Chapter 29
“Perel,” Loic murmured softly.
“You’ve grown bolder since the Grand Duchess’s arrival.”
“…I’ll make amends,” Perel replied.
“I was merely curious if her fittings went smoothly today,” Loic explained.
“Huh? Coutere? You actually summoned them?”
Perel, normally so sharp and methodical, had lately been dropping remarks that set Loic’s teeth on edge.
He was the one who’d urged Loic to act, yet now feigned astonishment that Loic had done exactly that.
Loic eyed Perel’s rounded stare with clear irritation.
The evening before, fresh from training, Loic had called Perel to his study.
He needed to boost the Grand Duchess’s personal allowance.
When she’d requested private funds, he’d pictured jewels or finery, but her first expenditure had gone to presents for the knights.
It was already a generous sum, yet Loic had granted her more than double what his mother had received as mistress of the household.
‘She’ll appreciate this, won’t she?’
Surely it would make her feel truly cherished. Loic had exhaled in quiet satisfaction.
Then Perel had cocked his head and ventured,
“Will the allowance suffice?”
“Pardon?”
“I glimpsed Her Highness’s baggage. Her wardrobe and trinkets appeared rather sparse.”
In a quieter tone, he went on,
“Her garments struck me as plain. She must be aware of it.”
‘What had the Grand Duchess worn, exactly…?’
Loic strained to remember.
But his mind filled instead with her porcelain skin, the soft arch of her eyes, the flush warming her cheeks, and those plush crimson lips curved in a tender smile.
In her presence, his gaze always drifted to her face, drawn like a wanderer tracking faint light over vast snowdrifts.
He’d been too absorbed in her moods and musings to notice her attire.
‘She’s stunning regardless.’
Even draped in burlap, Loic would have mused, She’s radiant as ever.
Yet here was Perel—the very man who’d orchestrated his marriage—bringing it up.
Loic’s brow furrowed.
‘Why is this fellow so fixated on my wife’s attire?’
Irritation prickled, but he couldn’t dismiss the observation outright.
‘What sort of husband lets his wife fret over something so basic as clothing?’
It would paint him as negligent.
“Very well, I’ll set aside a dedicated clothing fund,” Loic decided after a pause.
Perel shook his head, though.
“Her Highness doesn’t know Blenheim well. Lacking a lady’s maid, she has no guide for the boutiques.”
Loic compressed his lips, momentarily at a loss.
His own dealings with tailors were negligible.
Since the curse had taken hold, Whitley had handled all measurements; when garments grew snug, the butler procured replacements without fuss.
Style had never crossed his mind.
With no social whirl, he’d had no cause to vary outfits for events or cultivate allure.
Whitley had sometimes presented fashion sketches for input, but Loic’s stock reply was always, Whatever suits you.
Eventually, the butler ceased asking.
These days, any shift in fit simply meant Whitley had commissioned anew.
Loic was that detached from his dress.
He couldn’t subject the Grand Duchess to such indifference.
“What’s Blenheim’s finest dressmaker?” Loic inquired.
Perel shifted uncomfortably.
“The shop I use caters solely to gentlemen…”
Loic sighed. Predictable.
His aide matched his own seclusion, clueless about styles beyond the castle walls.
Ultimately, they fetched Leon from his post outside.
Loic specified, “It should rival the capital’s best.”
Leon, grasping the gravity, rubbed his neck and replied,
“Noblewomen patronize several, but Coutere stands out. Madame Ramondria, the proprietress, enjoyed renown in the capital not long ago.”
At least Leon kept abreast of such matters.
Loic dipped his chin in acknowledgment, prompting Leon to add,
“Her Highness’s handkerchiefs for us came from Coutere too.”
‘Why does everyone track my wife’s doings but me?’
“Perfect, then,” Perel chimed in brightly. “She knows them already, so ordering will be straightforward.”
Blind to Loic’s flicker of envy, Perel pressed,
“Shall I bring Coutere here?”
Loic wavered briefly before declining.
“We’ll consult the Grand Duchess first.”
“Commander! That spoils the surprise!”
Leon blurted in alarm.
“Surprise?” Loic’s forehead creased.
“This is a present for Her Highness, right? Announcing it ahead would dull the thrill.”
Why did these men, typically so reserved around the Grand Duchess, turn audacious at her mention?
Even the shyest knight, who usually averted his eyes, now chatted freely of gifting her.
Loic’s brow ticked.
“It’s no gift. Merely summoning a seamstress.”
He leaned in, voice dropping to a steely edge that made Leon recoil—yet the knight persisted.
“Consider it: What delights her more? Forewarning or Madame materializing out of nowhere?”
“Does startling her serve any purpose?”
Perel cocked his head too. Leon huffed in exasperation.
“She’ll startle, sure—but once she grasps it’s your special gesture, she’ll melt! She’ll adore it!”
‘Would the Grand Duchess… truly welcome it?’
Leon’s words ignited a spark in Loic’s thoughts.
“You know, that holds water. Let’s turn it into a surprise.”
Perel nodded, swayed. Both had hounded him then, so Loic dismissed them, promising to manage it.
Late that night, confirming the Grand Duchess slept, he instructed Whitley to fetch Madame.
“Will this suffice?”
Perel’s mutter yanked Loic back.
“How so?”
“Just musing.”
Perel cleared his throat uneasily, then pressed on.
“Noblewomen have their particular sensibilities…”
“Out with it.”
“What if Her Highness misreads this as rebuke for her style?”
Loic halted abruptly. Leon, trailing, braked hard to avoid collision.
“What?”
“N-No, impossible. Merely a what-if.”
Under Loic’s piercing stare, Perel flailed his hands. Loic thinned his lips and strode on.
“If she takes offense in the slightest, you’re both done for.”
The icy threat made Perel and Leon cringe in unison, hunching.
“S-She’ll be thrilled.”
“Y-Yes, utterly delighted.”
There, at the castle’s main entrance, Whitley awaited, bowing as Loic approached.
Leon pivoted swiftly.
“The head butler’s here to greet us.”
Such personal attendance from the devoted servant was rare. Perel’s brow knit—what news?
But Loic’s pulse raced, uncharacteristically.
‘Is the Grand Duchess expecting me?’
He hadn’t glimpsed her today. Perhaps she yearned for his company, or summoned him.
They’d met daily lately; it wouldn’t surprise.
Contract or no, wasn’t it polite to connect under one roof?
A midnight visit to his chambers might overstep, but with dusk lingering, tea together seemed harmless.
Twilight deepened, though the sun clung to the peaks.
‘I’ll go straight to my study.’
No—dusty from the day, he’d offend.
He must bathe and dress posthaste.
Reaching Whitley, Loic braced to inquire after the Grand Duchess’s summons—
“Sir Leon, Her Highness wishes you to stop by before retiring.”
“What?”
The words hit Loic like a blow to the skull.
