Chapter 25
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
The Grand Duchess offered a radiant smile while distributing the dainty parcels.
“It’s an honor, Your Highness.”
Theor’s cheeks burned crimson as he dipped into a shallow bow, took his gift, and retreated a step.
“Sir Hassel.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Hearing his name, Knight Hassel hastened forward.
Meanwhile, Loic craned his considerable height to steal a glance into the basket.
Every parcel was meticulously wrapped, adorned with exquisite ribbons and opulent name cards inscribed in flowing script with the knights’ names.
The Grand Duchess had tied each ribbon herself with meticulous care.
Had she truly assembled them all by hand? Penned the names personally?
Loic’s gaze drifted to her hands, where subtle smudges of black ink lingered, unwashed.
He nibbled the tender inner lining of his cheek.
Sir Hassel claimed his parcel and withdrew to his place, scrutinizing it with care.
A delicate floral aroma wafted from the name card.
Easing the ribbon loose and unfolding the wrapping, he discovered a pouch of premium biscuits alongside a crisply folded handkerchief.
This is…!
The handkerchief bore an elegant embroidered “B” on its face, encircled by ornate motifs emblematic of the Blenheim Knights.
“Oh? Yours is blue?”
“Mine’s red.”
“Hold on, mine’s red as well?”
As the knights unveiled their handkerchiefs, they noted the varying embroidery hues.
Each matched perfectly within their division’s ranks.
“Wait… did she coordinate them with our captain’s hair color?”
“And the blue ones align with the captain’s family crest?”
The training grounds buzzed to life with the knights’ animated chatter.
A handful grumbled cynically about the marquis’s daughter overreaching, yet most beamed with genuine pleasure at the personalized token from the Grand Duchess.
The biscuits drew equal acclaim.
“These are exquisite.”
“I’m saving mine for later tonight.”
Observing the knights, the Grand Duchess retrieved the final parcel from the basket.
It was destined for Hedrick, who had been wrestling with whether to rein in the knights’ exuberance before the Grand Duke and his wife.
“Sir Hedrick, yours features silver embroidery.”
“My thanks, Your Highness.”
Hedrick accepted it casually, though a fleeting distraction pulled his attention to his lord’s face.
Loic gaped in utter bewilderment at the emptied basket.
As though in disbelief, he peered inside repeatedly.
Naturally, with the Grand Duchess facing away, she remained oblivious.
Never imagined I’d witness our commander wearing that expression…
Hedrick blinked at the startling tableau.
“Now that I’ve greeted you all, I’ll take my leave.”
As Annette pivoted to depart, Loic swiftly schooled his features and offered a subtle nod.
“Thank you for looking after the knights.”
Before she could withdraw, the Grand Duchess turned to the Grand Duke with a query.
“Your Grace, why haven’t you worn your cravat since yesterday?”
A muffled cough echoed from the vicinity.
“Your neck appears so exposed. Mornings and evenings remain brisk… Shall I send for it?”
“…It’s here.”
“You do?”
Loic fished a rumpled strip of fabric from his pocket.
“Then why aren’t you wearing it? Give it here.”
The instant the Grand Duchess claimed the cloth, Loic dipped his head on reflex.
With deft fingers, she wound the cravat around his neck and secured it in a tidy knot.
In that instant, every knight—including Hedrick—froze, breath suspended.
The commander… allowing touch?
Shock gripped one knight so fiercely he hiccupped.
Just last year, during a territorial tour, their lord had spurned blossoms from admiring girls, leaving them weeping in the lanes.
The knights unanimously presumed their commander harbored acute mysophobia—a profound aversion to contamination.
He battled frontline beasts, spearheading his knights to safeguard the expansive domain single-handedly.
It would have been odder had he lacked such a affliction.
Thus, a tacit knightly obligation was shielding their commander from undue contact.
Yet now…
Not merely permitting contact, but her encircling his throat with fabric.
And color flooded his face, cresting to his eyes.
Silence cloaked the training grounds.
“You’re swamped, I know, but skipping even a cravat?”
“I forgot.”
The Grand Duchess fixed Loic with a piercing glance, then smoothed his chest to signify completion.
Loic nearly grinned by reflex, but raising his head—
He met the knights’ peculiar stares, and his expression hardened.
Several veterans eyed him with sly, mirthful suspicion.
“In that case, I wish you all success with the remainder of training.”
The Grand Duchess departed the grounds, contentment etched on her features.
Yet long after her absence, Loic endured the knights’ piercing scrutiny through the afternoon.
“Your Grace?”
That evening, I entered the Grand Duke’s office.
“It’s not quite nightfall, so I can enter, yes?”
The dying sun painted the window’s rim in rich crimson.
I’d assumed training would bar my visit today.
Yet Whitley reported the knights, thrilled by their presents, had wrapped up early.
The Grand Duke’s lips parted several times in hesitation, but our gazes locked, and he yielded with a nod.
“Enter.”
“I only stopped by to deliver this.”
I approached his desk, proffering the pristine parcel.
“For you, Your Grace.”
The Grand Duke paused, surprise lifting his eyes to mine.
“I… get one as well?”
“Naturally! A gift for the knights—how could the commander be overlooked?”
His fingertips traced his name on the affixed card.
“Open it.”
He regarded me with keen anticipation as he unwrapped it gingerly.
A handkerchief shimmered within, embroidered in lustrous gold thread.
“Isn’t it lovely? Yours alone gleams in gold—for distinction.”
“…”
“Not to your taste?”
“I like it. I’ll treasure it. Thank you.”
He averted his eyes faintly as he murmured.
What expression was that?
I’d orchestrated this meticulously, reserving his unique gift, yet his response eluded me—pleasure or indifference?
Anxiety or discomfort showed plainly on him.
But joy? I’d never witnessed it, so its shape escaped me.
Well… aversion absent suffices.
“Work complete?”
“Not quite. More documents await.”
No deception there; his desk groaned under paper stacks, as ever.
“Then… might I read here while you labor?”
I displayed the volume borrowed from Whitley: A Guide to Formal Dinners for Newlyweds.
The Grand Duke’s eyes narrowed, quizzical at my choice.
“I meant to peruse it in my chamber, but you’re here now…”
“…”
“You did invite me to linger in your office yesterday. Not retracting that?”
“…As you wish. Tea will be brought.”
Victory!
My modest enticement had prevailed.
The Grand Duke, gaze tangled in conflict, surrendered and turned aside.
“Oh?”
Settling toward the sofa, I spied an unfamiliar small table.
“When did this arrive?”
“The guéridon?”
Evidently, a guéridon denoted a compact, portable stand.
The sofa’s slender armrests had always chafed.
But this table’s stature suited reading ideally.
“I… haven’t a clue. Whitley placed it, no doubt.”
“I see.”
That butler anticipates everything.
Admiring Whitley’s foresight, I settled in comfortably.
Yet within minutes, sleep tugged at me.
Fresh logs crackled in the hearth, bathing the room in soothing warmth.
The gentle heat lulled me; page text swam hazily.
Still early evening…
Annette’s frame rejects sleepless vigils, it seems.
I’d burned the midnight oil crafting the gifts.
Initially, a straightforward ploy to charm the knights.
To thaw detractors’ chill, a token bribe felt apt.
My prior life brimmed with bespoke VIP gestures.
This paled beside them.
VIP affairs boasted tailored presents, patisserie delights, vintage vintages.
Thus, Blenheim Knights-embossed handkerchiefs twinned with treat pouches seemed fitting.
Simply commission handkerchiefs from a seamstress, biscuits from a baker. Done.
So I’d reasoned.
But execution shifted my resolve.
Madame’s earnest aid stirred me; half-measures wouldn’t suffice.
Moreover, Norton and Leon toiled tirelessly beside me.
Full commitment offered no certainty of resonance.
Zero effort guaranteed inauthenticity.
