Would Peon really go as far as firing the butler? This was the second time he had mentioned a replacement. Coupled with the incident involving the head maid and everything else that had transpired, it was a move that carried significant weight.
Indeed. Kaella did not trust him at all. She had been imprisoned, starved, and had even gratefully accepted and drank the poison that killed her—there was nothing left to trust, so why would she trust Peon? The only things she relied upon were the small bottle tucked into her pocket and the harrowing memory of having died once.
Since she had died once, she could die again. She could endure it.
“This is a letter for Her Highness.”
As Kaella looked at the silver tray upon which the butler had placed several letters, she wondered how many of those silver trays remained. The inventory of silver tableware was, to put it mildly, shocking.
“Thank you.”
How many letters would truly arrive for a Grand Duchess who had only just managed to crawl out of her sickbed? At most, one might expect a letter from her father in Ostain, yet the pile before her was substantial.
“Are you in the process of selecting a new head maid?”
Cecil and Denise immediately shot a glare at the butler. That was precisely the problem with this ‘Viscount’ Rolf Anderson.
The butler was supposed to keep his mouth shut until the Grand Duchess gave an order, or at the very least, inquire with extreme caution. Yet, every time he faced Kaella, he brought up the head maid issue, acting like a supervisor inspecting the progress of a task. It made her want to tear into his skull to see exactly how he viewed status and hierarchy.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
Even if she challenged him, his behavior would remain the same. Since he clearly assumed that whatever a pathetic Grand Duchess said would lead to no private retribution, Kaella was too exhausted to engage. He would deliberately send in maids who only made mistakes, or cause them to err on purpose, and then if Kaella said anything, they would cry and claim they had done their best, painting her as the villain.
“Coincidentally, all of the senders of these letters are excellent candidates for the position. Please use them as a reference when you choose, Your Highness.”
“I understand. You may go.”
“Yes.”
When Kaella waved her hand, the butler had no choice but to leave. Once the door closed, Cecil, who had been wearing a blank expression, turned back to her.
“Just now… did he just admit that he read the letters sent to Your Highness before anyone else…?”
“Censorship is a given. This isn’t a castle, Cecil, it’s a fortress.”
“But to say ‘please use them as a reference’—he didn’t even say ‘please consider them’…”
Cecil gaped, unable to continue. What kind of arrogant attitude was that toward the noble Lady of Ostain, the Emperor’s niece!
“Minor habits of speech aren’t what’s important here.”
Kaella muttered without smiling as she examined the letters.
“But habits of speech are important, Your Highness. In Ostain…”
“This isn’t Ostain, and the more we say things like that, the more we’ll be treated as outsiders.”
Cecil was not the type to avoid hardship; she had endured and struggled here alongside Kaella until she fell ill and died. Since the treatment of the Grand Duchess’s maids was unlikely to be better than that of the Grand Duchess herself, it was natural that Cecil would be the first to break.
Kaella spoke firmly and tore open a letter. She would have to send Cecil away before young Marie. She needed to send her back safely, even if it meant fabricating a plausible excuse. Everything was filled with exhausting tasks.
“Why would the ladies of Lyussenford be sending letters to Your Highness?”
Letters had arrived from ladies Kaella found tiresome, including Yolnes Pare, the wife of the gatekeeper, and Alicia Lulmon, whom she had intended to introduce from her own family.
“They are asking to meet me.”
Kaella tore open the rest of the letters for form’s sake, scanned them roughly, and pushed them aside.
“Burn them all.”
Unless summoned by the Grand Duchess, the noble ladies could not visit her. They were asking for a written invitation to call upon her. It was obvious they were all eyeing the empty head maid position. Kaella had no intention of inviting any of the associates of the former head maid, Doris Windgood.
‘A head maid, huh.’
Managing people was the most tedious and cumbersome task of all. There was also the fact that the position itself was nauseating. She thought it might just be easier not to have one at all. No matter who sat in that seat, they would eventually be a person of Lyussenford, just one more person to torment her.
However, if it were this noisy, it might be more peaceful to just pick someone and put them there. It was ridiculous to say she couldn’t select a head maid when she had already checked every single ledger and even gone to verify the silver tableware inventory in the middle of the night. It would be easier to have Cecil do it, but she didn’t want to make her suffer any more, and Cecil, along with Denise and Marie, were people destined to leave for Ostain.
“Denise. Could you go and see what His Grace the Grand Duke is doing?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Originally, to see the face of the Grand Duke, one always had to scout the surroundings and check the timing carefully. Feeling as though she had returned to the days when having a single conversation with her husband was incredibly difficult, Kaella felt her breath catch. What if he slapped her cheek again?
He was another woman’s man. Before she died, Kaella felt pathetic for failing to break off her unrequited love, and she suffered constantly from the guilt of her own feelings. By the time the imprisonment drew near, she had given up so much that all she wanted from Peon was to be respected as the Grand Duchess. Even now, she had to stay sharp and try her best to believe that Beatrice’s words—that he had played a part in killing her father—and the memory of his attempt to starve her to death were the truth.
Peon had no feelings for her. Therefore, she had to keep her distance. Above all, she had to remember that Peon had always been a difficult person to see.
“Um, Your Highness.”
Some time after Denise left, there was a knock at the door, and after Cecil went to check, she called to Kaella with a slightly troubled look.
“Yes. Tell them to come in.”
It must be Denise returning from the Grand Duke’s office. Kaella spoke without looking.
“He says to come in.”
He says to come in? That was a respectful tone—what was going on? Did something go wrong? Kaella raised her head in a hurry. The person entering was not just Denise. Denise was actually behind, and the Grand Duke, tall, broad-shouldered, and appearing intimidating in his black attire, walked in.
Kaella was startled and jumped to her feet. Peon frowned slightly as he looked at the sparse interior of the Grand Duchess’s office, which lacked any sense of comfort, and then strode toward her.
She had told her to check the mood, and he had come himself—something must be wrong. Was he offended? Did he think she was spying on him? Pale as a sheet, Kaella looked up at the man who had filled the office in an instant.
“Sit down, Bee.”
“Your Grace.”
Her voice trembled as she barely managed to answer. Her large eyes were filled with bewilderment and fear. Heartbroken every time he met those eyes, Peon hurriedly grabbed Kaella by both arms and gently sat her back down.
“Sit down. I came because it seemed you needed me.”
Since when did she fear him so much? Why did she fear him? He kept wanting to find the reasons elsewhere.
Because he looked scary. Because he was an intimidating and rough man. It must be because it was a downward marriage for a delicately raised Ostain noblewoman. In truth, he knew these were all excuses and the essence lay elsewhere, yet he continued this way.
“How may I help you?”
Kaella was brave. Even if she was so scared that her fair, small hands were trembling, she answered with dignity.
“I was worried that Your Grace might be busy, so I sent a maid to check first. I apologize if it was a bother.”
“How could that be? If you ever wish to see me, come anytime. Or you may summon me.”
Watching the Grand Duke, who had knelt on one knee in front of the Grand Duchess he had seated in the chair, speak so affectionately, Sir Renard, who had followed behind, wanted to rub his eyes. *Our wooden Grand Duke is going this far for a lady? He hadn’t even treated Lady Lavalle, whom he had seen occasionally, like this!*
It had been a long time since the Grand Duke he served had lost interest in Lady Lavalle. The way the Grand Duke looked at the Grand Duchess was nothing but warm.
“Thank you.”
When Kaella, hesitant and unable to find the words, expressed her gratitude, Peon laughed without meaning to. For Kaella, a stern, difficult-to-approach Grand Duke lowering himself to match her eye level was awkward and strange.
Since she had never experienced it, she remained guarded. If it had been Beatrice Lavalle, she would have gracefully tilted her head and accepted it as if it were natural, but Kaella De Chasseur could never do that. If she only ended it with a ‘thank you,’ how could she be a match for Beatrice?
Perhaps it would be best if she simply remained like a cute younger sister—a much younger sister. And whether Kaella wanted it or not, that was the path of least resistance.
“What did you need me for, Bee?”
Sir Renard was truly impressed. It wasn’t that the Grand Duke didn’t know how; he had just chosen not to because he didn’t want to.
As soon as the Grand Duchess’s maid hovered about, he had immediately asked what was wrong, set aside his work, went straight to her office, and even laughed. The way things were turning out was obvious.
The quick-witted Sir Renard caught the eye of Denise, the maid who had come on the errand. It seemed she, too, had grasped the situation.
“Um, I have a request.”
“Yes, please tell me.”
Sir Renard was in a very good mood. At this rate, by next year, they might hear the sound of a baby crying, and he would be able to see the Grand Duke more relaxed and at ease. He had always worried because the lord he served lived such a rigid life, and now he was lost in a happy dream.
“I have something to discuss with Sir Renard, and I would like to ask for your permission.”
Sir Renard, who only wanted to keep dreaming, was startled when the Grand Duchess suddenly mentioned him. Peon’s gaze also shifted to him.
“Why would you need permission for something like that? Just call him and ask.”
“But he is your knight, Your Grace.”
“If he is my knight, he is also the Bee’s knight.”
“Thank you.”
The Grand Duchess, who had bowed her head politely, turned to Sir Renard. Then, Peon added a word.
“I may stay, may I not?”
Sir Renard had counted all his countless experiences in battles in Lyussenford and intelligence gathering across Krain, but he had never seen anyone as frightening as the Grand Duke looking at him right now. His excessively calm gaze seemed ordinary at a glance, but Sir Renard knew well that such a gaze was frightening precisely because it was calm.
“Yes, of course. It is something I wanted to ask Your Grace about as well. Please, sit, Your Grace. And you too, Sir.”
Peon, finding the sofa in the Grand Duchess’s office quite unsatisfactory, sat down while contemplating how to replace it without breaking it.
As for Kaella, seeing Peon sit on the sofa decorated with tacky flower patterns, she doubted it could handle the sturdy, large-framed knight. It must have been furniture newly ordered by the banished former head maid, as it let out a creaking sound.
Kaella, who had asked Marie to bring tea, faced one of Peon’s adjutants and a source of information—someone she had never been formally introduced to, but already knew.
“Sir Renard.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Sir Renard, full of nervousness, had wide connections throughout Lyussenford and Krain. With his unique sociability, he knew many in the Imperial Knights, and Lyussenford was his home turf. He had been one of those who looked at Kaella with cold eyes because he knew too many circulating rumors.
In the end, Sir Renard had probably been furious. After all, many were angry at Kaella for allegedly betraying their lord.
“I am not yet accustomed to Lyussenford and do not know the people here well. So, I would like you to help me.”
Kaella humbly asked the knight for help. Even though she, as the mistress of Lyussenford, could have commanded him, she asked as a fellow human, which left Sir Renard feeling deeply humbled.
“I shall follow whatever you ask.”
“I have heard that you have wide connections. What I wish to know is about Sir Hugo Perwedding.”
Regardless of his attitude, the things the Grand Duchess spoke of dragged Sir Renard further into the quagmire. She had said she wanted to ask a knight under her husband about something while her husband was present, and now she was asking about another knight.
“What I wish to know is the accurate and cold assessment circulating among his peers.”
“Ah, that friend is upright.”
“Does Your Grace think so as well?”
“I do.”
Having confirmed once more with the Grand Duke, Kaella asked Sir Renard again.
“Then, what of his wife, Merma Perwedding?”
Kaella thought of the confident attitude Merma Perwedding had shown during their first meeting with the ladies of Lyussenford.
“Do not couples resemble each other?”
Of course, that was a story that did not apply to Peon and Kaella.
“Yes. They have similar personalities.”
“Tell me everything, including the rumors going on behind their backs. Does the wife have ambition?”
Sir Renard hesitated, then answered honestly.
“Yes. To be honest, if the families of the banished head maid were the mainstream, you can consider Mrs. Perwedding to be the leader of the second-largest faction following that mainstream.”
“That is exactly the kind of answer I appreciate.”
Kaella nodded. Before she died, they had given her absolutely no information in Lyussenford. So, she had had to face the factions of the noble ladies head-on with her own body. However, the amount of information she could gather had been too small, and she had only been left to guess. Thus, she was only now confirming that her guesses had been correct.
Perhaps this would be the last time she would be able to confirm anything.
Expectation was a thorn that hurt her. Kaella smiled bitterly without realizing it, and the Grand Duke did not take his eyes off her.