The Lady Spits Out Her Water
I loved visiting the Valencia Ducal Mansion.
The most important reason for visiting was, of course, to see Rebecca — but that wasn't the only reason I kept coming back to the ducal mansion.
There was one more: the fact that the evening meals at the Valencia Ducal Mansion were simply extraordinary.
Now, this wasn't to say the chef at House Zernias couldn't cook. When I'd sat down to my first meal at the count's estate after transmigrating into this world, I'd actually been shocked by how good it was. Since House Zernias hadn't existed in the original novel, I hadn't expected much in the way of cuisine, and I'd been genuinely moved by the chef's skill, which shot my expectations clean out of the sky.
But even a house with such a talented cook was no match for the Valencia Ducal Family.
Ever since the day I'd come to see Rebecca and ended up accidentally scoring a dinner out of it, I'd made a habit of staying for the evening meal whenever I visited the ducal mansion.
"...Why do you insist on having dinner here every single time?"
Rebecca always looked at me with open disapproval whenever I joined them for dinner.
"Oh, come now. He's family in the making — what's wrong with him staying for a meal?"
"...Mother."
It was the Duchess who always took my side on those occasions, which meant I could finish my dinner in perfect peace of mind.
"Young Master... have my dishes truly become distasteful to you..."
Because I ate at the ducal mansion every visit, I did have to endure some bitter resentment from Charles, the chef of House Zernias. I'm sorry, Charles. But the chefs of House Valencia are practically the best in the Empire.
Anyway, that was how things had gone — a pleasant dinner every time I came to see the Lady. Until today.
"..."
"Lord Albert, why aren't you eating? Is the food not to your liking tonight?"
Today's pleasant evening had vanished somewhere far, far away.
***
"You usually eat with such gusto. I take it tonight's meal doesn't suit you? I'll fetch the chef at once—"
"No, please. It's quite all right. My stomach is simply a little off."
As the Duchess rose from her seat as if to summon the chef that very moment, I hastily waved my hands and stopped her. It wasn't the dinner that was the problem — it was my situation.
'...I really should have just gone home.'
The truth was, I hadn't planned on staying for dinner at all today. After getting caught in that mortifying scene by the Duchess earlier — who in their right mind would want to sit through a full meal after that?
And yet, much as I hadn't wanted to stay, I'd had no choice.
"Leaving already? Stay for dinner, as usual."
"I'm perfectly fine—"
"Sending my son-in-law home without so much as a meal is no role for a mother-in-law. Sit and eat."
The Duchess had hammered it in like nails.
We were technically still only engaged — no son-in-law, no mother-in-law yet — but under that sharp, pointed gaze of hers, which seemed to promise bloodshed if I didn't obediently finish my dinner, I had no option but to politely remain at the ducal mansion.
'...I think I'm starting to see where Rebecca's temperament comes from.'
It felt as though I'd uncovered the secret behind the Lady's insufferable personality.
And I wasn't the only one suffering through this dinner.
"..."
Rebecca, who usually ate with such appetite, was barely touching her food either. The Lady, it seemed, was just as eager to escape this table as I was.
"...Thank you for the mea—"
She tried to excuse herself without so much as finishing her plate, but—
"Rebecca, you've hardly eaten a thing."
"..."
Sit. Down.
The Duchess had her by the ankles, and there she stayed.
And so the excruciatingly awkward dinner dragged slowly on, until—
"I heard a rather amusing piece of news today, you know."
The moment I'd been dreading had finally arrived.
"It seems our daughter gave her fiancé a kiss?"
"..."
Silence.
There was nothing Rebecca and I could offer in response to that interrogation but silence. I felt like a defendant standing trial before the bench.
"I couldn't quite believe it, so I thought I'd go see for myself... and would you look at that."
"..."
I knew exactly what came next. So did Rebecca. Because we had both made direct, unbroken eye contact with the Duchess.
Because we had locked eyes with her and stood frozen like statues for a full twenty seconds.
Which meant I could more or less guess what was coming out of her mouth next.
"And there he was, kissing our daughter."
Pffft.
The sound of water being sprayed across the table came from the chair across from mine. Rebecca had apparently been gulping down water to soothe her throat as the words drew closer and closer — and the moment they actually landed, she simply couldn't hold it in.
"I was quite astonished, I must say."
Yet the Duchess didn't spare so much as a glance at her own daughter spitting water across the table. Whether the position of Duchess had made her this way, or whether she'd simply always been like this, there was no way to know — but one thing was certain.
Escaping this spiderweb of an interrogation was not going to be easy.
"I never dreamed you and our daughter had already come that far."
Well, obviously. We haven't.
It was just a forfeit from a chess bet, for crying out loud. That was what I was dying to say — but claiming we'd played penalty games at eighteen was embarrassing in its own right, and frankly, the atmosphere the Duchess was radiating made it dangerous to simply declare we weren't that kind of couple.
"So then. When will the two of you be getting married?"
Pffft.
This time, it was me who spat out the water.
The Duchess ignored that spray as well, and I wondered if I'd misheard — so I asked again.
"...Did you say... marriage?"
"I did. Marriage. You and Rebecca are both of a certain age now — surely it's time you started thinking about it?"
Pffft.
Once again, the only sound that reached my ears was someone across the table spraying water.
"...Mother?"
The word marriage, appearing out of nowhere, was apparently just as flabbergasting to the Lady. We were both far too young to be contemplating so momentous a matter. We hadn't even had our coming-of-age ceremonies yet, let alone our debutantes. Marriage, already? It seemed unbearably premature.
"What's the matter? I was married to your father when I was seventeen, you know."
"..."
"At your age, if anything, I'd say you're late."
The Duchess clearly did not see it that way at all. But if I let that remark stand without objection, I had a terrible feeling she'd be picking a wedding date before dessert. So I spoke up.
"Duchess... forgive my presumption, but neither the Lady nor I have yet held our coming-of-age ceremony or our debutante. I believe marriage would be somewhat premature."
Rebecca, apparently thinking along the same lines, was nodding her head vigorously from across the table.
However—
"Is that so? Then once you've both finished your debutantes and coming-of-age ceremonies, there should be no harm in holding the wedding immediately."
It had been a trap. One of the Duchess's making, all along.
As if she had predicted my exact words, the Duchess picked up the thread without missing a beat.
"You can both have your debutantes this spring... and since Lord Albert was born after Rebecca, we'll hold the wedding directly after his coming-of-age ceremony concludes."
"..."
'...She had this all planned out from the start, didn't she?'
My earlier premonition had apparently been dead on. The thought that the Duchess probably already had a wedding date circled somewhere.
"No objections from either of you, I trust?"
"..."
When you ask with a face that says object and I'll remove the objection, how exactly is anyone supposed to answer yes, I object?
The words climbed all the way up my throat — and I lacked the courage to let them out.
Honestly, I had never attached that much significance to marriage myself. Whether it was because I'd never been married in either of my lives, or because I was in love with Rebecca, I couldn't say — but ever since I'd learned I was engaged to her, I'd simply assumed, vaguely, that someday the wedding would come.
'But still...'
What worried me was what Rebecca thought.
We'd grown a little closer lately, sure — but the first time she'd ever laid eyes on me, she'd asked what the hell I was staring at with that unpleasant look on my face. Beyond that, she had made it abundantly clear, with her whole being, that she wanted to break off the engagement.
If the Lady still felt the way she had back then, things were guaranteed to become extremely awkward. I did love Rebecca — but I had no intention of forcing her into a marriage she didn't want.
And if Rebecca still wished to end our engagement, then... well. It would sting a little, but I'd let her go. Letting her go and wishing her a happier life than anyone else's would be the best I could manage.
Rebecca's expression upon hearing the same news was utterly unreadable. If her distaste for marrying me were written plainly on her face, at least I could give up early. Pull back early, put distance between us early. But of course, the Lady chose this of all moments to maintain her flawless poker face.
Just as my mood was sinking into a low-pressure front of gloomy thoughts—
"Which reminds me, Lord Albert."
"Yes?"
That was when the Duchess dropped her bombshell.
"Stay the night at the Valencia Ducal Mansion tonight."
"...I'm sorry?"
"In Rebecca's room, naturally."
"...Mother?"
The Lady and I both stared at the Duchess with the exact same dumbstruck expression on our faces.