A Motherly Welcome and Hidden Materials
“Is that so.”
“His name is Louis Pasteur. The problem is that he's from Franche.”
“We should bring him here before war breaks out. Understood.”
No, the real problem was that in 1868, he would collapse from a cerebral hemorrhage.
He might continue his research, but he wouldn't have the strength to come all the way to this remote Bayern territory.
If I could change Dr. Pasteur's environment, maybe I could prevent him from ending up half-paralyzed.
Victor waited silently for Ibel to finish her deliberations. He was tired from lack of sleep, it was true, but strangely, looking at her face made the fatigue feel distant.
He wanted to hold onto this moment a little longer.
A stolen glance at her, with no one else around—just him alone.
Absorbed in her thoughts, Ibel paid no mind to anyone nearby, and he liked that about her.
Call it excessive self-awareness if you must. Victor had always received the same treatment wherever he went. People were overly conscious of him, overly attentive, overly deferential.
The only ones who didn't were those of similar station.
And even among them, gazes composed purely of goodwill were rare.
Lucas, perhaps.
Otherwise, it was wariness or envy—one or the other.
The fatigue was the same.
But Ibel was different.
The one who had made him wait until his dying breath was Ibel alone, and now, revived, it was still Ibel alone.
“I'll need a lot of rosemary pots. I haven't taken over interior management yet, but may I have your approval?”
She had slipped back into her stiff, military tone, a sign she was deep in thought.
Whatever she was pondering, Victor welcomed any change to this stifling mansion—there was no reason to refuse.
“Do as you wish.”
“Thank you.”
Should I try monkshood? But the toxicity is too strong. If I refine it properly... No, still not safe for the children...
Muttering to herself as she walked ahead, Ibel suddenly stopped.
She had realized she'd left Victor behind.
“Ah, Victor.”
“I'm fine. You go on ahead.”
“Ah, um, alright then...”
Victor let out a soft chuckle as he watched her hesitate for a moment before briskly turning away.
Being abandoned by a lady was a first in his life, too.
* * *
By the time Ibel had grown accustomed to the Bayern residence, she finally paid a visit to the Eberstein family.
On a day when summer rain moistened the earth. Stepping down from the carriage, she spotted two figures waiting at the entrance and widened her eyes slightly.
“Come in, come in, my dear. The weather's so dreadful... I should have told you to come tomorrow. You didn't have too hard a trip, did you?”
Colonel Konrad von Eberstein's wife.
Mrs. Eberstein had an incredibly kind face.
Her eyes crinkled downward, and her plump figure inspired instant fondness.
Ibel offered a gentle smile to the woman, who clutched her hand like a flustered girl.
“Not at all. Thank you for the warm welcome.”
“No, no—thank you for becoming my daughter. With the weather like this, is it humid and hot, or chilly from the rain? I couldn't decide, so I set two parlors to different temperatures.”
Ibel had heard as much, but she hadn't expected such meticulous hospitality.
She lost her daughter in an accident and suffered from depression and neurasthenia.
Dabbing at her tearing eyes until her handkerchief was ruined. Seeing this, Ibel silently offered her own.
She couldn't act like a real daughter, but she could manage this much.
“I'm sorry, I shouldn't be like this... I'm just so happy.”
“It's alright.”
The sniffled a bit longer before brightening and peppering her with questions.
“Do you like ginger cookies? Butter cookies? You're a grown lady, so maybe not too fond of sweets? What about pies? I make a mean meat pie. We'll have that later—it's in the oven now.”
“Sounds good. Cookies... I hardly remember eating them, but I like them.”
“Good heavens! Marie! Fetch the cookies at once!”
The emotions on display from Mrs. Eberstein were threefold.
Joy and bitterness. And a fear of rejection.
Every word trembled with how long she had waited for this moment.
I wonder if having a mother who loves you feels like this.
Something she'd never know in her lifetime.
In her memories, her own mother was always drunk, babbling nonsense before collapsing—a daily routine.
Well, no need to see her anymore.
If possible, she never wanted to lay eyes on her again.
Munching on teddy bear-shaped ginger cookies, Ibel shared more stories—favorite colors, favorite flowers, and so on.
Unable to join the ladies' conversation, Colonel Konrad fidgeted until he went off to play cricket with Victor.
Glancing at her husband, the giggled and squeezed Ibel's hand tight.
“My dear. If you ever fight with your husband, come straight here. Understood?”
“I will.”
“Don't catch cold out there, or overheat. If your heart feels stuffed up with nowhere to vent, come to the Ebersteins. I'll make sure my girl is happy, come hell or high water.”
A frost settled over her girlish face for an instant as she spoke softly.
A chilling resolve that she wouldn't forgive whoever dared make Ibel unhappy—not even if it was Victor.
Of course. No one who was purely sweet could conquer high society like this.
The conversation soon turned to the wedding dress and venue.
“The ceremony will be at the Bayern residence—may I help with the decorations?”
“Please do. Preparing a party that grand alone would be too much for me.”
Producing paper and a fountain pen, the beamed and began sketching ideas. Her drawing skills were impressive, so Ibel leisurely watched, nodding affirmatively to each question.
It was a fake marriage anyway—what she wanted didn't matter, as long as it befitted the Bayern prestige. Better to let an expert take the lead.
With Mrs. Eberstein—not Genevieve—in charge, Victor's goal of “restoring household discipline” would proceed smoothly.
Whatever happened, she'd be out front.
“I have a question. Has anyone in the Eberstein family ever had the coughing sickness?”
“No, never in Eberstein.”
“Then, could you tell me what building materials you used?”
The unexpected question startled the.
“Hmm, granite, I think? I'm not sure—let me call my husband. Marie! Fetch the master!”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Cricket took four to six hours even for a short game. But Colonel Konrad dropped it immediately at his wife's summons.
“Good grief, you're soaked. Rainy weather like this, and you play cricket? Men...”
The two drenched men said they'd wash up and vanished again. Thus, Ibel learned the Eberstein residence's materials an hour later.
“The Eberstein house mixes limestone, sandstone, and granite. Mostly oak for the wood.”
“Hmm.”
As Ibel pondered, Victor spoke lowly.
“The Bayern residence is the same. Built around the same time. Except...”
“Except...?”
“One difference: years later, the Bayern walls—second-floor interiors—were lined with fireproof material imported from the Rom Empire. Not everywhere, only bedrooms and vital areas where fire mustn't spread.”
Ibel heard this for the first time. Imported fireproof material?