Chapter 85
Chapter 85
Translation: godsn
Mark Evers followed his master with a hint of bewilderment.
Though he had worked at Arvis for many years, rising from a mere servant to an attendant, this version of Duke Herhardt was decidedly unfamiliar. To be so distracted before such an important banquet hosted for the Crown Prince and his consort—it was as if his mind was elsewhere entirely.
When Matthias stopped walking ahead, Mark Evers instinctively halted as well. The Duke was staring out through a corridor window that overlooked the garden where the sun was lazily setting, and the path leading to the forest behind the mansion.
At the edge of that path, a lone figure was walking. A petite woman carrying something in her arms.
Leila.
The name flashed through Mark Evers' mind, but he remained silent, waiting without prompting. In that stillness, Matthias gazed at the scene framed by the window for a long time.
Leila had returned.
Perhaps coming back from the market, she held a large brown parcel in her arms. It looked quite heavy, but her stride was no different than usual—her neck and back straight, her steps light and spirited.
Leila had returned.
As Matthias turned this insignificant fact over in his mind, his stiffened shoulders gradually relaxed. Without ever looking back, Leila continued steadily on her way, her single braid swaying in rhythm with her steps.
Matthias's gaze, which had followed the hem of her coat and skirt fluttering in the wind before settling on her birdlike-thin legs, now rose to the hair swaying behind her back and lingered there. Upon closer inspection, he noticed Leila was hunching her shoulders tightly. Only then did it occur to him that the weather was quite cold today. Though there was a bus that ran to the edge of the village, Leila usually chose to walk unless she was riding her bicycle.
So she must have walked. Carrying that heavy thing, through the icy wind, foolishly.
Matthias finally tore his eyes away from Leila's retreating figure and resumed walking—down the crimson-carpeted corridor where the window's shadow fell, back into his own world.
Yet the image of that woman walking alone down the winter path at dusk stubbornly refused to leave his mind. The brighter the mansion's lights grew, the sharper the memory imprinted in his mind became. And the nameless emotion it stirred came with a sensation like a tiny thorn lodged in his throat.
"Ah, Duke Herhardt, you've arrived!"
As he entered the drawing room where the banquet guests had gathered, Claudine approached him with evident delight. Matthias impassively offered his arm as she naturally took her place beside him. The eyes of the conversing guests gradually turned toward the pair.
"I was starting to worry something had happened—you're never this late, after all."
Claudine, standing with her arms crossed, feigned a look of concern.
"Preparations simply took longer than expected."
"Oh, is that all? What a relief."
Claudine smiled sweetly, then bestowed an easy smile upon the faces watching them as well.
Her seamless reintegration into the drawing room's atmosphere was flawless, without a single misstep. There was no doubt Claudine would make the most exemplary mistress the ducal house could ask for. Matthias willingly acknowledged this fact.
So why, at that very moment, did that face come to mind?
As Matthias slowly surveyed Claudine's face—now engaged in conversation with his grandmother, mother, and the Crown Princess—his gaze eventually halted on the flickering fireplace at the far end of the drawing room.
Matthias still knew exactly what a perfect marriage entailed. A marriage that required no unnecessary expenditure of emotion, serving as a stepping stone to further solidify the world of Herhardt. That was the marriage he knew, the marriage he had been taught, the marriage he was meant to uphold. Claudine von Brandt was the most suitable match for that purpose. He knew this well.
But was that enough?
An unfamiliar doubt abruptly surfaced. By the time the chandelier's light pooled in Matthias's narrowed eyes, Hessen arrived to announce the start of the banquet. The guests rose and, following convention, paired off as they proceeded to the dining hall.
Matthias escorted Claudine down the staircase. Thanks to the rushed repairs of the generator, the grand chandelier—one of Arvis's proudest features—now radiated its full splendor in the banquet hall. Beneath its dazzling light, the lavishly set table awaited the guests, adorned with silverware, cutlery, ornate candelabras, and centerpieces arranged in perfect harmony.
Before taking his designated seat, Matthias slowly surveyed the frescoes decorating the high ceiling, the chandelier, and the portraits lining the walls in succession.
He was the master of Arvis, and thus all of this belonged to him. Yet the woman who should have been Duchess Herhardt was walking down a frigid path toward a dilapidated cabin in the woods, her slender shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.
Just as the image of her—sitting alone before a meager table—rose vividly over the opulent banquet spread, Claudine called to him softly.
"Your Grace."
When their eyes met, Claudine gestured subtly toward the chair before her.
Matthias understood the implication, yet he remained still for a moment longer, gazing down at his fiancée. How absurd that Claudine—whom he had known since childhood and would soon wed—suddenly felt like a complete stranger.
"Your Grace?"
Claudine frowned slightly and called him again.
With a barely perceptible nod of apology, Matthias smoothly pulled out her chair as if nothing were amiss. Relieved by his usual graceful demeanor, Claudine regained her smile and took her seat.
Thus began the grand banquet.
The crown prince and his entourage departed after five days.
On the day of their send-off, all the servants of Arvis lined up before the mansion. Leila stood at the very end, just as she had during the welcoming ceremony. Though the heightened security made coming and going slightly inconvenient, she felt a twinge of regret now that the boisterous visit was ending.
Throughout the crown prince's stay, the Duke had not sought her out even once—as if he had scrubbed her name from his mind entirely. Thanks to that, Leila had been able to return to her peaceful days, as though nothing had happened. Just Leila of the Remmers.
Perhaps... he had truly grown tired of her.
A threadlike flicker of hope made her heart flutter.
When she thought about it, his obsession had never made sense from the beginning. Maybe it was simply because he couldn't have her. Perhaps he couldn't bear the thought of something in this world being beyond his grasp, and so he had been determined to seize it no matter what.
Yes. That must be it.
Leila was certain now. Having toyed with her to his heart's content, it was only natural his interest would wane. How long could such a proud man endure a woman who so steadfastly despised him?
What a relief, Leila thought with quiet solace.
Just then, the Duke abruptly turned his head.
Before she could avert her gaze, their eyes met.
It wasn't for long. But both Leila and Matthias knew—clearly, unmistakably—that they were looking at each other.
An odd sensation prickled through her, and Leila lowered her trembling gaze. When she looked up again, the Duke had resumed his usual demeanor, exchanging farewells with the crown prince. Claudine stood beside him.
Once the send-off concluded and the prince's procession departed Arvis, the Duke escorted Claudine back into the mansion. Sighs of relief from the servants, their tension finally easing, drifted through the halls.
"Delaying the wedding was clearly a mistake. Look—Lady Brandt already carries herself like the Duchess," one of the maids whispered as she watched them go.
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the group, each adding their own remark. Meanwhile, Leila quietly turned away.
As she stepped onto the forest path leading to the cabin, her heartbeat quickened. Just the thought that she might finally escape that man lightened her steps, as though heavy shackles had fallen away.
If the Duke—who had erased Leila Lewellin from his memory—were to marry, she could leave this place with Uncle Bill. Somewhere far, beyond the reach of his recollection, where they could start anew. Even if she couldn't return to exactly the same life as before, it would be alright. She would just work harder. Then someday, even the nightmares he had given her would fade.
Buoyed by hope, Leila moved about more diligently than usual. She did the laundry, cleaned, and even baked jam cookies for the first time in a while. As she gazed at the perfectly golden-brown cookies, the memory of that freezing day when she had groaned and scraped together coins to buy flour sold at a pittance for just one day faded clean away.
Though the boisterous atmosphere had settled, Leila's day in the forest cabin remained as peaceful as ever. She munched on a plateful of cookies while reading a book and wrote replies to letters from friends checking in on her. A visitor arrived unexpectedly just as she was sealing the last envelope.
"Leila!"
It was her talkative but warm-hearted neighbor, Mrs. Mona, with her hearty voice.
"Yes, ma'am!"
Leila answered cheerfully and hurried outside. As always after a grand party, Mrs. Mona had come bearing a large basket brimming with food.
"I was worried you wouldn't bother with meals since you're alone, but look at you—such a capable young lady now."
A pleased smile spread across Mrs. Mona's lips as she stepped into the kitchen, where the sweet scent of cookies lingered.
"It's all thanks to you, ma'am."
Leila smiled back and set the basket down at the edge of the table.
While Leila busied herself preparing tea as if it were the most natural thing, Mrs. Mona took a seat and slowly surveyed the surroundings.
It was she who had taught Leila how to cook. Though her hands were as small as maple leaves, Leila had followed along skillfully and, before long, had become quite the competent homemaker. The warmth in this cabin's kitchen had begun with her.
Over sweet treats and tea, the two chatted as they usually did—mostly Mrs. Mona talking while Leila nodded and laughed along.
"You've really mastered baking cookies. You're ready to get married now," Mrs. Mona exclaimed with a touch of exaggeration after taking a bite of Leila's cookies.
"Oh, Leila, since we're on the subject—about Kyle..."
"I've gotten really good at baking cakes lately, ma'am. Next time, try some and tell me what I'm missing."
Just as Mrs. Mona was about to broach the topic, Leila abruptly steered the conversation elsewhere, her expression so earnest and innocent it was as if perfecting cake recipes was the most important thing in the world.
"Well then, I'll have to come by sometime to taste this cake of yours."
Though disappointed, Mrs. Mona sensed the girl's reluctance and decided to let it go. Everyone was dying to know why there had been no progress between the two youngsters now that Kyle was back, but she had no intention of prying open Leila's wounds.
Instead, Mrs. Mona launched into complaints about the mansion kitchen, which had been bustling nonstop to cater to their high-profile guests, and the finicky palates of the noble lords. Her tone grew heated, fueled by layers of pent-up frustration.
"Just when I thought we could finally relax, the Young Lady Brandt had to stay behind, didn't she? What's the point of lingering at Arvis when the master isn't even here?"
"Has the Duke left the estate?" Leila asked cautiously.
Mrs. Mona, having polished off two cookies in quick succession, nodded dismissively.
"Something about business, I think. Anyway, he left for a neighboring city for a few days. After His Highness the Crown Prince departed this morning, the master had a quick lunch and set off right after."
For some reason, the news of the Duke's absence brought a flush of delight to Leila's cheeks.
"The Young Lady Brandt claims she's staying to discuss trousseau matters with the Duchess, but that's just an excuse. The two ladies dote on her so much they want to keep her close. What a thorn in our side she is—I've never met a young lady with such a picky palate!"
After lamenting at length about the woes of serving a Duchess with such exacting tastes, Mrs. Mona finally took her leave.
Once the door clicked shut, Leila returned to the table and plopped down into her seat. A single cookie, left behind by Mrs. Mona, sat alone on the plate.
Leila picked it up and took a bite. The crisp sound melted into the air, mingling with the floating motes of golden light.
A sweet relief spread through her, carrying the certainty that peaceful days would continue.
Thank goodness.
She brushed the cookie crumbs from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled.
Thank goodness. Truly, thank goodness.