Chapter 3: The Wedding
Matthias squeezed his eyes shut.
Ibel hesitated.
“Isn’t this enough… already?”
“Well… um… it might be better if we looked a little more intimate. The family atmosphere would improve too…”
What more does he want?
Ibel turned to Victor with a pleading look, only to grow even more puzzled.
He was covering his face with a large hand, laughing lowly.
“So what Matthias means is…”
“……?”
“To do something like this.”
Victor lifted the corner of his mouth and naturally wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her close.
Thud.
Her body fell against his solid shoulder without resistance.
Victor felt a pang of trouble at the fragrant wildflower scent wafting from her as he looked down.
“Can you endure this much distance?”
His handsome face and firm body were too close.
Even Ibel couldn’t help the blush blooming across her cheeks like flowers.
“There, that’s it. Cherry bark syrup. Drink this, and the cough should ease up. It has brandy in it, so don’t give it to children.”
“Thank you! To think you’re so versed in pharmacy…!”
After saving a child’s life in front of countless people, rumors had spread to every noble household in the area.
Word that Ibel was a capable doctor.
Of course, a “real doctor” wielded a rusty knife to amputate limbs or practiced bloodletting, but that was the way of the capital.
In these rural parts, a doctor simply meant someone skilled with medicines.
And now that the pharmaceutical lab Victor had built was complete, visitors never stopped coming to the Bayern estate.
“Next.”
Ibel, dressed in clean white garments, called softly, and a lady entered with a sniffling child in tow.
Ibel picked up a bottle of sweetly boiled horehound syrup and offered it.
“I boiled it as sweet as possible so the child won’t hate it. But they might still refuse—it’s awfully bitter.”
“Thank you! I’ll make them take it somehow!”
This sort of medicine was something any family’s personal physician could make. Even households could brew it with enough herbs.
Yet people came all this way because they believed she had some mystical power.
I don’t, of course.
Truth be told, it was common—even recommended—to carry a potato in one’s pocket and claim it had drawn out joint poisons when it rotted.
So it wasn’t strange that they believed her “Ibel-brand medicine” held near-miraculous power.
Of course, since I make it cleanly, their faith isn’t entirely misplaced.
Medicines made in filthy conditions were naturally overrun with germs.
Invisible things that sickened people, but undoubtedly real.
Believing in germs, Ibel always disinfected and kept her lab spotless.
“Um, my father’s legs have been bothering him lately. I heard snake oil helps—do you sell it?”
Ibel nodded to the noblewoman probing cautiously.
“Only if it’s real water snake oil. There are so many fakes—better to catch the snakes yourselves and make it.”
“Ah…! Then, do you have anything good for skin care? It’s been so dry and rough lately…”
“Try applying this before bed. It’ll protect your skin.”
“Thank you!”
What Ibel handed over was Vaseline.
A remedy that wouldn’t trend in that distant land for years to come.
Ibel had used Vaseline supplied on the battlefield.
Others ate it instead of cold medicine or slathered it on wounds, but having witnessed countless cases, she knew.
Vaseline simply prevented moisture evaporation and blocked external intrusions—a moisturizer, nothing more.
It should help with skin care, at least.
With her memories, making it wasn’t hard.
Refined petroleum was a slight issue, but what couldn’t the Bayern ducal house obtain?
“Absolutely don’t eat it. It’ll upset your stomach.”
“Yes, yes! Thank you!”
Today’s patients ended here.
Time to tidy up and head to read to Damian.
“Autumn’s coming, so I’ll need more wild cherry bark. Coughs will pick up, so elderberry and wine too… elm bark would be nice.”
Ibel murmured softly, pencil scratching away.
All herbs she’d request from the steward.
“Ma’am, Miss Cecily Bethel says she’s returning to the capital now.”
“I see. No need for me to see her off—the steward can handle it.”
“Yes.”
Handing over simple paperwork to the steward, Ibel stretched as she turned away.
Two weeks until the wedding.
Guests would soon arrive from the capital or elsewhere, so it was a relief to have an uninvited guest leave.
Ibel didn’t know Cecily Bethel’s true aim, but if it was bringing that “Leo” here… she’d succeeded and was departing, as expected.
The new servants start tomorrow.
One problem out, another in.
She brushed off the tapping at the windowpane and cleared her mind.
Ibel’s nature was to not dwell on non-urgent matters.
“Damian. Been waiting?”
Three p.m.
Knocking at the promised time, she entered to find the boy looking up sharply from his sweet potato pie.
Anselm was absent as usual, and Banya was wiping Damian’s mouth.
“Ungh, ah!”
“Sweet potato tasty?”
“Ung!”
“Alright, what book today?”
Damian never tired of repeats.
Seeing it as his charm, she sat, and he toddled over, offering his pie bowl.
He’d habituated to forks now—hands spotless.
“Such a good boy. Even knows to share.”
Patting his head, he beamed.
Banya bustled with books, adding, “To think you can converse with young Master Damian like this. Banya finds it miraculous every time.”
“He’s clear on what he wants to say. Just expresses it without words.”
“Still. It’d be wonderful if our young master started speaking soon.”
“Don’t rush him. He’ll open up in time.”
Banya seemed amazed at her patience.
As she opened the book, Banya smiled warmly. “Lately, young Master Damian gets fidgety at two-thirty, hoping you’ll come early. He even paces by the door.”
“That’s a good sign.”
Smiling, she read expressively, sentence by sentence.
Banya watched, then pattered out.
Interviews for tomorrow’s new hires loomed—heavy responsibility to staff properly for the wedding.
At that moment, Victor was at the Eberstein Residence.
Two reasons.
One, a long-awaited friend had heard of the wedding and come to attend.
The other… to procure proper wedding gifts.
“This Kokoshnik dates back a century to the Rascia Empire’s Brokabucho Dynasty, worn by the queen consort herself. Finest velvet encrusted with thousands of diamonds. Perfect for an engagement gift.”
In the Eberstein family’s drawing room, a jeweler stood before the beaming couple.
Victor, seated at the head, scanned the array of gifts.
This capital jeweler dealt only in rarities.
A collector of treasure-grade pieces, sold only to worthy buyers.
His full collection here signaled utmost sincerity.
“It has value. Next.”