Ch#82
The sapphire necklace was far too precious to simply sell off.
Perhaps I could pledge it for a loan instead?
With that thought, I carried it to Barcot Bank in Goldrain.
The bank director hurried out to welcome me personally. He blinked in surprise at my request for funds but approved it instantly, pressing a staggering 150,000 coins into my hands.
When I offered to have the gem appraised, he dismissed the notion with a wave. “For Her Highness, your word is collateral enough.”
I delivered every last coin straight to Alchent as seed money for his venture.
It amounted to three hundred times my dowry.
My fingers shook as I passed him the check.
Success would swell my private wealth beyond measure.
Failure meant forfeiting the necklace forever.
All I can do now is ensure Alchent’s enterprise thrives.
“I’ll run two of Cecilia’s recipes every week!” Cecilia vowed, her eyes alight with fervor.
Her fire drew a chuckle from me, lightening the weight pressing on my chest.
At last, the crisis appeared resolved.
Or so I believed—until that evening, when Loic appeared.
He arrived late, his expression shadowed and grim.
“…Loic? Come inside, please.”
The name still felt strange on my tongue, yet “Duke” hardly suited his somber air.
Usually, he’d slip into the room with a timid smile, treading lightly as if afraid to disturb.
Tonight, no such warmth touched his face.
He marched in with ponderous footfalls and loomed before the sofa until I settled first. Then, and only then, did he take a seat.
“What’s wrong?” I ventured.
His gaze dropped behind lowered lashes before lifting again amid a heavy sigh.
“I suspected you’d misplaced something… so I brought it back.”
“Misplaced? By me?”
My hand flew to my hairpin—Ferdinand’s bridal gift. It remained securely in place.
“Earrings, maybe?”
As I touched my lobes, Loic set a slender velvet case on the table with a crisp, resounding clack.
“What’s this?”
I lifted the lid and drew in a sharp breath.
There lay the sapphire necklace I’d left at the bank that very afternoon.
“How in the world…?”
Loic’s anger was palpable.
Silence hung thick and taut between us until he broke it, his tone low and edged.
“Why did you take out a loan?”
“Oh, well…” I twisted my fingers together.
How much to reveal?
During the egg fiasco, he’d nearly wrecked Meisel out of fury until I intervened.
Learning of her involvement once more might spark outright catastrophe.
I couldn’t ignite a feud between the duke’s house and an ancient retainer family.
My pause only darkened his features further.
“Is this a secret you can’t share with me?”
“No, no—not at all.”
I sketched the bare essentials: my stake in Alchent’s project to rescue Northern News from liquidation, and the funds required.
“That’s the reason.”
“You could have drawn from the estate accounts,” he countered.
“But Blenheim’s resources aren’t for my private pursuits.”
Loic pressed his lips together tightly.
“Did you have so little faith in me?”
“…Pardon?”
A quiver threaded his words.
I studied him intently—his mouth formed the faintest pout.
Not rage, but… wounded.
“Loic… you were hurt?”
“Hurt?” His jaw locked as he willed his voice even.
“As your husband, I assumed you wanted for nothing. To discover you resorting to hocking jewels and scraping for loans over a trifling sum—how could that not wound me?”
His tone wavered. Sorrowful accusation gleamed in his eyes.
Trifling? It was a fortune…
“I was merely let down. To see I’m so inept a spouse that you couldn’t turn to me.”
He averted his stare, brooding.
His words rang earnest, yet his sulk held an odd… charm.
I pressed my lips to stifle a bubble of laughter.
Idiot. Not the moment for mirth.
The blunder was mine.
Rumors of the duchess pawning heirlooms for cash would tarnish his reputation irreparably.
I never imagined the bank would gossip so freely.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, dipping my head toward him.
“It’s not a lack of trust. Household money just didn’t feel right for something so personal.”
Still, Loic remained motionless.
I inched nearer.
“You must have felt terribly stung. Haven’t you been sharing every meeting, every moment of your day with me?”
My wheedling softened a twitch in his brow, though his eyes clung stubbornly to the desk’s edge.
“Please don’t stay mad. It was all my doing.”
His throat worked visibly, and at last, he met my gaze.
“Don’t say such things,” he whispered, his look gentling.
“You’ve done nothing amiss.”
“But I hurt you.”
He swept a hand through his fringe, gathering himself, then raised his chin with fresh determination.
“…At least, whenever you need aid, come to me before anyone else.”
The words carried a steely edge, near order.
“I’d rather not learn of your troubles from idle tongues.”
The turn of phrase struck me as fresh.
Loic often warned, “You mustn’t,” but seldom confessed, “I don’t want.”
“…Very well. Henceforth, I’ll consult you on everything first.”
“You swear it?”
Tension ebbed from him at last, and he extended his pinky.
There—my duke, no, *my Loic, picks up the knack swiftly.*
Grinning, I linked my little finger with his.
And in quiet resolve, promised myself to dress down that blabbermouth banker on my next visit.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the city—
Merchant Guild head Gelfry tsked at the repayment draft sprawled across his desk.
Alchent had delivered it moments ago.
The figure wasn’t beyond Alchent’s eventual means, but summoning it so abruptly? Implausible.
I warned everyone not to extend him credit. So where did this come from?
The opera venture ought to have minted a windfall. Instead, he’d refunded backers with scant profit to show.
A sliver of upside lingered, though.
Not long past, Lady Meisel had barged into his café in a tempest of ire.
She’d demanded if he could seize Northern News.
Her imperious bark scarcely qualified as a plea.
—“I and certain associates backed Alchent’s scheme…”
—“You can manage it, yes?”
Another snare from her?
Memories of the “egg affair” surged.
He’d rallied merchants at the duchess’s behest, hoping to curry favor with Count Avoir’s girl.
Radicals had erupted instead, sowing mayhem; he’d teetered on arrest.
Cleared of blame, yet he’d endured the duke’s summons—humiliation, and orders to vindicate the duchess.
And now she slinks back for favors?
Still, Northern News tantalized.
Its sway over minds had swelled; prime fodder for swaying sentiment.
Since the duchess barred the Guild from the new marketplace after their botched debut, his footing had grown precarious.
A jab at her might prove worthwhile.
—“Very well, Lady Meisel. Count on my aid.”
—“Excellent.”
—“One stipulation, however.”
—“Stipulation? You’d presume to extract a price from me?”
—“Merchants chase gain alone. Base souls, every one.”
Meisel had bristled, invoking her father’s name.
He merely smirked.
—“If you prefer, I’ll confer with Count Avoir myself.”
Silence fell like a blade.
Had her sire known, she’d never have crept to him in secret.
—“What’s your demand?” she yielded.
—“Not long back, didn’t chaos erupt in Goldrain with Her Highness on site?”
—“I know nothing of it!” she spat, cheeks aflame.
Gelfry pressed on undeterred.
—“That fresh lakeside shopping district… prime ground for radicals to stir the pot, wouldn’t you say?”