“Bella, are you really just going to stand there?”
“…”
“Well, suit yourself. It’s freezing outside anyway, and at least it’s warm in here.”
She was clearly determined to carry on with what she was doing, whether I was watching or not.
Elijah edged back toward Max, shaking her head lightly at him. ‘Forget her. Don’t mind her.’
She didn't need to say a word; the message in her eyes came through loud and clear. Even whispered directly into his ear, it couldn't have been any sharper.
As I stared in sheer disbelief, she gave me a look that asked if I was seriously going to keep lingering.
“Oh, right, Bella. Didn't you say Father was coming home today? I think he was.”
“…”
‘So you actually remember that?’
My eyes narrowed at this minor miracle. Max flinched the moment he heard the word ‘Father’—evidently, he wasn’t much of a man either. Unbothered, Elijah patted his chest reassuringly.
“Oh, Max, don't worry. I’m not going back.”
“…Elijah.”
“Bella, tell Father I’m so sorry I couldn't make it. I already promised to go see the fireworks tonight.”
Our house was on the verge of burning to the ground, and she wanted to go watch fireworks. My head was already spinning, but now it sounded like firecrackers were going off right inside it. To think I had come here hoping to reason with someone like this.
Honestly, until I got here, a faint glimmer of hope had remained: persuade my eldest sister to cut ties with every one of her lovers right now and become a respectable grand duchess.
“…Bella, what is it? Did you need something else?”
“…”
Seeing it with my own eyes had shattered that delusion. Demanding she live like that was no different from gently encouraging a fish to make a pleasant life on dry land.
Or demanding a lion turn vegetarian, or telling a horse to walk quietly on its tiptoes.
Before seeing it, I could at least cling to false hopes, but confronting the reality of who she was brought a crushing wave of exhaustion.
‘…So that really is the only way.’
Whenever the thought had crossed my mind on the way over, I had fiercely denied it. But now, it was truly my only choice.
While I was busy steeling myself for this martyr’s sacrifice, Elijah went right on giggling with sultry delight.
“Max, darling, since things turned out like this, if we leave a bit early we could get good seats—”
“Sister, let’s go home.”
“Huh?”
“…I said let’s go.”
Leaning against the hay, I called out to her with a placid smile.
‘What’s her problem?’
Elijah made the same face Melanie had made earlier, then burst out laughing.
“Bella, did you not hear me? I told you I can't go. You ought to run along and get Father’s dinner ready. But why are you suddenly rolling up your sleeves like th—*Eeeek!*”
“…”
*Thud.*
The scream she hadn't let out even when caught red-handed by her sister finally tore from her throat as a bundle of hay struck her square in the chest. Thrown flat on her back, Elijah floundered dizzily beneath the straw.
“Sister.”
I strode toward her with light, measured steps, a sweet smile fixed on my face. Elijah might know men inside and out, but she clearly didn't realize how much farm labor had built up my muscles.
More than eager to teach her right now, I leaned over her head.
“…Let’s go nicely.”
◇ ◆ ◇
“My darling daughters! Have you all been well?”
“…”
‘Could we have been?’
Sitting closest to Father, I fought to keep my breathing steady. Novel father or not, looking at his track record made it impossible to muster even an empty pleasantry.
Viscount Mayfield.
He had inherited a decent fortune, backed by a family name with respectable history. If he had done nothing but sit still and breathe, he could have kept up noble appearances at the edge of high society. But he couldn't even manage that. Everything he touched didn't just hit rock bottom; it tunneled straight into the dirt.
If there were a medieval God of Ruin, it would be him.
When he invested in tea, the tea leaves dried to a crisp that year; when he put money into a guild, thriving businesses went bankrupt in droves. It got so bad that merchants launching new ventures would bar their doors the moment they caught wind of Viscount Mayfield heading their way.
Yet far worse than all of that combined was the simple fact that he was my father.
“I couldn't focus on anything with my dear daughters on my mind.”
“Right.”
‘So you couldn't focus, and that’s why you ruined everything.’
I chimed in half-heartedly with a glum face. Misinterpreting my mood as deep emotion at seeing him after so long, Father gave the back of my hand a pleased pat.
“Yes, my dear Bella, I knew you missed me the most.”
“Ah… haha.”
Cornered by this sudden display of affection, I held still and took in the room.
In truth, the original novel never detailed how Father wound up at the Grand Duke’s estate in the first place. The plot simply needed a daughter sent off, so the author had glossed over it in a single introductory line.
*One day, Viscount Mayfield returned from the far North and, gathering his four daughters before him, could not conceal his grief.*
“…Seriously.”
How could someone treat other people's lives with so little effort?
If the author possessed even a shred of conscience, they would have looked at the four daughters' faces around that table.
The eager sparkle in the eldest, Elijah’s, eyes hoping for a gift, or the second, Melanie, glancing sideways to see if he had brought back any books.
Or at the very least, they should have noted how bashful young Rose felt seeing a father she hadn't laid eyes on in so long.
“…Rose, it’s alright.”
With the hand Father wasn't holding, I gently squeezed my youngest sister’s little fingers.
How long had the head of this household been away for his own child to act so shy around him? It was only natural that my glare toward him turned cold.
“Father, what’s with that look on your face? Don't tell me your business went poorly again?”
“…Well, you see.”
I expected him to offer at least a polite denial, but he snapped up the bait as if he’d been waiting for it.
Of course he did. Having weathered this countless times before, my older sisters were already trying to slip away from the table.
“Well, now that I’ve greeted Father, I’ll take my leave—”
“I should head back and finish my book as well—”
“Sit down.”
At my clipped warning, both my sisters and Father flinched, his hand still holding mine.
‘Did we hear that right?’
Melanie looked at Elijah in disbelief, but having already taken a bundle of hay to the chest back in the mill, Elijah kept quiet.
“…Bella.”
“Father isn't finished talking. Sit.”
“R-right. Of course.”
Deciding it was wiser to comply, Elijah tugged Melanie down beside her. Catching my tight-lipped smile, she slowly wrapped her arms around herself, as though fearing I might throw something at her again.
Meanwhile, Father was working himself into as sorrowful a state as he could muster.
“…To tell you the truth, there was a bit of an accident on my way home.”
“Again?”
“Well, I genuinely thought it would go well this time. It was right when I arrived in the North. Even the sky outside my carriage looked exceptionally blue…”
“Hold on!”
*Haaah.*
I raised a hand, cutting him off.
If he was starting all the way back from when he boarded the carriage, we would be sitting here past dawn before he reached the point. Experience had taught me that the longer the preamble, the more spectacularly catastrophic the ruin.
“I’ll keep it brief. How much did you borrow?”
“…B-Bella.”
“No, let me rephrase. Were you scammed, or did you go bankrupt?”
Father gulped audibly at the demand in my glare. He glanced at his other daughters for help, but their gazes were just as piercing.
Left with no way out, he hesitated, then finally parted his lips.
“…G-gam—”
“Bankrupt?”
“No. I… gambled a little…”
“Gambled? *Gaaam-bllled?!*”
What little patience I had snapped, and my eyes shot wide open.
‘Of all things, gambling!’
If this were like the fairy tale and he had gotten into trouble trying to bring presents for his daughters, I might have scraped together an ounce of sympathy. But bringing ruin upon us by borrowing money for a gambling table made the back of my neck go stiff with rage.
“Father, how could you?! Gambling, in our situation? No, our situation doesn't even matter—it’s against imperial law! You’re not supposed to touch it in the first place!”
“W-well… I had to settle the remaining balance somehow, but there was nowhere left to borrow from… so one thing led to another…”
“Aaargh.”
The pathetic tale of this utterly hopeless patriarch boiled down to this:
He had blown through all his travel funds before even reaching the North; Northern merchants were shoving receipts in his face; and seeing no other choice, he turned to the gambling dens to multiply what little pocket change he had left.
The trouble was, he took the gambling den far too lightly—and the gambling den took Viscount Mayfield for an absolute fool.
