Ch#61
“I’ve warned you already—he’s a boorish, prickly sort. Crossing paths with him would only sour your evening.”
“But even so…”
I’d never laid eyes on a wizard before!
“They say his skills are exceptional. I can’t help but wonder.”
“He’s nothing special,” the Duke muttered, his lips pursing in a faint sulk.
Yet beneath my insistent stare, he relented at last.
“…His material transformation magic holds its own.”
“Material transformation magic?”
“The power to craft enchanted artifacts.”
“Oh! Sir Perel brought that up.”
I recalled quizzing Perel on the wizard’s duties at the Duke’s estate.
— “In any case, no one in the empire rivals the Duke’s mana reserves. Wizards alone can forge weapons sturdy enough to channel it, or craft the magic stones that guard our borders. His healing magic stands at the pinnacle too.”
Perel had noted the wizard’s temperament made him a trial, yet he ranked among the empire’s elite.
That explained the Duke’s reluctant pact, sealed with a hefty fortune.
— “His routine? He tinkers with magical tools in his spare hours, dreaming up all sorts of curiosities.”
Word had it the wizard had illuminated most of Blenheim’s lamps.
My gaze drifted to the luminous orbs lining the woodland trail.
“He truly excels.”
“Outlanders gawk every time. These glows would demand fivefold the magic stones otherwise.”
I dipped my head in accord.
“His aesthetic touch shines through as well. Did he fashion this lantern?”
The table fixture evoked artisanal finery, its etched glass and ornate gold banding exquisite.
“How is it so stunning…!”
Impulsively, I stretched toward it—and knocked the teacup askew.
“Ah!”
It overturned, dousing my hand and the tabletop in tea.
Fortune smiled; the brew had lost its scald.
“Are you hurt?”
The Duke whisked a handkerchief from his coat’s inner pocket, cradling my hand with care as he dabbed the spill.
“Any burns?”
“I-I’m fine. It had gone tepid.”
He drew nearer, my hand still in his grasp.
Meticulously, he inspected every finger for telltale flush. That tender contact flushed my cheeks.
Our faces hovered inches apart—dangerously so.
This is overwhelming!
I couldn’t tell if my hand or my face burned hotter.
Once my skin gleamed dry, he lifted his gaze.
His exhalation brushed warm across me.
A hooded look traced from my eyes downward, lingering on my mouth.
Deliberately, he wet his lips.
It seemed… inevitable, our mouths meeting.
My pulse thundered; surely he heard it.
“Ah.”
I jolted back to sense, withdrawing.
The Duke blinked languidly, a shadow of regret in his eyes.
Why this uncharacteristic ease from the Duke tonight? He’d been altered even alighting from the carriage.
Mortified, I eased my hand free and ventured,
“Um, Duke… why not the handkerchief I gifted you?”
“Ah.”
He started, caught off guard.
In his grip lay a stark, unadorned square.
“Did my present displease you?”
“N-no, not at all.”
He gulped.
“It’s only…”
Only what?
I shot him a sidelong look; swiftly, he fished out a second cloth from his coat.
Mine—the one I’d given, crisp and folded, its golden crest stitched proud.
“Two handkerchiefs on you?”
Our stares locked; he parted his lips.
“It’s merely…”
“…?”
“Too cherished.”
“Pardon?”
“I couldn’t bear to soil it…”
His murmur dipped low, fingers caressing the fabric.
“Yet it’s ever with me.”
Those hushed tones teased my ears—tormentingly, or thrillingly.
This cunning Duke…
My heart hammered wildly.
Dropping lines like that with a face like his? Unfair play!
He made me feel singular, treasured beyond all.
“Use it without hesitation.”
The words tumbled out, hard-won.
“I’ll craft you a fresh one.”
“…My thanks.”
A touch abashed, he angled toward the lake.
I traced his line of sight: moonlight danced on serene ripples.
Composure eluded me; my heartbeat drummed in my ears.
Why this dizzying thrill?
His courtly gestures—guiding me with grace, seating me with flourish, tending my mishap—once quaint relics, now set my blood aflame.
Surely the ambiance’s doing.
I gulped the refilled tea in haste.
The lake’s allure proved irresistible.
Even romance’s skeptics would stir here!
In my old world, lakesides brimmed with bistros and eateries. Throngs of lovers, queues for vendor bites.
Absent the Duke’s private demesne, it might eclipse Goldrain’s fame.
Neon haze cloaking those waters flickered vividly in my mind.
A compelling vision, oddly.
Silly, scheming commerce amid romance…
But this night etches deep.
We lingered lakeside, savoring the balmy zephyr.
“It’s a ring.”
A delicate wildflower band slipped onto my pinky.
I beamed at the girl, her brown eyes bright and guileless.
“Beautiful. My thanks.”
She bobbed her head shyly and scampered to her playmates.
My fingers bristled with bloom circlets; wrists draped in woven posy cuffs.
“Forgive them, Your Highness—they wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Jerome mumbled, abashed.
“No harm. I adore them.”
Relief brightened his features.
“Off with you now—grab a bite. The sandwiches excel.”
“Thank you!”
Grinning wide, Jerome dashed to the lakeside cluster.
The orphans romped across the sward in games of chase and toss.
The Duke had welcomed their outing with open arms.
— “No need for my leave on such matters. Your kindness to them honors me.”
Anxious over transport, I’d found him proffering the estate’s full fleet.
Thus adorned in crested coaches, the children savored a lavish jaunt.
Berni’s bounty of treats fueled endless munching amid frolic.
I must thank Berni soon.
“Your Highness, anything amiss?”
Cecilia ventured gently.
“Sir Leon’s words from before?”
“Hm. The inn weighs on me.”
I sipped tea from Leta’s hand.
Marie’s inn blazed as Goldrain’s prime draw.
Its eatery stewards had swelled staff by four.
Crowds queued endlessly.
My numbered-ticket ploy proved salvation: patrons browsed neighbors’ wares in wait, invigorating trade.
’Tis the Merchants’ Guild that rankles.
Every Goldrain venture guild-registered.
Professed guardians of commerce, yet lately harrying Marie’s with baseless edicts against excess custom.
“Why grudge prosperity?” Cecilia huffed.
“An inn dares not boast such a famed kitchen? Absurdity!”
Cecilia smarted doubly.
The Guild had menaced Alchent of Northern News, decrying the inn’s outsized press as rivals’ injustice.
Contract clauses bought time, but Cecilia’s recipe fount—Madam Marie—couldn’t endure.
“Their whims are laughable, yet Madam Marie shan’t suffice eternally.”
“Seek another venue?”
She queried faintly, cookie crumbling under nibble.
“Public submissions seem ripe.”
“Public submissions?”
“’Cecilia’s Recipes’ commands fame now. Chefs, inns—they’d clamor for spotlight.”
The inn’s triumph might lure rival recipes for glory, or homemakers craving bylines.
“Spot on. I’ll pen the call at once.”
Eagerness sparked; Cecilia fetched ink and parchment.
Recipes trouble me little…
But the kitchen grievances?
“If the eatery’s vogue offends alone, elevate the inn to match?”
Lodging booms equaling the restaurant’s would silence Guild gripes.
How lure overnighters…?
’Hotel-plus-adventure’ bundles, perhaps?
Lost in schemes—
“Like a lovers’ tryst under the stars, right?”
“Totally. Word’ll electrify the town!”
Nearby maids tittered over beverages, eyes on the children’s revels.