Ch#83
Meisel furrowed her brow, still grasping the implication.
“It would be a pity, you understand. Should another uproar erupt, I—as head of the Merchant Guild—might shoulder the blame once more.”
Gelfry drummed his thick fingers against the desk.
“True enough. But if, as before, some mysterious perpetrator emerges, my name will be cleared. They mentioned a woman in a hood, didn’t they?”
‘Cause a disturbance at the lakeside market, just like last time.’
His intent shone through plainly.
Previously, Meisel had manipulated Gelfry without his knowledge.
Now, he aimed to wield her instead, stirring chaos while keeping his own hands clean.
“Besides, Lady Meisel, you’d never come under suspicion, unlike me. Consider it mutual aid.”
Meisel paused, weighing her potential profits against the risks.
“Not immediately… I must reach out to… a contact first.”
“No need to fret. Take all the time you require.”
Gelfry flashed a smug smile.
He intended to time his move for maximum impact, so haste was unnecessary.
“But ensure I recover my investment, clear?”
“Without question. Starting today, you’ll witness Alchent scrambling in vain to secure loans. No one will extend him credit.”
He bellowed with laughter as he spoke.
Yet ultimately, he hadn’t wrested The Northern News from Alchent’s grasp.
“Who on earth provided that funding…?”
Baffled and unable to identify the source, he seethed with irritation.
With the lakeside market’s debut fast approaching, my schedule grew relentlessly hectic.
The arrival of the foreign delegation loomed as well.
Only belatedly—and rather foolishly—did I recognize that entertaining them fell under the duchess’s duties.
‘Had Sir Perel not alerted me, I’d have faced disaster!’
When I innocently inquired about their accommodations, Perel hesitated before clarifying.
Loic had initially dismissed the matter.
“No cause for concern, Annette.”
But as I fixed him with a stern glare, charging him with meddling in my household responsibilities yet again, he flailed his hands in denial.
“They’re mere envoys. The guest wing has space aplenty.”
“Very well. Even without a ball or feast, we owe them a proper dinner. And dedicated servants to attend them.”
“Whitley can manage—”
“We extended the invitation with such effort! How can you foist it all on Whitley?”
“That’s not what I—”
His panicked expression hit me then: without my intervention, these guests might have endured the same neglect I had upon my arrival at the ducal estate.
Thus, I issued directives.
“Whitley, inspect the guest wing thoroughly—every nook. Confirm no repairs are needed, particularly for drapes and linens.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Sir Perel, reach out to the delegation for details. Learn their culinary preferences and aversions, medical conditions, special requirements. Probe aides for even minor tastes if you can.”
“Understood.”
“Leta, consult Bennet about selecting maids for the guest wing temporarily. Recruit volunteers if numbers fall short.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“And you, Duke—!”
The others departed with their orders, leaving Loic alone, his face alight with anticipation, as though hoping I’d assign him a role too.
“Contemplate your shortcomings.”
He grumbled softly, appearing somewhat forlorn.
“But… this is my study…”
Time flew by, and the night before the market’s launch arrived at last.
Mr. Barnes strode eagerly toward the lakeside, clasping his wife’s and son’s hands.
They’d distributed invite tickets to participants for the pre-opening festivities. Barnes had snapped up thirty copies of The Northern News and finally claimed one.
His wife, breaking her usual reserve, commended him, and he glowed with satisfaction.
By twilight, throngs gathered at the entrance.
Abruptly, lanterns kindled amid the trees, bathing the lakeshore in radiant glow.
“Amazing!” the crowd murmured in wonder.
Guards caught the cue and hauled back the grand iron gates.
“Present your invitations, please. We’ll guide you inside.”
Staff in crisp uniforms offered courteous welcomes.
A quick verification later, Barnes and his family stepped through.
The illuminated woodland path led them onward until the lake burst into view.
Vast jets erupted from the water’s expanse, soaring like breaching whales.
“A fountain on the lake itself?”
“Those sprays are enormous—I’ve never seen the like!”
Spectators gaped in astonishment.
Along the shores, enchanting stalls beckoned on either side.
Merchants and attendants stood forth, bowing with genial smiles.
“It’s a fairy-tale realm!”
Barnes inclined his head at his wife’s rapt expression.
“Where to begin?”
Some ambled languidly by the water.
Others, prodded by youngsters, dashed to food carts.
A few hurried to snag spots at open-air cafés.
Barnes and his wife yielded to their son’s tug toward the vendors.
“Snacks seem over there.”
The market segmented neatly into areas, each booth flagged with vivid pictorial signs.
The boy zeroed in on a plump sausage illustration.
“Dad! Get me one!”
The vendor beamed a greeting.
Menus sketched plainly for swift selection.
The child jabbed the image; Barnes requested three.
As he proffered payment—
“Oh no!”
The shopkeeper’s face fell.
“Problem?”
“Apologies—I overlooked bringing sufficient change amid the preparations.”
Barnes and his wife lacked small coin too.
“One moment! Jerome! Jerome!”
He summoned, and a uniformed youth hastened over.
“What’s the issue?”
“Out of change. Assist?”
“Gladly. Here.”
Jerome produced a coin purse and made the exchange deftly.
“Appreciated!”
“My pleasure.”
His warm grin charmed even the queued patrons.
Barnes caught his wife’s flushed cheeks and grumbled jealously,
“You work here?”
“I’m with the Market Management Office. Seek anyone in this uniform for help.”
“Goodness, his voice too…” two women behind them sighed.
Barnes’s wife ventured timidly,
“Pardon, but do you know where to find those picnic mats?”
She gestured to a shore spot dotted with seated groups on mats.
“Those are rentals from our office,” Jerome replied.
“For purchase, head to Zone B, third stall. They stock picnic goods.”
“So helpful! Many thanks.”
Jerome departed with a smile as another seller beckoned.
Barnes’s family secured a mat, settled in, and fetched tea from a café, savoring the vista.
“Daddy! Me too!”
Their son indicated nearby children crafting woolly balls into lambs, affixing eyes and tails.
“What’s that?”
“Lamb kits from the stall right behind us,” a neighboring woman clarified.
“Dad! Quick!”
Barnes trailed his excited boy back to the booths.
“Impressive. Those lamb dolls outpace even my projections.”
Cecilia and I observed from the management office’s second-floor balcony, surveying the throng.
“You’re too close to the edge. It’s risky,” Tiern chided, his brow knit.