RAMHM Chapter 24

Is That Enough to Forge a New Relationship?

"Did you visit the Trovika Grand Ducal Estate again?"

Crown Princess Doris's sharp voice cut across the lamp-lit bedroom. Crown Prince Bardenaldo, who'd been removing his outer garments with a servant's help after returning from an outing, looked surprised to see her in his bedroom, then smiled pleasantly.

"My dear."

"Answer me."

"I was just about to wash and head to the Crown Princess's palace, actually. Didn't I ask you to be careful about bursting in without notice like this? People are watching."

"How long do you plan to maintain separate bedrooms? And is this bedroom yours alone?"

"Legally, yes—which is why I'm mentioning it."

Bardenaldo replied with an apologetic smile, eyes crinkling. He dismissed the servant who'd brought water for washing, dipped his hands in the warm basin.

Doris's expression was extremely displeased. "Legally"—one of Bardenaldo's verbal habits she hated most.

"You seem quite close with the Grand Duke these days."

"The Grand Duke is involved in every matter of this nation, large or small……I can't keep requesting an uncle in mourning to attend court, so I must go to him. As his nephew, it's right that I visit frequently during this difficult time."

Uncle, my foot. How much blood did they really share? Doris twisted her lips.

"You're also aware my father and the Grand Duke's relationship isn't very good lately."

"My dear, I know it's unfortunate for Duke Castanya, but as long as His Majesty lives, cooperating with the Grand Duke—his strategist—is crucial for me as well."

Bardenaldo removed his tunic shirt, dried his wet hands on it, handed it obediently to the servant. Contrary to his gentle face, a well-maintained, solid body was revealed.

"What grand hospitality do you receive in a residence without a mistress that you come and go so shamelessly? You may be in mourning, but you're still the Crown Prince of Ronteaux. Even if the Grand Duke is His Majesty's strategist, is there any guarantee he'll become your strategist later? You know well my father is called the ruler of the West? Since the Second Prince keeps handling the western troubles, his reputation there pierces the sky. Do you understand what that means?"

"My dear."

"I'm saying the strategist you should be meeting frequently isn't the Grand Duke—it's my father. The Grand Duke already swore loyalty to His Majesty, he's already your man—leave him be now. Don't make my father, whose trust you need to earn, feel slighted."

"…I'll keep that in mind."

Bardenaldo, suddenly caught awkwardly between uncle and father-in-law, muttered weakly. Doris shifted to a different topic.

"Just as rumors circulate about the Second Prince being a rake, rumors are spreading that the Crown Prince is a…'sodomite.' Are you aware of that?"

Bardenaldo's face went deathly pale, turned toward his wife. Doris approached, fingers playing suggestively with the ties of her silk nightgown. Bardenaldo stood there staring blankly, then startled—swept past approaching Doris toward the bed. Doris trembled with surging humiliation.

"Is the reason you're so anxious because of such absurd rumors?"

"What?"

"If you want, I could prove otherwise, but…"

Doris was flabbergasted. A married couple approaching their fifth year. Absurdly, aside from that first night she couldn't even remember, they'd never once consummated their marriage. How exactly would he prove anything? She stared silently at Bardenaldo, who blushed and fidgeted.

"I don't want you to strain yourself trying to bear an heir and…"

"I'm not that fragile."

"My mother, Empress Letina, was healthy too until she bore Rhodness."

"That's……!"

"She was even healthier before bearing me."

Bardenaldo seemed to recall his long-dead mother, his eyes suffering for a moment before his shoulders drooped. He climbed onto the bed, then indicated the space beside him with a gloomy face.

"I want my delicate wife to remain by my side for a long time."

'Are you inviting me or refusing me?'

Always like this. The thought that Crown Prince Bardenaldo might be sterile or a sodomite—that came from Doris's own head, not others' mouths. Who would want to lie in the arms of a man with such a dying face?

'So weak……when I need to solidify my position by producing an heir!'

"I'm tired. I'm going back. Remember what I said, Your Grace. My father greatly dislikes losing investments. At your upcoming birthday celebration, show everyone who truly leads the Crown Prince's faction."

Her pride thoroughly wounded, Doris actually tightened her nightgown ties and snapped at him. Bardenaldo's face held only awkwardness as he watched Doris storm out.

The very next day after visiting the Grand Ducal Estate, jaw-droppingly gorgeous items arrived at the Count's residence. Head maid Marge and the old butler stood stunned at the entrance, watching people carry in obviously expensive fabrics. I stood on the stairs, looking down coldly at the endless procession entering through the door.

"Madame Leblais……!"

Yona's eyes beside me grew enormous. Madame Leblais, center of the capital's fashion, had personally visited the residence. Those who'd only seen her employee Matheus blinked like Yona, unable to believe the famous Madame Leblais had personally visited this cramped Count's residence.

"Good day, Countess Bliea Acacia."

Madame Leblais bowed lightly at the entrance, looked up at me standing on the stairs. I wore a hat with a veil draped over my face—the kind used only for outings. Leblais smiled at me, clapped her hands—clap clap—directing the employees who'd entered with her to set up for the guest. I watched busy Leblais, then descended slowly toward them. My face half-hidden, Yona stuck close to me, escorting.

Madame Leblais saw the lady's hat and thought, 'Is she very shy?' while recalling the person who'd sent her. Grand Duke Novian Trovika. The Emperor's half-brother. Young leader of the Crown Prince's faction, called the Emperor's strategist. A man with cold, cynical charm who, according to gossip and rumors, had devotedly cared for and loved his sick wife—this era's romantic.

Madame Leblais, never dreaming Bliea Acacia was his mistress, seemed to think of it as a kind of benefit granted to a vassal, smiling sweetly. Neither tall nor short. Face half-hidden, but from the glimpse of nose, lips, jawline—clearly quite a beauty. A pleasing figure with shapely shoulders and a slender waist. Most impressive: that upright posture. That elegant gait. The madam's smile deepened at the inspiring form.

"Everyone withdraw."

"Pardon?"

Matheus, who'd been sweating nervously as if guilty of something, was first to question. Countess Acacia twisted her lips in a smile, waved her hand dismissively as if annoyed. When Yona, who'd placed her hand on the stair railing, took the other servants toward the dining room with Marge, only Leblais and the lady remained.

"You're late, Madame."

"Excuse me……?"

At Leblais's puzzled expression—she'd been wearing a mask-like pleasant smile—the lady's lips curved thinner as she glanced where Matheus had disappeared.

"I've been doing business consistently with Madame's atelier for the past year…"

"Yes, we're always grateful."

One customer among many, truthfully, but since a butler from the Grand Duke's household had personally ordered this visit, Leblais answered politely, even bowing. But what she heard was low laughter. Laughter? Leblais's head snapped up. The Countess was laughing, making the veil before her face flutter.

"I understand Madame's business acumen is quite good, but your employee management is so negligent—it's very regrettable."

"Madam, forgive me, but did one of our employees make some mistake……?"

A polite answer, but with slight conviction that her employees couldn't have. Bliea Acacia unrolled the invoice she'd been clutching in one hand, then pointed with her other hand at a dress from Madame Leblais's collection displayed in the main hall. Leblais received the invoice with a bewildered expression at the bottom of the stairs, walked toward the dress she'd indicated.

"Oh my, oh my goodness, what is this!"

"Madame's precious reputation is being sold for pennies."

"If only you'd told me sooner……!"

Leblais—situation assessed—gripped the invoice as if about to crumple it completely, trembling. Shaking.

"I apologize, Madam."

Madame Leblais bent at the waist nearly halfway without complaint. More than humiliation, her first thought was sincere apology for the customer who'd received a dress with inferior gems due to her carelessness.

"It's been quite some time since Madame's employee said he'd take personal responsibility…"

"I'll compensate the full amount."

"Rather than that…"

The young Countess walked—step by step—toward frozen Leblais. Not one waver in her steps.

"I'd like to forge a new relationship going forward."

"Of course, Madam!"

If the Grand Duke personally paid attention to a family, then House Acacia, despite its faint presence, couldn't be ignored. If this Bliea Acacia whispered anything to the Grand Duke or the woman who might become the new Grand Duchess someday—

'The reputation I built over twenty years will crack!'

Damn Matheus! Leblais bit the soft flesh inside her mouth, followed Countess Acacia settling onto the main hall sofa. The lady casually flipped through the catalogs her employees had already set out, her hand passing several books to reach the one at the very bottom. She shoved away all the catalogs brought with the Countess's taste in mind. Countess Acacia swept aside all those "excessively" garish outfits she used to wear, tapping several designs from a catalog closer to a modest lady's taste.

"Ma, Madam……."

Leblais, who'd been noting diligently, spoke up in confusion. That catalog she'd brought just to round out the selection—those weren't current styles. If they suited anyone, perhaps the deceased Grand Duchess.

"The styles capital ladies prefer these days are over here……."

The lady laughed softly—hah—not even glancing at the catalog being gently pulled forward.

"I know best what suits me."

Leblais's eyes shook violently. She'd once seen a young lady say something similar. Come to think of it, the way she sat, how she held her fan……inspiration struck. Leblais sketched dresses rapidly on her notepad. Not today's style that revealed more than half the chest, but necklines cut just enough to show some décolletage, shoulders bare but sleeves encasing arms in clean, falling lines—not billowing. Skirts not mercilessly puffed front and back, but moderately full. The late Grand Duchess Adrienne's preferred style, transformed to match Bliea's original aesthetic.

"What about a style like this?"

"Mm……."

"This was the style the late Grand Duchess Trovika favored."

Leblais stroked the sketch she'd just drawn like her own child, then continued.

"She had such upright posture and elegant beauty—I wanted to make her my muse, but her illness deepened and she rarely ordered new clothes. I was disappointed."

"Is that so?"

The elegant lady watched Leblais's genuinely regretful face for a long moment, then slowly lifted the veil covering her face. Leblais, whose eyes had been welling with tears from her own emotions, went wide-eyed. Round. Her expression froze as she faced the lady, then her face cracked slowly—splitting.

"Well, how should I put this. The atmosphere is strangely different, but if my eyes aren't mistaken, Madam, you and the Gr-Grand Duchess Trovika are very, very……."

"Similar?"

A leisurely smile. The sensual feeling of this woman was slightly different from the Grand Duchess Trovika that Leblais remembered, but the facial structure, features, eyes—even the light within those eyes—

'It's not just similar!'

"Yes, yes……yes, yes!"

The two hands she'd clasped as if in prayer were gently enclosed by the lady who'd moved closer, perched at the chair's edge.

"Is that enough to forge a new relationship?"

The young, beautiful lady's sensual smile was enough to melt her heart slowly—softening.

"Yes, yes!"

For Madame Leblais, fallen into creative stagnation, a perfect, healthy muse had been resurrected and come to her.