Lavish Betrothal Gifts and the Suspicious Gardener
This meant he intended to buy it.
The jeweler, thrilled, brought out the next set.
"This is a necklace and earring set, along with a tiara, used by a noble family in the 1700s. Sapphires of this quality are rare even today!"
What did betrothal gifts from a noble family signify?
They were assets legally recognized as a noblewoman's personal property even in divorce.
Even if she was cast out without other assets from her husband, she kept the jewelry—earrings, necklaces, and the like—that she had received as gifts.
Noble ladies driven from their homes for various reasons sold such jewelry to survive.
And the pieces that fetched the highest prices were usually the gemstones given as betrothal gifts.
They were that precious.
In a way, betrothal gifts were a noblewoman's final lifeline.
The extravagance and quality of what she received even gauged how much her husband loved her.
Ibel had no interest in such vulgar implications, but the Bayern gifts couldn't possibly fall short of other noble houses.
"We'll take that one too."
He nodded, his gaze shifting to the next item—a birdcage made of gold.
Curiously, the jeweled bird wasn't inside the cage.
It perched atop it, wings spread majestically.
"This was a gift for a certain princess's fifteenth birthday..."
"I like the symbolism. Include that as well."
Just the betrothal gifts alone had already exceeded twenty billion.
Plus a two-story house in the territory and a modest townhouse in the capital.
And for Ibel alone: a four-horse carriage and four plump white horses.
Naturally, they planned to hire a dedicated coachman for her convenience at any time.
All told, it came to roughly thirty billion.
An extravagant gift beyond even what the current Richter queen had received.
Ibel, of course, knew nothing of it.
"Your daughter will be overjoyed."
Mrs. Eberstein smiled warmly as Victor handed over the check.
"She wants to visit every day but holds back, worried she'll be a bother."
"She can come in three days. Ibel will be pleased. With the wedding preparations keeping everyone busy, your help would ease things for her considerably."
"Oh my! Thank you for saying so. I just hope I won't be in the way."
Mrs. Eberstein beamed, practically bouncing with joy at Victor's ready agreement.
Her adopted daughter, regained in her later years.
She fretted constantly—would she break if squeezed too hard, or fly away if startled?
Her hesitation to visit often, lest she intrude when Ibel was busy or wanted rest, made her seem just like a real mother.
That must be why Ibel smiled so much around Colonel Eberstein and his wife.
"Madam, perhaps you should rest now. You seem feverish—your delicate health can't take this."
"Ah, yes. Getting old has its downsides. Gentlemen, please continue your talk. I think I'll lie down as he suggests."
The maidservants, well-trained, swiftly assisted the gracefully rising lady from the drawing room.
Once she had gone, leaving the two men alone.
Victor shed his earlier soft, warm demeanor and spoke slowly.
"Lucas."
"He'll arrive soon. The timing should be about right."
"Very well. Care for a cigar?"
"Yes, sir."
The colonel, reverting to military mode, cut Victor's cigar first and offered it, then lit it. After cutting his own, he glanced toward the window.
"It's been a while since I've seen his face. I'm curious what amusing news he's brought from the world."
"Indeed. Lucas turns feral if he can't travel."
Victor's tone carried an odd nostalgia, as if reminiscing about someone he hadn't seen in over five years, but the colonel let the impression dissolve in the cigar smoke.
How long had the two waited in silence?
Before the butler's polite knock could finish, a boisterous voice rang out.
"Victor! Uncle! I'm back!"
A man with long, dark golden curls—even upside down, he screamed playboy.
He seemed endlessly carefree, yet hand him a cannon or bomb, and he transformed like a split personality.
The man who had saved him and his comrades' lives on the battlefield multiple times... Captain Lucas Steiner.
Victor's childhood friend had arrived.
"I've got so much to tell you. I really missed you both!"
Grinning ear to ear, Lucas charged in and enveloped them both in a bear hug.
Even Victor's lips curved into a faint smile at the man's wrinkle-free enthusiasm.
Yes, this was the man. His friend.
The second of the final twelve who survived to the very end, standing by him.
Patting Lucas's back, Victor murmured low.
"Looks like I'll head home tomorrow."
* * *
The next morning was leisurely.
Victor hadn't returned, but Ibel wasn't worried.
A message had come: he'd met Lucas at the Eberstein residence.
He'd probably drunk hard all night and return in the afternoon.
No need for perfection even in front of friends.
Ibel turned to her own tasks, greeting the new servants.
Seven maids and three manservants.
Mostly locals or experienced hires with references—no red flags.
But when she stepped into the garden for a sunlit stroll, she spotted a face she hadn't seen.
A thin shirt revealing every muscle fiber, suspenders over trousers.
A curly-haired man in a straw hat, haphazardly perched, watering the flowerbeds.
He wielded the battered watering can like an extension of himself, yet something felt performative, hard to shake.
As she approached, he timed a strong spray or stretched to wipe sweat dramatically.
Desperate for attention.
"Whoa."
And as she passed indifferently, it became clear.
"Hot as hell. This damn weather."
He spoke Richter, but with the distinctive rounding of Franche accent.
Most wouldn't notice, but she'd rolled in battlefields—she knew.
"Oh, good day, ma'am."
As Ibel ignored him, the man cheekily struck up conversation.
So natural, he seemed like an old acquaintance.
But she spun away without reply.
She'd smile and greet old Dawson the gardener, but why bother with this shady newcomer she'd been warned about?
Does Victor know this guy's on the estate?
He seemed to get reports on everything inside—hard to think he'd miss an outsider like this.
Then maybe I can pry some info before Victor returns.
The man showed odd friendliness toward her.
Relentless, tireless chatter proved it.
"Ma'am, out in this heat without a parasol? My arms are strong—want me to hold one for you?"
Not hired as a footman, so Genevieve must have brought him in.
But hadn't she secluded herself since that day?
"I'll shade you at least. Whew, your skin'll burn."
...Even to find a lover, she'd need to leave the estate.
So how did she sneak this one in?
"Finally giving me a look. Name's Leo. Been staying here since last night."
Ibel narrowed her eyes at the chatty man.
Objectively and subjectively, quite the handsome devil. If he'd shut up.
Where Victor had a powerful jaw and thick neck, this one was slimmer. Not frail, though.
Hidden under the shirt: taut, wiry muscle. His slouch was trained nonchalance.
Rare curls in Richter blended with an innocently soft face.
Like... a perfectly ripened grape of a man.