Ch#73
Not long before, the Grand Duke summoned me to reveal the results of the inquiry into those lawbreakers.
“You once mentioned you’d deal with it personally, but…”
He paused, then disclosed the true instigator. I was certain he’d point to the head maid.
Instead, the name he uttered caught me off guard.
“Was the one you suspected Count Avoir’s daughter?”
“Lady Meisel?”
When I pressed for details on his discovery, he explained it stemmed from the hefty payment of 200 coins to the perpetrator.
“Thugs haunting the taverns would jump at ten coins. Handing over such a sum screamed of a noble from a wealthy house, utterly clueless about coin’s true worth.”
An “unofficial” peek at the bank ledgers pinpointed Avoir Meisel as the sole match.
I’d harbored suspicions that Meisel pulled Marzella’s strings, but the Grand Duke’s probe sealed it.
Meisel had orchestrated the scheme; Marzella executed it.
The Merchants’ Guild head likely lent a hand too.
That abrupt summons to assemble merchants for my “farewell” had reeked of deceit from the outset.
Her fumbling demeanor and fawning obsequiousness? Pure theater.
Yet recalling her shocked face amid the uproar, I doubted she grasped the full plot.
She’d probably only been instructed to “ensure a mob swarmed the Grand Duchess.”
With her chummy bond to the Guild leader, Meisel could’ve easily tapped him for that. It was their one clear link.
“Why not urge His Grace to discipline Lady Meisel as well?”
Cecilia sounded crestfallen that I’d turned down the Grand Duke’s offer to penalize Meisel.
“It’s unjust for the true architect to escape scot-free.”
But disciplining a baron’s offspring versus Count Avoir’s daughter? Worlds apart.
The Avoir clan wielded immense sway across the North.
For Blenheim’s lord to publicly chastise such a powerhouse’s heir would stir a hornet’s nest.
“Someday, I’ll settle the score with her.”
No need for open retribution. Subtler torments abounded.
Once Cecilia departed at last, I sank into the plush bed Leta had readied.
Meisel’s treachery still simmered in my veins, yet another matter gnawed deeper.
As our talk wrapped, the Grand Duke’s visage had seemed drained.
“You must be weary. Retire and recharge.”
Despite his own haggard exhaustion, he fretted over me. I scowled.
“You need rest more. Is the delegation’s matter still hanging?”
“No, we’ve nearly locked in the itinerary and entourage. Still, I intend to overhaul Goldrain before they arrive—plenty to occupy me.”
“Overhaul Goldrain?”
“It falls short as Blenheim’s premier trade hub. It must at least suffice for commerce talks with the envoys.”
So he recognized Goldrain’s disarray.
My expertise piqued my interest.
“Might I review the blueprints? Noble women drive most shopping—perhaps I could contribute.”
“The Guild leader submitted a draft, but it’s a mess for the funds demanded. I’d hate to foist it on you…”
Reluctant at first, he passed it over.
The contents left me mute.
Pave every road anew? Flashier facades at staggering cost?
Goldrain’s woes lay not in pavement or plaster—but in the Guild leader and his merchant cronies!
It smacked of merchants fleecing the domain for vanity upgrades.
The Grand Duke caught my grimace and gave a dry laugh.
“You mirror Perel’s look exactly.”
He vowed they’d scrap it in its current form.
“I held slim hopes for the Guild leader regardless. Rebuilding from the ground up with fresh overseers will exhaust me.”
Tomorrow brimmed with conferences, he added.
Squandering fortunes on Goldrain? Futile as filling a sieve.
A scheming Guild head, indolent and haughty traders…
The district’s rot stemmed from its denizens, not its bricks.
And that wretch’s meddling had left me pelted in eggs!
Far wiser to erect a fresh shopping district outright.
A new shopping district?
The lakeshore sprang to mind.
Blenheim craved a draw to eclipse Rondoris.
Why not transform the waterfront into a haven of leisure, tourism, and boutiques?
Visions danced: the vast lake fringed by stylish emporiums, pleasure boats gliding, patrons sipping at quaint tearooms.
Viable. Utterly viable…
That dormant fire reignited—the thrill of my rookie days, drafting pitches across weekend hours.
I bolted upright, claimed the desk, kindled the enchanted lantern, and poured forth the blueprint.
Dawn lingered distant; the heavens held a faint azure hue when I concluded.
Eagerness bubbled—I ached to unveil it to the Grand Duke.
Earlier than his routine, but surely he’d indulge me?
Clutching the meticulously penned document, I hastened to his chambers.
Knock, knock.
The portal flew wide.
Clad in workout garb, locks tousled—he’d evidently just returned from drills.
“Your Grace?”
His stare dipped low, eyes flaring wide. He scanned the corridor.
“Why? The hall’s deserted…”
His broad palm encircled my waist, yanking me inside.
Bang!
The door slammed shut before he released me.
“Your Grace?”
I tilted my gaze upward. Crimson flushed his throat; he averted his eyes.
“Y-your attire…”
“My attire? What of it?”
“You’re wearing… sleepwear, correct?”
“Indeed…”
No time for a swap—these lounging pajamas resembled everyday loungewear. Hardly sheer.
He saw it otherwise.
“Wandering like that is forbidden. Should any soul glimpse you…”
Another glance, throat working visibly, cords bulging at his neck.
His hold at my waist clenched, digits insistent and steadfast.
“Do you comprehend… at all?”
“Comprehend what?”
“The restraint I summon daily.”
“Restraint from what?”
His mouth sealed shut; he let go.
“In any case, nightclothes won’t do.”
He snatched a voluminous robe from the armoire.
“No need. Servants shun these hours.”
“Unacceptable regardless.”
He settled the robe about my shoulders, cinching it secure.
“Wear this, at minimum.”
“Very well.”
A breath escaped him, then:
“What brings you at this hour?”
“I have something to share.”
“Pressing?”
“Not truly, but…”
I yearned for his eyes on it now.
“Could I visit your quarters later?”
“Why? Tied up?”
“Not precisely…”
At last he retreated, a touch abashed.