As darkness fell, staining the windows black, the chirping of crickets became a soft, unobtrusive backdrop.
Just as Clifton was turning the final page, a sound broke the quiet.
‘Knock, knock.’
“My Lady?
Are you in there?
I’m bringing your dinner.”
The woman who entered so briskly, without waiting for a reply, was the maid in charge of Merdi’s meals.
Her attitude, breezing in as if it were a friend’s room, was rude beyond measure.
‘Thud.’
Clifton closed the book and looked up.
Their eyes met, and the smug curl of the maid’s lips instantly froze.
“Master?
Why are you here…?”
“Is it wrong for me to be in my fiancée’s bedroom?”
“No… I didn’t mean that…”
“And since when,” he continued, his cool tone sharp enough to cut, “do I report my movements to a servant?”
Realizing her grave error, the maid quickly dropped into a deep curtsy.
“I-I apologize!
I thought Lady Langlen had returned, and I was so surprised to see you, Master… I misspoke!”
“Bring it here,” Clifton ordered, ignoring her apology and gesturing with his eyes.
“Pardon…?”
The maid tilted her head, confused, before her gaze fell to the silver tray in her hands.
On it sat a single plate of stew, intended for Merdi.
‘…Surely not this?’
But it was the only thing she had to bring him.
“But… this is Lady Merdi’s meal.”
Clifton sneered.
“Is there a name written on the food?”
“N-No, of course not.”
Startled, she shook her head but continued to hesitate.
Clifton didn’t rush her, but the heavy weight of his presence alone was suffocating.
With a tear-streaked face, the maid finally took a shaky step forward and set the tray on the table.
A cold chill, not steam, rose from the stew.
Clifton leisurely scanned the offering.
A single plate holding a meager portion of stew, and a set of cutlery.
Even if a bride-to-be were watching her figure, the meal was exceptionally sparse.
Gripping the spoon, Clifton stirred the contents of the bowl as if overturning a pile of mud.
The unheated stew was thick and clotted.
The longer he stirred, the more violently the maid’s fingers, clasped behind her back, began to tremble.
Finally, Clifton placed the spoon neatly beside the plate.
The movement was graceful, utterly at odds with the cheap food before him.
“Take it away,” he said without hesitation.
She must have understood the implications, but his reaction was so quiet that the maid just stared, blinking blankly.
She quickly wiped her sweat-soaked palms on her apron and picked up the tray.
“May… may I be excused?”
“Yes.”
Clifton took out his handkerchief and wiped the hand that had held the spoon.
“And starting tomorrow, you need not come in.”
His voice was so calm, so composed, that the meaning of his words didn’t immediately register.
She knew she should ask what he meant, but her lips refused to part.
By the time she came to her senses, Clifton had already risen and was leaving the room as if nothing at all had happened.
“Clifton is here?”
Stepping from her carriage, Margaret felt a surge of alarm at the head maid’s words: Clifton was waiting for her at the Annex.
If Clifton, who should have been in the capital, had returned so far ahead of schedule, there had to be a reason.
More than that, his presence at the Annex was strange.
Had he suddenly developed an interest in the fiancée he’d never so much as glanced at?
No, if that were the case, he wouldn’t have come here now, not when the girl was away.
In any case, Clifton’s visit to the Annex was not a welcome event.
Margaret did not care for variables.
She rarely walked quickly, but now she unfastened her shawl, handed it to Emma, and lifted her skirts slightly to hasten her pace.
When she opened the door to the Annex’s drawing room, she found Clifton leisurely drinking coffee.
Margaret betrayed none of her urgency, her voice soft and smooth as she entered.
“I’ve told you, coffee this late is bad for you.”
Wearing a picture-perfect smile, as if she hadn’t been rushing at all, Margaret approached him.
As a maid pulled out the chair opposite him, Margaret slowly took her seat.
“You’ve returned late, Sister.”
“I have an endless list of people to meet,” she sighed.
“The capital may be close, but it’s hardly next door.
Spending the entire day traveling is simply unavoidable.”
Margaret was one of the most sought-after figures of the social season.
She was forced to attend to guests of the Grand Duchy in place of Clifton, who had been away on a military campaign, while also managing the affairs of her husband’s family, the Marquess Sconser.
The constant travel between Greenfield and the capital nearly ran the horses’ hooves to dust.
Even with Clifton’s return, her duties had not lightened overnight.
Margaret ordered the maid to bring her a cup of tea, her gaze settling on her brother.
“Why did you come back so early?
When I met with Countess Torriden today, she hinted rather pointedly that she hoped you would attend her evening party.
I suppose that’s all gone up in smoke now.”
“I was reminded of some unfinished business,” he replied coolly.
“Besides, it’s no great trouble to visit the capital again.”
‘Unfinished business?’ Margaret detected an unusual edge in his tone but chose not to show it, taking a delicate sip of the tea the maid had brought.
She glanced at him again, his silent, commanding presence filling the room.
While she burned with curiosity about his reason for visiting the Annex, she knew better than to ask directly.
He was her only family, yet Clifton kept his thoughts locked away, even from her.
His placid exterior was no reason to let her guard down.
On the contrary, it was because they were family that she could sense the grim atmosphere he carried.
“It’s been quite some time since you last came to the Annex, hasn’t it?
What do you think?
The scenery must feel rather new.” Margaret skillfully steered the conversation toward the topic she truly wanted to discuss.
Clifton placed his teacup back on its saucer.
“It has become small and worn, unlike when we were young.”
The answer was simple, yet it told Margaret everything she needed to know about his mood.
Clifton grew still when he was displeased, and he was perfectly motionless now.
A sigh escaped her lips.
“It seems you wish to discuss that girl.”
Clifton offered no reply, but his silence was an answer in itself.
A headache began to throb in Margaret’s temples as her fears materialized.
“It was bordering on neglect,” Clifton stated, leaning back in his chair.
“Her room is filthy, and her food is served cold.
It appears you’ve concerned yourself with nothing beyond her bridal lessons.”
Margaret felt a prickle of guilt but refused to deny the accusation.
She was well aware that the maids looked down on the naive foreign princess and were careless in their duties toward Merdi.
But she hadn’t bothered to correct them, so it was, in fact, neglect.
“Let’s call it ‘free-range,’ shall we?” she countered.
“Taming subordinates is a skill one must learn for oneself.
If I hold her hand through every little thing, down to how to hold a fork, what will she ever be capable of on her own?”
“Whatever your reasons, she is my fiancée.
If whispers of her poor treatment begin to circulate, it is my reputation that will be tarnished.
It is a great pity if your considerations did not extend that far, Sister.”
‘Ahem.’ Margaret gestured to the maid standing beside her, who swiftly placed a fan in her hand.
The fan unfolded with a sharp, dramatic flourish.
“So, what is it you wish to say?
Do you intend to sit here and scold me for my failings after all this time?” As Margaret fanned herself, the peacock feathers on her hat swayed with the motion.
“I’m deeply hurt.
Why am I here, separated from my own family?
It was all for you, for this house.
Do you have any idea how my heart aches every time Henry sends a letter?”
Her fanning grew more vigorous, her voice rising with agitation.
“I will one day clutch my forehead in grief, regretting all the time I missed watching him grow.”
By the end of her speech, tears shimmered in her eyes as if she were truly overcome by the thought of her only son, Henry.
It was not entirely an act to escape the confrontation.
As she claimed, Margaret had remained at Greenfield to manage the Grand Duchy even after her marriage to Marquess Sconser, and she had taken on the burden of educating the foreign princess.
It was far from a perfect arrangement, but it was not without sacrifice.
Clifton was well aware of what she had given up, which was why he rarely interfered in household matters.
Margaret was certain he would do the same this time—a conviction born from years of experience.
However, his next words shattered that conviction completely.
“I will have all the maids here dismissed and new ones hired.”
At Clifton’s cold, final decree, Margaret’s sorrow vanished.
“Clifton!” she cried.
“They will be given ample severance pay, of course,” he added, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Margaret stopped fanning herself, staring at him, utterly dumbfounded.
His decision was world-shattering enough, but he wasn’t finished.
“And one more thing.” Clifton lifted his gaze to meet hers.