Chapter 90
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 90
It was the voice of Norman, the butler.
Theodore rose from his bed without haste. Pulling his loosely draped robe tight, he opened the door, and bright light spilled into the dim room. The Duke narrowed his eyes, waiting for them to adjust to the glare.
"What is it?"
"These are documents that require your immediate attention, Your Grace. They arrived via express courier."
Theodore checked the seals stamped on the envelopes Norman handed him. Demures, Lanval, Serbe… They were all reports concerning his overseas businesses. Moving to his study across the hall, Theodore walked straight to the console and poured himself a glass of amber whiskey. He needed something strong to clear his head.
"Would you prefer a different drink, Your Grace?" Norman asked, watching him with an anxious expression. The butler held the stubborn prejudice that whiskey was a vulgar drink fit only for the lower classes.
"This is fine."
Theodore let the strong liquor burn slowly down his throat. The sharp, searing sensation washed away the lingering trace of Vanessa's touch on his lips.
Holding his glass, he walked over to his desk and broke the seals on the envelopes. In that brief moment, his relaxed expression settled into a cold, businesslike mask.
His eyes were calm as he scanned the documents one by one. The glow of the gas lamp cast a smooth sheen over his slightly bowed, broad shoulders. After a long silence, he finally picked up the fountain pen on his desk. His signature was swift and concise.
"Everything is proceeding smoothly. Hand this list to Edgar tomorrow. Tell him to scale back our foreign investments until the year after next and focus on domestic enterprises."
"What about the situation in Nort? They still seem to be facing difficulties. I hear port entry and exit permits are hard to come by. The newly appointed minister seems to be taking a hardline stance."
"Send word to Assemblyman Dudley tomorrow morning. An invitation to dinner should suffice."
"Understood, Your Grace."
Theodore sat back and reviewed the remaining documents. Meanwhile, Norman quietly cleared away the empty glass and replaced it with a cup of steaming hot tea.
"Will there really be a war?"
The old butler's voice trembled, a rare lapse in his usual composure. Theodore asked without looking up from his papers.
"Are you afraid?"
"It doesn't feel real yet, Your Grace. I can only assume you have your reasons for rushing these matters, even at a loss."
"…"
"And perhaps… I wish to believe that even if war does break out, it will pass us by."
Theodore did not answer immediately. A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the rustle of turning pages and the scratch of his pen. Only after reviewing the very last page did the Duke look up, neatly stacking the papers.
"Trassen's ultimatum will not be accepted."
Norman realized a beat too late that this was the answer to his question.
"The Grand Duchess has already been assassinated, and Feyetre is in no position to pay such massive reparations. Their national treasury is in far worse shape than the public realizes."
"…"
"War is inevitable. With both sides backed by their respective allies, it will quickly escalate into a global conflict. Erman, in particular, will be more than eager to jump into the fray."
Theodore leaned back in his chair, resting his chin on the back of his hand. All the reports he had gathered—from public newspapers to classified intelligence and secrets that must never be made public—pointed to a single, unavoidable conclusion.
Autumn at the earliest. Winter at the latest. The war would begin.
"Within ten days of war being declared, the Trassen-Erman alliance will march to the border of Rabia. Like wolves eyeing a fat sheep, they will demand passage through to Feyetre. When they are refused, they will use that as a pretext to declare war on Rabia as well."
"…"
"And unfortunately, Ingram is allied with Rabia. Which means our entry into the war is guaranteed, Norman."
Rising from his chair, the Duke walked back to the console and refilled his glass with whiskey. The war itself was not the issue. The only issue was ‘Battenberg.’ With Erman set to become an enemy state, his family name was far too Ermanian, far too foreign. A lineage that, when traced back to its roots, originated from the ducal house of an enemy nation.
He would, of course, prove his patriotism by fighting, but the King's greed knew no bounds. Using the excuse that there was no suitable heir to inherit the Battenberg legacy, the King had once again tried to force a woman upon him.
"Morton's son is dead. He was only fourteen—a tragic riding accident. Because of it, Hailey Morton is poised to become a very wealthy heiress. The man who marries her will inherit everything Morton owns. I would like that man to be you."
"…"
"If you are truly averse to Morton, there is always your mistress. Though I cannot guarantee the House of Somerset will even retain its title by the time the war begins."
Bringing up Somerset was a blatant display of power, a warning that the King was watching his every move. Ever since Theodore had annulled his betrothal to the Princess and vanished into the south, effectively erasing his tracks, the King's scrutiny had grown increasingly relentless.
Had Theodore tolerated this petty, transparent surveillance because he lacked the power to stop it? Hardly.
In truth, it was like a game of cards where both players already knew each other's hands. There was no reason for him to lose his composure.
"I shall handle the matter appropriately, so Your Majesty need not be concerned."
The King had looked at him then as if gazing upon a prize too precious to yield to anyone else, before adding pointedly:
"Without the proper title and reputation, you can prove nothing. If you marry the Princess, no one would dare suspect you of treason. But you know this better than anyone."
That was undoubtedly the sole reason the King had summoned him to the palace with such urgency. Since the King could not break a deal already struck, he was trying to maneuver him back into place. Theodore let out a weary sigh.
He couldn't go to war without being betrothed to a suitable family. Most of Battenberg's enterprises were based in Ingram. In an era where nobles were expected to fulfill their duties, refusing to fight meant abandoning one's honor. And without honor, the family had no future.
The calculation was simple, and Hailey Morton was merely a better option than the Princess. Somerset was unsuitable in every aspect. Theodore had no desire to choose a tedious, complicated path when a simple solution lay before him.
If marriage was an unavoidable chore, it was far better treated as a business transaction. After all, what tragedy had his parents' marriage—which had begun with genuine affection—ultimately descended into? A dry, humorless smile touched his lips. A horrific grave.
"Then what shall we do about the newspaper article?"
"Publish it as scheduled. In two days, you said?"
"Yes, Your Grace. I will see to it."
The old butler, who had bowed politely, spoke up again as if suddenly remembering something.
"And… we have received word from 'that side.'"
"Ah."
"We have successfully recovered all the investment certificates that were pawned at the gambling dens for a pittance. The cost was well within your estimates, Your Grace. It has been settled."
"Are those the receipts?"
Norman nodded, placing a thick stack of papers on the desk.
"I hear they are looking for a buyer for the titled land. It seems they intend to take the cash and flee to Nort."
"What is the exact scope of the sale?"
"Every last acre owned by the family. Some of the plots are already heavily mortgaged. In fact, half of Gloucester Castle is already in someone else's hands."
"Will there be any issue in securing full ownership?"
"None at all. Our representative has already made contact. Once the finer details are ironed out, we should be able to finalize the transaction by the end of the day."
"See to it. And station more guards around her."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Your Grace." Just before closing the door to leave, the old butler called out softly. Theodore turned back, setting his glass down on the console.
He could read the conflict on Norman's face. A clash of deep-seated emotions—loyalty chief among them—sent a faint tremor through the old man's weathered features. Just as Theodore began to wonder what was troubling him, Norman smoothed his expression and straightened his posture.
"It is nothing. I shall see you tomorrow."
* * *
Her mind was hazy. She had no idea how much time had passed. Unable to shake off the lingering cobwebs of sleep, Vanessa rubbed her cheek against the pillow. A sliver of amber light leaking through the crack in the door pricked at her eyelids.
From beyond the closed door, muffled voices drifted in. Amidst the low, murmuring conversation, Vanessa recognized a familiar voice. River… no, the Duke. It was his voice. The conversation seemed to flow from business matters to the impending war. And then…
"…which means our entry into the war is guaranteed, Norman."
Norman. The moment she caught the name, her eyes snapped wide open.
“Actually, there was someone who contacted me before I received your letter. A man named Norman… Is that someone you know?”