Previously
Jeanne prepares for dinner with the Duke, finding her new accommodations humble but acceptable compared to her past hardships. During the meal, she struggles with the heavy, unfamiliar northern food but politely over-praises it, leading the Duke to order her a second helping.
As I began to tremble, the Duke noted my reaction and continued speaking.
In other words…
‘So you have been using the nobles exiled here through court politics as scribes all along.’
It meant Duke Baldur had been thoroughly squeezing labor out of every exile sent from the capital, whether noble or common criminal.
‘Making nobles work…’
It was the sort of tale that would have horrified the royal courtiers, who knew only how to wage wars with their tongues while never lifting a finger. But I, on the contrary, felt a wave of relief.
‘Isn’t that acceptable? Giving me work means… at the very least, he intends to keep me fed and housed here.’
After all, I had already been working for a living back in Franc, and copying manuscripts sounded infinitely better than swinging a pickaxe to break ground. Moreover, I found myself agreeing with the Duke to a degree. Rather than wasting away under confinement with nothing to do, working would make time pass far more quickly. My mind raced through the options.
At my question, the Duke arched an eyebrow in mild surprise.
‘I see.’
I gathered from his words that the other nobles had put up a fight when presented with the same offer.
A look of disbelief crossed his face.
Yet his suspicious gaze did not falter, and he abruptly switched to a foreign tongue.
And so, an intellectual dialogue began. In several languages I claimed to know, we discussed logic, rhetoric, and the works he and I had read. As our exchange progressed, my astonishment only grew.
‘Isn’t the Duke a soldier? How did he amass such erudition and refinement?’
Perhaps I had harbored an unconscious prejudice. I had assumed that while he might be adept at killing, the humanities would be entirely alien to him. Yet his learning was profound, and his speech revealed a cool logic and keen contemplation. The conversation left a deep impression on me.
He reverted to our native tongue.
It was completely unexpected.
‘A tutor?’
Ordinarily, the authority to hire wet nurses and tutors belonged to the mistress of the house.
‘Why the Duke, and not a Duchess?’
As if reading my doubt, the Duke spoke.
“…”
‘An elder brother? If he had an older brother, the title should have passed to that brother under the laws of succession, and if that brother died leaving an only child, shouldn’t that niece have inherited the peerage?’
While there was something peculiar about his account, I finally understood why he had scoffed at Young Master Mael’s letter yet invited me to dine. He had considered me a prospective candidate to tutor his adopted daughter, and I had just passed his test.
Realizing how fortunate this turn of events was, I broke into a broad smile.
‘Heaven has not abandoned me after all.’
I was spared hard labor, and I would not be cooped up in a cramped archive taking dictation all day—what reason did I have not to smile?
The fact that Duke Baldur wished to make me a tutor meant he had no intention of treating me as a mere convict. But I could not finish my sentence of thanks. Was it because my chest swelled with overwhelmed happiness? No.
“Urk… ugh!”
Right in the middle of speaking, I threw up.
A wretched retch tore from my throat as vomit splashed onto the floor.
Was it because I had kept forcing down the heavy food despite my bloated stomach? If there was any mercy, it was that the moment the nausea struck, I ducked my head beneath the table; but the tablecloth could not muffle the sickeningly vivid sounds.
“…”
Another foul wave spilled out.
Turning my head mid-sentence and emptying my stomach was appalling enough, but how utterly bewildered must His Grace have been to witness it?
‘Dear God…’
Tasting the sour bile in my mouth, I lifted my head, only to find the Duke staring at me.
“…”
His eyes were wide, his lips parted in disbelief. There are moments when an expression conveys far more than words ever could.
Dabbing frantically at my mouth with a napkin, I stammered out an excuse.
And then I saw it: he exhaled a faint sigh and shook his head ever so slightly. He then turned to the attendant beside him.
“…”
They say first impressions are difficult to change. But to appear unwashed for days on our very first meeting, and now to vomit in front of him? Leaving a more disastrous impression would have been near impossible.
* * *
The moment I returned to my room and found myself alone, I collapsed onto the bed, buried my face in my hands, and gave in to despair.
‘How could I do such a thing right there?’
To be offered a meal only to heave right over it was far beyond bad manners. What if he thought I was openly insulting northern cuisine, showing that it disgusted me?
‘Of all places… why there?’
While I was writhing in mortification, a knock came at the door. When I opened it, a stout, healthy-complexioned elderly lady was standing outside, her hands neatly folded over her stomach.
Her black dress was plain, yet tailored from fine silk damask, and a cluster of keys hung from her belt. They were undoubtedly keys to the storerooms housing the estate’s valuables. From her appearance alone, I knew she was the Madame Pauline the Duke had mentioned.
Her tone was polite, yet far from deferential. With no duchess in the household, she clearly ran the domestic sphere here.
Without stepping inside, Madame Pauline stood right at the threshold, outlining my responsibilities and what I needed to know.