Chapter 43

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter Title: Chapter 43

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As expected, reclaiming the Siam region went off without a hitch.

Thanks to Josephine and Frida spreading the word just right, the landowner was itching to dump the ticking time bomb I'd taken off his hands.

He had no desire to let Count Modroff—or even my parents—know that he'd lost the mine to Nils over a wager.

'Does every family have at least one wastrel?'

With that thought, Iona folded the short letter from Duke Leroy in half again.

The setup was that Leroy had secretly bought the land to impress her, so she couldn't tag along to the exchange site.

Instead, he'd penned a note saying all had gone smoothly and sent it by messenger.

The only issue was that the messenger was somewhat unexpected.

Iona stared at the man before her and asked.

"...Sir Theobald, where did you get this?"

"Ah, the Duke stopped by my place yesterday. Before he left, he asked me to deliver it to Lady Iona."

"How does the Duke know you...?"

"Of course I told him upfront that I'm in the same knight order as you, Lady Iona! Man, I was floored meeting your fiancé like that. Weirdly enough, he knew my little brother!"

Saying so, Theobald let out a hearty guffaw, slapping his thigh.

No wonder he'd sought her out first thing that morning with such an eager look—he must've been buzzing to spill about yesterday.

Iona gazed at Theobald with pity in her eyes and asked.

"...By any chance, does your brother have brown hair like you, Sir?"

"Ah, yes. Spot on. My second brother and I take after our mother."

Theobald's smiling face struck her as especially guileless today.

'So the one who gambled with Nils was Sir Theobald's brother.'

It was baffling how a younger sibling could run with those ne'er-do-wells when he had such a solid older brother.

She wanted to tip Theobald off about his brother's reckless ways, but she had to keep things quiet until the deal was fully sealed.

Iona offered him a roundabout but heartfelt bit of advice.

"Tell your brother... to choose his friends more carefully."

"Pardon? ...Is there something off about the Duke?"

It had been a mistake to hope the famously dense Theobald would pick up on it himself.

Brushing past the flustered knight, who kept pressing her on why, Iona resumed her path.

She was en route to answer Richardt's summons anyway. She had no time to idle with parlor games alongside a colleague.

Reaching Richardt's office soon after, Iona gave a brief knock before stepping inside.

Reconnecting after so long, Richardt looked far from pleased.

He always tied his long locks up high for work, which tugged his already sharp gaze even fiercer, lending him an irritable air.

Glancing over his documents at Iona, he said.

"Word is you've been cozying up to the Duke while I've been away."

She'd figured the rumors would hit his ears, what with her parading in with Leroy at the ball like that.

Luckily, Iona had a solid excuse at the ready.

Iona replied evenly.

"I'm striving to carry out Your Highness's command to the letter."

"Looks more like the Duke's the one putting in the work. Never pegged him for the sort to buy a lady clothes and hand them over."

He shot back with a smirk, quirking just the corner of his mouth. A lovely smile, chilling as frost.

After mulling her words, Iona opted to play it like Theobald. She kept her face impassive, feigning obliviousness.

Truth be told, she was just as in the dark on why Leroy had sprung those clothes on her out of nowhere.

Having studied Iona's features closely, Richardt at last averted his gaze. Rising, he headed straight for the lounge nook.

He slipped off his glasses, folded them, and jabbed them toward the sofa.

"Come sit."

"Yes."

Iona settled across from him as bid.

Drawing the small case on the table nearer, Richardt fished out a cigar.

As he sliced the tip with a blade, he asked.

"Need a light too?"

He meant did she have matches—fully expecting her to join in, as always.

She'd never turned down his invites before, but today her answer diverged a touch.

"No thank you. I'd rather not reek of smoke on duty."

Richardt's hand stilled at her refusal.

He looked up, fixing her with a steady stare, and said.

"You never minded before."

"My apologies."

Richardt neither accepted her sorry nor pushed the smoke again.

Once the cigar was lit, he drew in the fumes with a faintly troubled cast.

Leaning back into the cushions, Richardt smoked on wordlessly for some time.

Eyes shut, he murmured.

"Best not to meet the Duke on your own from here on."

An order she'd never heard from him till now.

Iona eyed Richardt curiously.

"I haven't gotten a firm commitment from him yet."

"Leave that to me, Iona. I'll see to the Duke."

With his eyes still closed, she couldn't read his intent from his look.

Not that deciphering his cryptic heart was ever in the cards for her lifetime.

This wasn't his first baffling directive by a long shot.

Iona nodded meekly.

"Understood."

No more public jaunts with Leroy were in store regardless.

Any private business could be handled discreetly, away from prying eyes.

Only then did Richardt reopen his eyes at her response.

Having savored the tobacco deeply, his face had softened some from earlier.

Rubbing his lips, he noted.

"You've been scarce these past days."

"I wasn't fit to attend Your Highness up close. Due back in two days."

"That slap from Florence looks mostly mended."

"... ."

"Makeup's thicker than usual... but not enough for anyone to notice."

He'd known of the clash between Florence and her all along, merely holding his tongue till now.

With the Crown Prince's own fiancée booted out, how could the tale not reach him?

Florence might've even fired off a whiny letter in the interim.

"If it pleases Your Highness, I'll return at once."

She'd only wheedled Saskia to keep her sidelined longer out of reluctance to hover near Richardt, but she was good to go now.

Marsha had concealed uglier bruises than this, making the injury excuse a real stretch.

As she awaited his ruling in silence, Richardt abruptly rose and closed in on her.

Halting before Iona, he reached out without preamble and rubbed her left cheek.

The powder clung since she'd skipped a proper cleanse, but the yellowish bruise beneath peeked through.

His thumb grazed it softly as he asked.

"Iona."

"Yes."

"Did you resent me?"

Iona flashed to the death she'd met after his abandonment.

"How could I?"

She knew full well he wasn't probing those bygone feelings.

Her compliant reply brought a fleeting, pleased smile to Richardt's lips.

This was precisely why she never misconstrued his regard for her as affection. Richardt made a habit of testing her sacrificial limits for him.

He reveled in her hurts, always.

Even framing it in private terms, possessiveness was the farthest it'd stretch.

Yet the reason she couldn't shake free of his grasp...

"My sister's got a heart as wide as they come."

...was that his quid pro quo for her fealty dangled precisely what she craved beyond measure.