s no harm done.”
It wasn’t exactly wrong.
“No, but why the Delaporte family in particular…!”
Auguste, who had risen in indignation, sat back down heavily at a subtle gesture from Max.
“As Auguste said, our relationship with the Delaporte family is strained. It might just provoke them unnecessarily.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
Freya said with a face that was almost innocent, yet brimming with confidence.
“As long as I’m the one stepping forward, this will only be seen as the deviation of a mad noblewoman. Who would ever imagine that Max Russell would entrust such an important task to his wife?”
It was a sharp, accurate point. Auguste felt his mind going numb; had she ingested some new medicine that made her exceptionally brilliant overnight? He felt completely unable to adapt to this new version of Freya Blanc.
“Besides, the Delaporte family is perfect. I’ve already thought of a place to meet.”
“Where is that?”
“Jockey Club.”
“H-how do you know about that?”
To think she even knew the club his father frequented. Had she been digging up dirt not just on the women around Max, but also on him and his family? Auguste’s face turned bright red with shock and suspicion.