Suspicion Over Breakfast
The next day's breakfast was held in the dining hall on the first floor of the ducal residence.
Ibel, who had changed into an indoor dress the moment she opened her eyes, strolled down the corridor, savoring a small shock.
It's so dark! And it's morning already!
No one drew the curtains or opened the windows.
When she asked Eloi, the girl explained that they aired out the rooms very briefly at the height of the sun's ascent, then closed them right back up.
Are they cheering for the mold to thrive or something?
Tsking her tongue, Ibel arrived at the dining hall, which was at least somewhat brighter since the curtains there were open.
"Did you sleep well, Ibel?"
"Yes. I don't even remember falling asleep."
She had been so exhausted that she'd passed out like she was under a spell.
As she sat dazedly waiting for her soup, Genevieve appeared not long after. The twins... were predictably absent.
"Oh dear, the days are getting hotter and hotter."
With that opener, Genevieve glanced sidelong at Ibel before heading to her usual seat.
The position to the left of the family head was reserved for the household's elder.
This seat is still mine.
That thought brought her some satisfaction, allowing Genevieve to regain her composure.
She had tossed and turned all night, her nerves still frayed, but she couldn't leave that young upstart—who knew where she'd come from—with Victor alone.
Who knew what plots they might hatch?
Besides, Victor's change was surely all because of this young woman. He was still at an age when his blood ran hot.
"Good morning."
"Yes, have you recovered from your fatigue?"
The greetings flowed smoothly at first. The lack of honorifics was irksome, but... Genevieve's position was indeed ambiguous.
She held no independent title, no profession. She wasn't the lady of the house, nor could she be called "madame" through marriage.
Knowing that, Genevieve let it slide despite her displeasure.
In the meantime, Victor quietly drew the salad bowl at the table's center toward him.
In most ducal households, a servant would handle even this, but he disliked excessive fussing.
"Anselm is confined to the grounds, and Damian's condition is poor, so he's taking his meals in his room."
With that, Victor served Ibel's plate first, omitting the kohlrabi since he knew she disliked it.
"Understood. You're not starving them, are you?"
"Of course not. Anselm will eat in my room as well."
Genevieve listened silently to their exchange, her eyes flashing.
How much influence did this woman—whose family she couldn't even identify—hold over Victor? That was the most pressing question for her.
"Of all people, Anselm had to cause such a scene! I hope you weren't too startled."
With that lead-in, Genevieve feigned sweetness and continued.
"No injuries, I trust? It would break your parents' hearts if a marriageable young lady bore scars."
Well? Now tell me who your parents are. Let's see your pedigree.
Spoon in hand, Genevieve froze at the response.
"No issue at all. It was just a child's prank—what's the big deal?"
A prank? Shooting a steel pellet was just a prank?
Tsk tsk.
Genevieve clicked her tongue audibly and raised her voice.
"As expected, you don't know how to handle children. I'll have to teach you a thing or two."
"I'd welcome the lessons, but for matters involving the children, I'll wisely seek your guidance as their stepmother in due time."
"What?"
Stepmother? No, more than that—declaring ties to her own family so boldly.
Too flabbergasted to know where to begin, Genevieve gaped.
"I don't care for long talks at mealtime, so... may we eat now?"
Having waited patiently, Ibel tilted her head toward the pumpkin soup before her. Victor, observing the scene, struggled to suppress a laugh.
She truly was remarkable.
Ibel had always had a knack for unintentionally landing knockout blows.
"I'll address what Aunt is most curious about. Ibel is the adopted daughter of the Eberstein family."
"Eberstein? Does that mean Lady Eberstein has a second child?"
"Indeed. Now that your curiosity is sated, shall we continue our meal?"
Nothing had been resolved at all!
From Genevieve's perspective, anyway.
But with an outright "let's eat" instead of some elegant noble signal, pressing further would only embarrass her.
Good grief. He's utterly bewitched. At any rate, I must send word to Lady Eberstein immediately. An adopted daughter? The woman who secluded herself in grief over her lost child—what's her game?
Victor's marriage was a massive disruption to her peaceful life. She couldn't just sit idly by, so Genevieve rose hastily, barely touching her food.
If Lady Eberstein was meddling in Bayern affairs, she needed a stern talking-to before the wedding.
The Bayern household was her domain—keep out.
After breakfast, Ibel decided to tour the estate grounds to aid digestion.
Victor had work and headed straight to his study, but she wasn't so delicate as to need an escort everywhere.
Besides, she wasn't entirely alone.
"I'm Dawson, the gardener. Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise."
Dawson removed his worn straw hat, revealing a middle-aged man with a lush beard. The deep laugh lines around his eyes spoke of his cheerful nature.
Following him, she inspected several peach trees, apple trees, and lemon trees.
Not a single pest mark on any; they all thrived vibrantly.
There was a small vegetable patch nearby, with a rabbit hutch close by—they fed the rabbits straight from the garden, he said.
"His Grace instructed self-sufficiency within the estate, no matter what. A short walk from here is the vineyard, which I also tend."
"You handle all that alone?"
"I have some helpers. During peak seasons, we hire hands from the village."
Of course—it was far too much for one man.
Whoosh.
A distant breeze rustled the grape leaves. Beneath them, summer grapes gleamed fresh, ripening perfectly for autumn.
The sunlight pricked at her eyelids, but even that felt good.
Surrounded by the scents of wildflowers and grapes, she felt a quiet happiness.
"Um, I heard from my daughter. The young masters played another prank, but you protected them..."
That was when it happened.
Dawson hesitated, then broached the subject. He bowed his head deeply.
"Thank you. Eloi is my only daughter, and hearing the story filled me with gratitude."
"Parents all feel the same. I only did what I could—no need to dwell on it."
So Eloi was Dawson's daughter.
Filing away the new information, Ibel wandered leisurely through the vineyard.
Yesterday's incident had been chance, but if the rumors leaned positive... winning over the maids wouldn't be hard.
The incident occurred just as she finished her walk and headed back to the mansion.
"You must go inside now, young master... Aaaagh!"
"Grrrrrr!"
The entrance hall grew noisy, and what Ibel witnessed was a mud-caked boy savagely biting a servant's forearm.
The silver lining: the servant who'd just tumbled wore a leather guard on his arm.
"Grab the second young master, everyone!"
"Don't let him get away!"