The Isolated Marchioness Just Wants to Make a Living
Chapter 13
In the end, he had no choice but to reveal his identity and go to Baron Hawin’s manor. He was, at the very least, the lord of a relatively wealthy estate in the vicinity.
Facing an indefinite stay as a guest, he could hardly turn to Sears, where a twelve-year-old child was acting as the lord.
True to expectation, Baron Hawin welcomed him warmly.
“You made an excellent choice not going to Sears! They probably don’t even have enough to feed themselves right now.”
Baron Forman knew nothing about farming, but he probed subtly nonetheless.
“Still, with Erenta in their possession, can’t they catch fish? I heard they planted potatoes on the plains as well.”
At that, Baron Hawin and his daughter, Dahlia, replied at once.
“That land yields very little. They’ve grown olive trees there for hundreds of years, yet they’ve hardly ever turned a profit from them. Whatever they plant, it likely won’t grow well.”
“It’s the same for Erenta. Only tiny fish live in that river, and one can’t survive on just those and potatoes, can they?”
The remarks that followed were almost entirely pessimistic.
“Even if they tried to plant something new, they wouldn’t have any spare seeds. Around Erenta, people usually grow autumn radishes. But it’s spring right now. Even if they wanted to grow something else, seeds would be scarce. Other crops are only grown by individual households in small batches just for fun.”
Listening to them, it truly seemed the Marquisate of Sears was in dire straits. Unable to contain his curiosity about just how severe the situation was, Baron Forman had disguised himself as a fisherman.
And that was when he ran into Brisa, who was returning from inspecting the estate.
‘Hm?’
Baron Forman blinked slowly.
‘Inspecting the estate at a time like this? The young lady herself?’
On an impulse, he struck up a conversation, mentioning that the fish weren’t biting well.
He thought she might take offense. Yet, unexpectedly, she looked at him with profound sympathy in her eyes.
Though she said nothing aloud, pity was clearly written across her face.
‘She cares for the common folk more than I expected.’
Without making a display of it, either.
Baron Forman examined Brisa closely. Indeed, she was as lovely as a sculpted porcelain doll.
‘I heard the last princess of Riente cherished her like gold and jade, educating her personally from a young age.’
She was rumored to be a renowned prodigy throughout the Central region.
Yet no matter how brilliant a genius she was… she could hardly shine in a situation like this. Knowing ancient scripts wouldn’t put food on the table.
It seemed likely he would soon see this child at Baron Hawin’s manor—a little girl begging for even a single sack of flour…
Just then.
Brisa quietly gave an order to her maid.
The maid looked startled, but without protesting, rummaged through her pocket and handed something to Brisa.
‘…Paper? No, a card?’
Taking a pen from the maid, Brisa jotted down words on the card-like item right there on the spot. Then, she held it out to Baron Forman.
Baron Forman took the card in a daze.
[Invitation]
It was an exquisitely antique, high-class invitation that belonged to fifty years ago.
‘The style of Riente.’
He had heard that in Riente, maids carried invitations so their masters could hand one over immediately whenever they wished to cultivate a social acquaintance.
[To (Oliver Hanson)-nim,
In the timeless halls of the Marquisate of Sears,
we wish to host an honored guest for (dinner).
Beneath the soft candlelight and melodies of strings,
as the resonant chimes ring thrice and the doors open,
we request the honor of (Oliver Hanson)-nim’s presence
to grace our gathering with the final touch of elegance.]
Within the brackets sat Brisa’s neat, freshly inked handwriting.
For a moment, Baron Forman wondered if he had traveled back in time.
Even in the West, where aristocratic culture flourished most, this style of invitation had long fallen out of fashion.
Checking the date and time, Baron Forman furrowed his brow.
‘A month and a half from now?’
Even if they emptied every storehouse in the marquisate, surviving for a month would be a stretch.
“Normally, an RSVP would be returned separately, but…”
Brisa asked elegantly.
“May I have your answer now? Given the circumstances, postal delivery cannot be guaranteed.”
“I-I shall attend!”
Baron Forman answered, thoroughly flustered.
“I will be sure to arrive on time. It is truly an honor.”
“I shall await you.”
Brisa gave a slight nod and turned away, accompanied by her maids.
Baron Forman blinked, holding the invitation.
‘What in the world is… Ha, really.’
He couldn’t fathom the girl’s intentions in the slightest.
‘What is she playing at?’
‘He’ll be terribly hungry by then, and starving is especially hard on an elderly man…’
Leaving Baron Forman behind, I thought to myself.
‘Right. He came all the way out here and is suffering, so the least I can do is treat him to a single meal in the Central region.’
If he stayed at that baron’s manor, he’d be going hungry soon enough.
‘Selling horses to buy dairy cows…’
I swallowed a sigh.
‘That’s how he eventually ended up selling me and the maids off. If only he hadn’t done that, he might have held out a bit longer.’
Frankly, whether he did or not was none of my concern.
Yet what moved my heart, unexpectedly, was the old man’s work ethic.
“T-thank you. Thank you, my lady.”
He hadn’t been fishing. He had been on duty.
Even at his age, he was following the Grand Duke of Nozen’s orders just to make a living…
In a month and a half, food shortages would strike Baron Hawin’s manor as well.
‘Seeing as he appears again in the original story later on, he will safely return to the West, but still, he deserves at least one proper meal.’
I owed an emotional debt to Leopold.
He might have forgotten it by now, but I felt I could never forget that debt in my lifetime. So treating Baron Forman to a meal was the least I could do.
Besides, by then we’d probably be quite well-off, and…
‘He is Leopold’s maternal grandfather, after all.’
Thinking about that, two meals would have been fine, actually.
By the time I arrived at the marquis’s residence, Martha, whom I had sent to Jejel Street that morning, was already back.
I met her in the rear garden.
“My lady! I bought everything you asked for, just as ordered. The prices were quite low, exactly as you said.”
Martha did not look pleased.
“But word came down to Jejel Street… ordering everyone not to do business with the people of Sears…”
Just as I expected.
Jejel Street, where the shops were clustered, was no longer part of the Marquisate of Sears. It was the first move Baron Hawin would make to strangle Sears.
“It doesn’t matter.”
I said nonchalantly.
“It’s only a matter of time before they run out of food supplies there anyway.”
Before long, the knights had gathered in the rear garden in a crowd to see what Martha had brought.
“I naturally assumed you would plant these seed potatoes in the rear garden and the flowerbeds…”
“I have another use for the rear garden.”
The masters of the rear garden I had in mind were…
“Cock-a-doodle-doo, cluck cluck cluck cluck…”
“Peep, cheep cheep!”
The knights exclaimed in delight.
“How cute!”
“My goodness, look at how glossy their feathers are.”
I crouched down quietly, stroking the chicks that had come along with the chickens. Then, looking at the chickens with utmost adoration in my eyes, I said:
“They are our source of protein.”
Raising chickens requires land.
However, since the Central region did not possess vast land, it developed a distribution industry rather than poultry farming.
Raising three or four chickens in civilian households with large yards was more than enough, so the chickens in the market were never meant for the Marquisate of Sears in the first place.
Thus, they were supposed to be sold off to other regions through Sears as a transit hub.
Yet with no buyers able to arrive, prices were bound to plummet.
Furthermore, ordinary households found it burdensome to buy more chickens.
Because chickens don’t grow for free.
‘They need food too.’
Therefore, increasing their numbers was a burden with an impending food crisis.
“By the way… do these things eat stuff like flour?”
Rancy, who had come to look at the chicks, voiced intense concern over whether there would be anything to feed them.
“Then all of ye together’ll eat as much as a whole knight, won’t ye? Ye’d better grow up big and strong and protect the estate well…”
I eased his worries.
“There’s dried rice bran and wheat bran in the storehouse. Scatter that for them first.”
“If they give us the rest of the rice and wheat bran left in the guild storehouses, we’ll allow them to forage roots as well.”
Rice bran and wheat bran were practically garbage to grain merchants. Knowing this, I asked for it anyway. And every last bit remaining in the storehouses, at that.
And so, a month and a half passed.
