Joyful Year-End - 6
The moment I stepped back into the mansion, the butler was there to greet me. I hadn't said a word about when I'd return—how had he known to wait?
"The servants have been taking turns standing watch for you, Master. It just so happened to be my turn when you arrived."
"You really didn't need to go that far."
A laugh slipped out at the surprisingly crude, airtight method. If you didn't know when someone was coming back, you simply waited until they did. I'd completely forgotten something that obvious.
I gave the butler a clap on the shoulder and headed for my room. He fell into step behind me and delivered a brief report.
"I've shown the guests to the rooms you used to occupy."
"Good work. Somewhere a little familiar will help."
"And I took the liberty of introducing Lady Margeta to the mansion's facilities."
At that, I glanced back at him. Going beyond a simple room assignment to a full tour of the grounds meant treating her not as a guest, but as a member of the household.
"Isn't that a little early?"
"If anything, it's late. If Her Ladyship were planning to put the wedding off for a few years after graduation, that would be one thing."
I nodded at the butler's firm reply.
That was out of the question. Margeta was already locked in combat with the urge to drop out of the Academy; telling her "the wedding can wait a few years" might make her faint on the spot. And after that would come the Iron Blood Duke's wrath.
"I intended to introduce the others as well, but I couldn't determine the order, so I held off."
The next report made sense too. Anyone could see Margeta was first wife—but between Luise and Irina, he had no way of knowing who came next, so he'd stopped.
Back when I was drunk on madness and spouting nonsense about a joint wedding, it might not have mattered. Now, the marriage order—the order of wives—had to be observed. Of course the butler would want to guide them in sequence.
"The second isn't either of them."
But the butler was mistaken. Luise and Irina were not second and third.
"Ah, is that so? A pity. I'd hoped to pay my respects in advance."
"You saw her last time. The Demon Duke."
The footsteps following me halted for a beat.
"…I see. I'd momentarily forgotten."
He resumed walking as if nothing had happened.
"Haha. It was a chaotic day, I'll give you that."
"An unforgettable one."
Anyone who had seen the Demon Duke that day would never forget her.
Shoes kicked off, slumped on the floor, weeping without a word, covered in scrapes and falls. Even I had been shocked by how wretched she looked.
I would make sure nothing like that ever happened again. If it did, rumors of a violent husband might start circulating.
"Ah—is Luise in her room?"
Shaking off that grim future, I turned back to the butler. Ring Number Two had been successfully delivered; it was time for Number Three to take the field.
And from the butler's reaction, it seemed they were already treating Luise as a lady of the house. The more they did, the more it would eat at her. Being called mistress by the servants would make her happy—but every time she remembered she still hadn't heard my answer, the sadness would return.
"She is in the kitchen, sir. She said she wished to bake some snacks for the staff."
The butler's expression was quietly warm. The idea of the exalted lady of the house preparing something for the servants clearly pleased him.
"Even if it isn't to your taste, eat it with gusto."
"If any remains for me, I shall."
Both of us laughed at that.
One person baking, many mouths waiting. With snack-killers like Yuris and Sophia around, the butler's share would be vanishingly small.
The moment I arrived at my older brother's mansion, I could barely contain the flutter in my chest.
Thanks to the young lady, touring the Ulken Duchy had been a delight—but the sudden trip to Ulken had been for her engagement to my brother, so I'd had to restrain myself to some degree.
No matter how much I loved wandering about, I wasn't about to make a racket at a time when the young lady's entire future hung in the balance.
After that period of involuntary self-restraint, stepping into my brother's mansion felt wonderfully free.
"Attending the ladies who will become the mistresses of this house… I find myself a little nervous."
And the butler's words brought not only comfort, but joy.
Of course they regarded the young lady as the lady of the house. My brother's relationship with her had never been formally announced, but the truth had long since spread in whispers. She even wore a ring on her finger.
I, by contrast, had neither ring nor answer from my brother. Hearing his servants call me mistress under those circumstances could only make me happy.
…And if my brother's servants were treating me as the lady of the house, didn't that mean they had already received some word from him?
It's possible.
Yes. They must know something—that was why they were treating me like a mistress. Surely the servants wouldn't go around calling some random person mistress without confirming their master's wishes.
The last shred of anxiety melted away at that thought. The fact that not only the young lady but Irina and I had been invited to the mansion in the first place was a positive sign as well.
Thanks to the servants, my heart grew calm. I wanted to repay the people who had soothed me, even a little.
"Um, Butler?"
"Yes. Please speak freely."
I asked the smiling butler carefully.
"Would it be all right if I used the kitchen?"
It was a pitifully small repayment. I was still just a baron's daughter who had inherited neither title nor land; I had nothing of substance to give.
Still, preparing even a single thing was better than offering nothing at all, wasn't it?
Fortunately, permission to use the kitchen was granted. Or rather, I was told to use it as freely as I liked without needing to ask anyone—so "permission" wasn't quite the right word.
In any case, the kitchen was vast. I'd seen it a few times last summer, but it still drew a gasp every time. How had my brother acquired a mansion like this?
"If you need any tools or ingredients, please tell me at any time."
"Ah, yes. Thank you."
"Please speak more casually. Receiving formal speech from someone of your standing leaves me at a loss."
I offered an awkward smile to the chef's booming laugh.
Chef…?
I'd seen him before, but every encounter felt brand new. That build—and he was the chef? People said you shouldn't judge by appearances, but this man was…
Bulging muscles, sun-browned skin, a height pushing two meters, a head and beard shaved bare in the name of extreme hygiene. No matter how you looked at him, he belonged in a novel as a mercenary, not a chef.
Whoa…
And every time the chef moved, the muscles in his arms writhed as if they had a life of their own.
Just what did "chef" mean in this household? Did it mean the person who went out and hunted the ingredients himself whenever meat was on the menu? My brother's standards were high.
"I look a bit rough, don't I?"
"Ah, no. Not at all."
I hurriedly shook my head at the chef's broad grin.
It wasn't a lie. He didn't look a bit rough—he looked extremely rough.
"Haha, thank you for saying so, at least. Still, I know my own face well enough. The little ones start crying the first time they see me."
Two faces immediately sprang to mind—the brown-haired maids who stuck together as if they were one person.
Even the other servants clearly adored those girls. They were diligent and good-natured besides.
And even they had cried in front of the chef… I see…
"I had a hard time coaxing them with cake after that."
The chef said it cheerfully, but I flinched. The image of a ferocious giant luring terrified little girls with cake had flashed through my mind.
No, no—stop that. He only looks fierce; inside he's an ordinary person. Holding prejudices like this is rude.
"…The butler said that when he saw it, he thought he'd better call the guard."
"Ahaha…"
I could only smile at the chef, who seemed a little deflated. So everyone else had felt the same way I did.
Still, the conversation eased my tension toward him a little. I now knew he was only strange on the outside.
"I've talked too long. Anyway, I've made all sorts of things over the years, so the servants here are used to desserts. No one particularly dislikes sweets, so please bake as much as you like."
"Yes, thank you."
"Haha, not at all. You're making them for us—we're the ones who should be grateful."
With that, the chef turned to get back to his own work—
"Ah, I almost forgot to mention something."
He came back and whispered quietly.
"The master will eat almost anything, but he never touches cookies."
"…What?"
I stared blankly at the chef, unable to make sense of the words.
What was he talking about? My brother had always eaten cookies—and everything else—just fine…?
When I reached the kitchen, the usual giant filled my view. A thoroughly good-natured bald man, unlike a certain other bald man who lived somewhere far less pleasant.
No—the chef had shaved his head of his own free will, so it was more accurate to call it a fashion choice. As for Section Chief Three, whether his fell out or was shaved off was none of my business.
"Chef."
The moment I called, the chef reacted from all the way across the room.
"Oh, Master!"
I gave a light wave as he strode over. He grinned wide enough to show every tooth and bowed deeply at the waist.
…Has he gotten bigger?
Looking at the bowed chef, I felt a sense of dissonance. His frame seemed larger than last time. Was he still growing?
A remarkable talent. No matter how I thought about it, he was a man who ought to be thriving somewhere other than a kitchen. But he himself had chosen the kitchen, so…
"It's been too long, sir!"
"Ah, right. Looks like you've been doing well too."
"All thanks to Master's grace—I've lacked for nothing!"
Having a giant bellow right in my face made my ears sting a little.
But what could I do? That sky-piercing spirit was the chef's defining trait.
"By the way, Luise—"
"Ah, she's over there, sir!"
Looking past the chef—our resident gaze-tank—I spotted Luise's back in the corner. She was kneading something with focused energy; mid-work, then.
"But Master… I believe I may have made a mistake with her."
An unexpected remark. I turned my eyes back to the chef.
"A mistake?"
"Yes, Master."
Seeing him nod with slightly deflated energy, I could only tilt my head.
On the outside the chef was a wild mercenary through and through, but inside he was a gentleman of this age, filled with consideration and warmth. The household even joked that Enen had accidentally put a gentleman's soul into a beast's body.
And Luise was the type to laugh off most things. Even if the chef had truly made a mistake, I doubted she would mind.
"Tell me. I'll decide if it was a mistake after I hear it."
"Well—"
And then came the chef's long-winded explanation. While I was half-listening with one ear and letting it out the other, the crucial sentence leapt out.
"—so I told her that Master never touches cookies. It would be sad if she worked so hard and you didn't eat any, wouldn't it?"
A bitter smile rose at that.
Come to think of it, I hadn't said a word about it to Luise. No—not just Luise. I hadn't given a proper explanation to anyone except Margeta.
"I-I really have made a terrible—"
At my reaction, the chef's face went white.
"No, it wasn't a mistake. My tastes changed after I went to the Academy. I eat cookies just fine now."
I clapped him on the shoulder, and only then did his expression ease. Realizing he hadn't been rude—merely working with outdated information—must have put his mind at rest.
Really, for all his bulk he was far too delicate. That was probably why he had settled so firmly into the kitchen.
"It's nothing, so don't worry about it. If you go and apologize, it'll only make things more awkward."
"Yes, understood."
I sent the repeatedly nodding chef back to his post and approached Luise, who still showed me only her back.
Right. Today I was going to answer her confession.
The answer might run a little long—but it was a process I had to go through.