Chapter 47
Beatrice Lavalle, the Lady of Monde, did not like Lüsenford very much. This place was a shameful and shabby refuge for her.
Back when they were so cornered that they had to tear down Monde Castle and sell the building materials, the only place young Beatrice could go to escape the debt collectors tormenting her mother was Lüsenford.
It was a cold, barren land inhabited by harsh people—a place utterly incompatible with her nature by birth.
“How is it, miss? Does the food suit your taste?”
Above all, the people here knew her most wretched moments. They knew those pathetic days when she had trembled and had no choice but to throw herself on the mercy of her childhood friend, the Grand Duke who had likewise been all but abandoned here in Lüsenford. They knew and pitied her for it.
Even now, the butler was making a point of saying this to her only because she was alone in the dining hall. Beatrice ground her teeth inwardly but flashed a sweet smile on the outside.
“It does. It’s always excellent. The taste I’ve missed.”
“I was worried it might not be the familiar taste you know, since the head chef keeps changing, but I’m glad.”
“The Lüsenford Castle kitchens have kept that taste consistent. No, actually, it’s gotten even better.”
“Ah, is that so?”
The butler brightened. Beatrice, who needed to make a good showing here in any case, nodded. And it was sincere.
“Yes. The ingredients are far more abundant now, and the flavors really stand out. The Lüsenford Castle kitchens are progressing steadily. They’ve become a whole level more refined.”
Honestly, the food here had always been so crude that she hadn’t even wanted to come for the meals alone. But surprisingly, the moment the appetizers arrived, Beatrice couldn’t help widening her eyes.
The presentation and aroma were different right away. The potato cream soup—which used to come out unevenly mashed, with lumps here and there—was now perfectly smooth and uniform, topped with elegant garnishes. The taste wasn’t bad at all.
The grilled small fish caught from the cold northern seas that followed, and the beef simmered long and slow, were delicious too. Beatrice had enjoyed a reasonably satisfying meal.
“I’m pleased to hear that.”
More familiar with Beatrice, whom he had helped raise alongside Pheon now and then since her childhood, than with the unfamiliar Duchess, the butler breathed a sigh of relief.
He hadn’t liked how the Duchess still hadn’t settled on a head chef and kept cycling through them, but if even she was saying this, it seemed the temporary cooks were quite capable after all.
‘No need to worry about selecting a head chef.’
Among all the burdens weighing on him, the butler mentally struck the head chef issue from his list. He couldn’t trust the Duchess’s discernment, but if Beatrice Lavalle, the flower of the Kline Empire’s social world, said so, that settled it.
“Why’d you change the head chef?”
“Well, there was an unfortunate incident, if you know of it.”
“Ah. That incident’s already all over Kline.”
All over Kline! The butler bowed his head sharply in an instant. What a disgrace. How could this happen! Fresh irritation and fury boiled up toward those who had forced the Turbéry on the Duchess. To besmirch Lüsenford’s name!
“It’s shameful. Deeply shameful and mortifying. I can’t even show my face.”
“So that’s why the head maid changed?”
“Yes. That woman was the ringleader…….”
Beatrice furrowed her brow at the butler’s words. He assumed she was simply voicing displeasure over the incident, but in truth, she found it a headache.
‘Doris was so convenient.’
The former head maid, Doris Windgood, had jumped at her every word. She’d taken great pride in having known Beatrice since childhood—the girl who had blossomed into a formidable force dominating Kline’s social circles.
But the new head maid was a complete stranger to Beatrice. And with Pheon not even setting foot in the dining hall today, her position could only narrow further.
“Was it that serious? Is the Duchess…… very upset?”
Best to tread carefully with her words for now. The atmosphere felt off no matter how she sliced it, so even if unwelcome, Beatrice resolved to uphold courtesy by her own standards.
“The doctor said her whole body had swollen up, blocking her airways tight. We thought it was a funeral procession when she arrived. She still needs the utmost care.”
She’s up and about just fine—what care? Beatrice grumbled to herself.
Anyone could see Pheon was avoiding her, and it infuriated her that the Duchess was the excuse. And on top of that, the humiliation she’d endured today. The butler pitying her was humiliation enough.
‘Who does she think she is…….’
She’d thought she’d climbed the ladder carefully, step by step, always minding those above. But somewhere along the way, something had gone wrong, and everything flipped. Then, as the Emperor had told her when he sent her off, she had to set it right.
Go do what you’re good at and come back.
Seated alone at the table, Beatrice chewed and swallowed her bruised pride and sense of humiliation alongside the crisp, sweet apple pie.
Apple pie! Rustic, ugly peasant food! Beatrice inwardly sneered at Lüsenford and the Duchess for serving something like this as dessert.
“Miss, shall I bring another plate?”
“Uh, sure.”
Well, it brings back old memories. Nice, in a rustic way. Beatrice polished off the second plate clean as well.
*
In Lüsenford Castle’s dining hall—spartan on a good day, bleak on a bad one—while Beatrice ground her teeth, the Grand Duke and his wife sat pressed close together at the bedroom table for the first time, heads bent near, sharing their meal.
Pheon took pleasure in watching his wife eat, serving her more and urging her to have just a little extra. With the distance closed between them, they could converse more easily too.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel counting the silverware today as well.”
“Yes. With more eyes about, we should be cautious.”
As expected, Kaella simply nodded.
“How’s the newly appointed head maid? Satisfied with her work?”
“Mrs. Sirenster is a woman of clear principles and keen judgment.”
She had deliberately brought her in based on her grasp of Lüsenford’s situation before her death, and the new head maid proved humble yet highly capable.
“But she clashes a bit with the butler, so that worries me some.”
“Nothing to worry about. We’ll put our heads together again and sort it out. Like this.”
Like this? Kaella gazed at Pheon, who tapped the haphazardly arranged table—bread, soup, meat dishes all freely placed—and grinned.
The Ostein ducal chef would sigh if he saw the Lady casually setting her own table again, far from any notion of propriety.
It reminded her of their childhood, when he’d pack a picnic basket, lay out a spot, and cut small pieces of soft, crisp blueberry pie or ham-and-cheese croissants for young Kaella.
Yes. That was how it used to be.
“It’s just like when we were children.”
Kaella lifted her eyes to Pheon.
“We used to go on picnics together often back then. You’d only eat your sandwiches cut small.”
The big ones always spilled filling everywhere, so he couldn’t eat them properly and stuck to dainty tea-time finger sandwiches.
And yet he’d sneak envious glances at the big sandwiches Pheon and Beatrice ate—it had been adorable.
Unable to voice his longing, he’d just stare, and Pheon would feign defeat and slice off some of his own share for him. Kaella’s face lighting up as she took it had been a delight.
“Ah…….”
But his words drew an awkward response from Kaella.
Distant even before marriage, she now treated him stiffly, as if she held no memory at all of their once affectionate playtimes—was it a recollection she’d rather not dwell on? Pheon’s heart sank belatedly.
Well, for Kaella, who’d had only her seven-years-older brother to play with, it might not have been a fond memory. She’d always been the one chasing after him, and he hadn’t played properly with her much.
Then, even before his regression, had she never truly liked him? Had his sense that Kaella cared for him been nothing but his bloated ego’s arrogant delusion?
“I must have been such a bother to you.”
For her part, Kaella thought the Pheon she’d reunited with after death had changed so drastically that she had no idea how to keep pace with him.
Before her death, throughout their marriage, he had treated her like a complete stranger, with no trace of childhood memories. So it felt profoundly strange for him to bring up the past first now.
“No. You were cute. Adorable.”
Kaella, blinking her wide eyes at his words, was just as cute and adorable now.
She had followed him devotedly as a child, but now, at an age when she understood the world, why would she take interest in someone seven years her senior? The age gap alone kept Pheon from daring to approach her.
Kaella’s youth, more radiant than any jewel, must not be squandered. There must never again be an unjust death at such a tender age because of a cowardly, feeble husband.
“It was a delightful meal for once.”
He spoke neatly and rose from his seat. They were to part ways regardless, so boundaries must be maintained. He had to chain down the mad impulse raging to cross that line.
“Good night, my lady.”
Pheon quelled his longing to linger and forced himself to stand, departing the bedroom.
Cool night air enveloped him the moment he stepped out. With his wife now in his bedroom, he made do with a makeshift cot beside the office.
Working late into the night and sleeping on an uncomfortable pallet was familiar to him as a soldier. After his regression, he scarcely registered the discomfort. He had to endure. Only through endurance could he protect her.
And yet, apart from that, his senses sometimes sharpened to needless acuity. Pheon detected light footsteps ascending the corridor opposite the Grand Duke’s bedroom.
Beatrice Lavalle had no choice but to use the Duchess’s bedroom tonight. Loath to cross paths with her, Pheon swiftly departed the area before the Grand Duke’s door.
“Rolph!”
Even in his office, Beatrice’s call for the butler rang clear.
“Where’s Pheon?”
“Ah, at this hour, he’s likely in the office.”
And unlike his tone with Kaella, the butler’s voice brimmed with kindness toward Beatrice—every word of it carried through thick walls and doors and dozens of stairs.
Post-regression, his binding no longer held, leaving his senses not just restored but hypersharp; moments like this proved useful. Instead of settling at his desk, Pheon rose and headed for the bath.
“I should wash up.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He deliberately tuned out any pull toward the Grand Duke’s bedroom and evaded Beatrice. The moment he reached the bath, the office door creaked open.
“Pheon? ……Not here. Where is he wandering off to?”
He knew all too well. Beatrice was relentless. Her desires burned fiercely, and she’d do anything to satisfy them. She was dead set on seeing Pheon tonight, come what may.
‘Such a nuisance.’
No—infuriating beyond nuisance. He was master of this castle, yet here he was, dodging an intruder.
But he was absolutely determined not to meet Beatrice alone. He wouldn’t fail as a husband again, sullying Kaella’s honor as he had before his regression.
Towel draped loosely over his shoulders, he sank into the tub and swept his hair back. Was Kaella bathing now too? The water warm enough? She had to be careful not to catch cold.
“Rolph! Pheon’s not in the office?”
“Ah, he’s in the bath right now.”
“Where?”
Pheon sighed at the ceiling. He could only hope Kaella would soon dismiss this butler who failed to discern friend from foe and blabbed every trivial detail of the Grand Duke’s movements to outsiders.
After all, he was a husband who had entrusted everything to his wife. He intended to give her his all and live with nothing left for himself.
No time for idle soaking. He washed quickly, wrapped himself in a large towel, and emerged from the bath. He dodged Beatrice by the barest margin.
“Pheon? ……Damn it, he’s gone.”
Her voice rang bright when calling his name, but turned vicious the instant she realized he was absent.
She hadn’t glimpsed him since dinner, and with the shift in circumstances, she must be frantic. But still—to barge right into a married man’s bath? Was she in her right mind! What on earth had she been up to beyond his sight!
“……Ah.”
Pheonsloppily dressed, groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. Water dripped from his damp hair, but he hadn’t the mind to dry it.
Before his regression, how much hardship had Kaella endured in corners he never saw?
The banished former head maid, Doris Windgood, had grumbled that the Duchess was so demanding she kept cycling through maids, but surely those maids had been the problem. He should have looked into even such petty matters. Had he done so, then Kaella—and ‘now’……
“Pheon?”
Leaning against the wall in his unbuttoned white shirt, towel slung around his neck, Pheon turned to face Beatrice, who had tracked him down at last.
“Ah, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere.”
“Why are you looking for me?”
His flat tone drew a brilliant smile from her.
“Because I missed you.”
“Too late. Good night.”
No—may you have nightmares, at least. Pheon muttered perfunctorily as he moved away. Good night was reserved for Kaella alone.
“S-sleep? Already?”
Beatrice stammered in sheer disbelief.
The flower of high society—the queen who ruled it—was here, and he simply said sleep? She’d seen him in nothing but shirt and trousers despite the chill and thought her chance had come; she’d even steeled herself to cross the line they’d never breached before, and now sleep?
What had gone wrong?
“Pheon, it’s been ages since we last met. We should catch up, swap stories.”
She laced her voice with deliberate allure and edged closer, but before her pale hand could reach him, Pheon was already well away. He wasn’t even listening to her, plainly.
“Where are you going?”
Before the pursuing Beatrice, he seized the Grand Duke’s bedroom door and flung it open.
“Where do you think?”
Battle-forged muscles on full display, he glanced down at her with cool eyes.
Moonlight spilled through the corridor windows, gilding his wet hair, bold brows, refined eyes, firmly pressed lips, bared throat and chest, and chiseled abdomen.
His lean frame brimmed with muscle and raw masculinity alone. Beatrice’s throat went inexplicably dry.
“To my wife.”
And in the next instant, Pheon stepped through the open door. It shut with a firm thud right before Beatrice’s eyes.
