Chapter 10

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Engaged to the Blind Duke
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“Miss Marin.”

She had no idea how much time had passed.

Marin, buried in paperwork, lifted her head with a haggard face.

“Yes.”

Olive set a cup of warm black tea and a plate holding a slice of yellow cheesecake on the desk.

“Why this...”

Marin looked up at him with round eyes.

“It feels like it’s time to start.”

“Start what?”

“His Grace the Duke’s orders.”

Following Olive’s gaze, she spotted her own wrist.

She felt so wronged.

The round circle formed by the Duke’s fingers was large simply because his hands were big. Her wrist was just a little slender, that was all.

“I’m not that skinny...”

Marin started to protest, but she caught the pity in Olive’s eyes and trailed off.

Ah, I really have gotten so thin. Thin enough for him to look at me with eyes like that.

Marin spent a solemn moment in reflection.

“Come on, eat up. There’s more ready once you finish this.”

“I can’t eat that much.”

“From now on, let’s work on eating more.”

Olive’s gentle gaze shifted into strict superior mode.

A setting from the novel suddenly came to mind.

Olive was a die-hard devotee of the Duke. The kind of character who’d leap into a pit of fire without hesitation if the Duke commanded it.

She’d thought he was just a nice boss, but she needed to tread carefully. Having received orders from the Duke, he wouldn’t stop until he’d fattened her up.

“Yes.”

What choice did a subordinate have? If the boss said jump, you jumped.

Marin cut the cheesecake into a bite-sized piece and popped it into her mouth. The rich cheese blended with a sweet aroma—delicious. She followed it with a sip of warm black tea to cleanse her palate.

It had been so long since she’d eaten like this that faint memories of the days when she could always eat resurfaced.

Meanwhile, Olive watched her intently as she held the teacup. His eyes widened slightly before returning to normal.

“Um, Mr. Olive. I know this is shameless to ask, but could you pack a little of this cake for me to take? I feel bad asking again after you did it last time too.”

As the cheesecake melted softly in her mouth, she thought of her mother. She’d surely love it.

“I’ll let the kitchen know.”

Olive nodded with a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

Marin beamed and turned her attention back to the cheesecake.

That was when Olive fixed her with a sharp gaze.

Knock knock.

A knock, followed by a voice booming through the corridor from beyond the office door.

“This is the butler.”

“Yes, come in.”

An elderly white-haired gentleman in a crisp uniform entered, his shoulders broad. His hair and beard were snow-white, but his muscular frame—buttons straining against it—made his age hard to guess.

“Aide.”

***

The butler, who had entered and given a slight bow, raised his head.

“Come in. Mr. Sebas Chen.”

Olive greeted him with a delighted smile lighting up his face.

Marin’s eyes went wide.

That must be Sebas the butler. The one with the unusual background as former vice-captain of the knight order—a character who appeared a few times in the novel.

Marin felt a pointless surge of inner familiarity and let a small smile creep onto her lips.

“How was the wedding? Your grandson getting married already—must bring back all sorts of feelings.”

Olive spoke in a friendly tone.

“Yes, indeed. Time really flies.”

Marin sipped her tea and listened quietly to their exchange.

Ah, so that’s why he was gone for a few days—he attended the wedding.

“What brings you here?”

“I wanted to give my thanks to His Grace the Duke, so I came to ask if it might be possible.”

Sebas the butler glanced at her before turning his gaze to Olive.

“Ah, I see. I’m sorry. It’s not a good day today.”

Olive shook his head slightly, regret in his eyes.

Sebas nodded with a disappointed expression, drew a deep breath, and composed himself.

“Understood.”

Meanwhile, Marin was startled inwardly as she listened.

So the Duke’s condition can only be learned through the aide.

Now she understood why an older butler treated a young aide with such deference.

“Miss Marin, this is Sebas Chen, the butler.”

Marin rose from her chair and bowed her head in greeting.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Marin.”

“Miss Marin will be my assistant going forward and handle reports to His Grace the Duke.”

“Pleased to meet you. Just call me Sebas the butler from now on.”

Olive went on about her as if showing her off.

“Miss Marin gives even better reports than I do. His Grace acknowledged it himself.”

Sebas’s surprised gaze lingered on Marin for a moment before shifting to Olive.

“His Grace the Duke did?”

That finicky man accepted a newcomer this quickly? The unspoken question hung in his eyes.

“Yes. He listened to Miss Marin’s report quite comfortably.”

Olive nodded, a pleased smile on his face.

Sebas regarded Marin with eyes tinged with admiration.

“Miss Marin, if you need anything in the future, don’t hesitate to ask me. No matter what it is. Since you’ll be assisting His Grace the Duke, I want to help however I can.”

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“Even the smallest things—please come to me.”

Sebas fixed her with an intense gaze, as if extracting a promise.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Marin nodded, her expression awkward.

In the novel, Sebas the butler was one of the Duke’s fervent devotees too.

She’d have to be extra careful around these followers to keep her secret from slipping.

***

 

Olive waited outside the study door, a trolley of warm wine and cheese at his side. Candles atop the trolley cast light around him.

“Come in.”

Wax dripped with a plop, and permission came from within.

Olive pushed the trolley inside.

Since his eye injury, the Duke rarely left the study. He visited the bedroom perhaps once or twice a month.

***

“Your Grace the Duke. You must sleep tonight. You haven’t for days now.”

“You think drinking wine will make me sleep?”

Fatigue laced the Duke’s voice as he identified the wine by its aroma alone.

No vassal pitied his lord. Yet seeing him unable to sleep for over a week stirred pity all the same.

“Miss Marin said it helped, so I thought I’d bring some.”

“Temporary?”

“Yes. She said her mother drank it and slept.”

“And Temporary?”

“She’s gone home.”

Olive poured the wine, then set the glass on the desk as quietly as possible.

Uncharacteristically, the Duke picked up the glass without protest.

“About Miss Marin.”

“...”

The Duke’s silence usually meant to go on.

“She doesn’t seem like a commoner.”

“...”

“For one, she can read. Her mother drank precious wine—rare for commoners—and the way she holds a teacup is the picture of a noble lady.”

“So she’s a spy?”

Subtle amusement colored the Duke’s voice.

Does His Grace want Miss Marin to be a spy? She’s clearly useful to him.

Olive spoke honestly, his feelings complicated.

“I wouldn’t say spy for sure, but she merits investigation.”

“I already did.”

“Understood.”

Olive placed the cheese plate and wine on the desk, then stepped back.

“You’re not going to ask more?”

“If I need to know, Your Grace will tell me.”

Olive waited quietly, a soft smile on his lips.

“Tch.”

The Duke clicked his tongue low in annoyance.

“Not a spy. A baronet’s daughter whose house fell to ruin.”

Olive’s lips tightened.

“I see. Is her goal money? Or Your Grace?”

“Me?”

“Yes. Even fallen nobility is still nobility. She might have her eye on you.”

“Not my life, it seems...”

“Marriage. Though it’s the first time a noble lady’s approached like this.”

“Is Temporary that seductive?”

Olive pondered long before speaking.

“Hmm... She’s more on the cute side, I’d say.”

“Olive.”

The Duke called his name in a low voice.

“Yes.”

“Enough nonsense. Out.”

“Yes. Rest well.”

After Olive vanished like the wind, Gerald took a sip of the wine.

His long-suppressed taste buds erupted in his mouth.

Sourness. Sweetness. Astringency. Tartness. Earthiness. Even the faint fishy undertone buried deep in the wine.

“Not bad after so long.”

What a strange woman.

***

Olive always wore a kind smile, but in truth, no one was more vigilant than him. He’d suspected her upon seeing her—yet he didn’t seem guarded.

A woman who wins over everyone...

The mark of a true spy, isn’t it?

His enemies had let a superb spy slip right through their fingers.