Ch#56
Everything began when the Grand Duchess scattered magazines throughout the castle, aiming to inject some diversion into the servants’ otherwise monotonous and serene routine.
“To be frank, I simply acquired them in the hope they’d move quickly off the shelves,” she confessed, her lips curving into a bashful grin.
“I’m delighted that everyone appears to enjoy them so much.”
A delicate flush painted her cheeks in hues of peach.
Despite her humble words, every soul in the castle recognized the depth of her genuine concern for the staff.
No longer did idle hands linger by the main castle’s rear doors these days.
Break times now saw them dashing off to toss a ball around.
Spotting the lack of leisure pursuits for the servants, the Grand Duchess had erected a net and carved out a modest court beside their lodgings, stocking it with rackets, balls, and assorted athletic equipment.
The net proved far more of a hit than anticipated.
Breaks devolved into squabbles over first dibs, prompting the need for rotation protocols.
The servants brimmed with newfound vigor.
From his office perch, their distant whoops of joy sometimes pierced the air amid their games.
Three months prior, such vitality would have seemed a fantasy.
This transformation stirred thoughts Loic labored to suppress:
What if the curse had never touched him? What if they were merely a commonplace wedded pair, with her remaining at his side?
Blenheim itself might have undergone profound shifts.
He must have gazed too fixedly, for the Grand Duchess colored faintly and pivoted the conversation.
“Oh, and it seems eateries in Goldrein are mimicking the ‘menu of the day.’ Mrs. Marie graciously connected Morina with them. Oh! Morina is—”
“I know. She’s the artist behind the recipe sketches.”
How could he fail to know?
He retained every trivial detail she ever uttered.
“She’s the younger sister of the maid you welcomed into service.”
And true to her tender nature, the Grand Duchess had cleared the siblings’ debts as well.
“Exactly!”
Her eyes gleamed, thrilled that he recalled.
“Morina’s schedule has filled up ever since.”
While thriving local spots were a boon, the Grand Duchess shook her head, deeming Mrs. Marie overly generous in divulging their proprietary recipes.
She voiced this critique, even as she herself poured endless effort into aiding those beyond her duty.
Loic quelled the impulse to tuck her golden tresses behind her ear, opting instead to toy with his fingers.
They had ambled at a leisurely pace, yet here they stood at the main castle’s threshold.
Time invariably contracted.
Loic nipped at his lower lip.
Lately, the Grand Duchess’s days overflowed with demands.
She still arrived each morning to knot his cravat, naturally.
Occasionally—sparingly, only when schedules aligned—they shared outings like this.
Their agreement proceeded as stipulated.
Yet paradoxically, their shared moments seemed to dwindle.
At times, her swift departures sparked foolish outbursts from him in vexation.
Then she would clasp his hand fleetingly, as one might soothe a fretful child, before racing to her crammed agenda.
Such instances drove him to the brink of madness.
A full year would vanish in this fashion.
“Forgive me, I prattled on far too much, didn’t I?”
The Grand Duchess offered a sheepish smile, attuned to his subdued demeanor.
“Never. Hearing you speak brings me joy alone.”
Loic moistened his parched lips.
His next engagement lay ahead; perhaps he could coax her to the greenhouse for tea, as before?
—As long as you honor the contract, my feelings remain irrelevant.
Her resolute tone resurfaced, stifling his words. Would an invitation burden her?
To the Grand Duchess, he constituted merely a contractual obligation.
She had even professed indifference to his future remarriage.
Her occasional hand-holding struck him as mere compassion, aware of his unfamiliarity with touch.
He had vowed against erecting barriers between them.
But how to bridge the gap when she steadfastly refused to cross?
Pushing forward blindly risked irking her.
Still… suggesting tea casually ought to be harmless.
As Loic drew breath to propose—
“Your Highness!”
At that precise, already irksome juncture, his irksome aide descended the stairs, hailing him.
“Sir Perel.”
The Grand Duchess glanced up with a radiant smile.
“Greetings to Her Highness!”
’Why must this fool materialize at the most inopportune moments…’
Veins throbbed in his balled fists.
Perel, moments from beaming at the Grand Duchess, stiffened upon registering his lord’s stormy visage.
“What is it?”
“Er… regarding the task you assigned earlier…”
Loic’s narrowed gaze prompted Perel to edge nearer, stammering justifications.
“You were delayed, so I figured I’d intercept you…”
“Oh no, have I detained the Duke overlong?”
The Grand Duchess murmured, a hand to her mouth.
“Absolutely not!”
“N-no! I merely grew antsy on my own!”
Perel clamped his lips and retreated under his superior’s icy stare.
“You should head in now, Your Grace!”
The Grand Duchess nudged Loic’s back with gentle insistence.
“Ah…”
’Perhaps dinner together this evening…’
Loic cleared his throat, words forming, when the Grand Duchess grasped his hand, intuiting his reluctance.
“Your Highness?”
The tableau was so tender, Perel winced and averted his eyes.
“May the Goddess grace your day as well… Guide an Ekhnang to your path… Stretch your hour of training into two… and conclude your meeting swiftly for timely repose.”
She cradled and kneaded his large hand through this quirky benediction.
Her touch invariably quelled the magic within him, suffusing him with soothing warmth.
Without these peculiar invocations, embarrassment might have yanked him away in a huff.
“Take care, then! Enjoy your day!”
’Just a moment more…’
“…Have a fine day.”
With her maid in tow, the Grand Duchess departed. Loic watched her recede, choking back unspoken pleas.
Later, in the office…
“How severe is the fallout?”
“Trifling. A handful of merchants resent the inn’s prosperity, but they’re a vocal minority.”
Loic scanned the papers Perel had delivered—gripe missives from vendors targeting Marie’s Inn.
“Her Highness remains unscathed too.”
Perel rumpled his hair.
“Few know of her aid to the inn, and no one’s pointing fingers. Nearby establishments are drawing crowds as well, buoying the local sentiment.”
“And the merchant guild?”
Days prior, word of their cautionary notice to Marie’s Inn had sparked Loic’s concern for the Grand Duchess’s reaction.
“They allege the inn overexpanded its dining area, poaching from neighbors.”
“Absurd.”
“A pretext. They chafe at slipping reins.”
Perel scowled.
“But with rivals adopting the same tactics, the inn dodged repercussions. They even bolstered adjacent businesses.”
Loic pivoted to Norton, stationed close by.
“Does the Grand Duchess still frequent the inn?”
“Once or twice weekly.”
“And those debt enforcers from weeks back?”
The ones who had yanked Morina by the hair, only to be apprehended.
“No ties to Her Highness. Pure chance—they sought neither her carriage nor her person.”
Loic massaged his brow, lost in contemplation.
Through Norton, he shadowed the Grand Duchess’s every move.
Post-nuptials, public scorn for her ran rampant; he sought solely to shield her from harm.
Lately, her initiatives—like servant magazines and the distribution network—saw no concealment.
Consequently, she now passed as a benevolent chatelaine, quelling the rumors.
No perils menaced her security. Yet a nagging disquiet lingered in Loic’s depths.
“Um…”
Perel faltered.
“What of the Marquess of Fasie? Another missive arrived yesterday.”
“Leave it be.”
Confidence brightened Loic’s features.
“Her Highness will manage it personally.”
Perel blinked in astonishment.
Despite the Marquess’s persistent correspondence, alarm proved needless.
The Grand Duchess had proven transparently forthright from the outset.
—Her Highness dispatched a note to the young Lord of Fasie, deeming it non-urgent, urging deliberate review prior to reply.
Loic recalled the inspector’s report on her initial outbound letter.
—Nothing amiss. She even omitted the seal, vowing to leave future ones unsealed for smoother scrutiny.
To Whitley the butler, too, she affirmed her grasp of security protocols and pledged cooperation.
Her candor had thawed initial suspicions, affirming her lack of guile.
The Marquess might scheme, but not she.
Recently, she had broached an unforeseen matter.
—"My father wishes to dispatch a maid for me."
An invitation ploy, plainly.
Loic gnawed his lip deliberately.
He recalled the Marquess’s squalid ploys to insinuate agents into the castle.
He had thwarted them assiduously.
Yet honoring the Grand Duchess for a twelvemonth entailed embracing her baggage.
’We’ll vigilantly screen all newcomers to the castle.’
Poised to assent for her sake, she preempted—
—"I’ve already refused him, so should a letter arrive, you must decline, all right?"