Startled, Merdi stared at him as if he were a stranger.
She recoiled like a cornered animal, scooting away to the very edge of the couch.
Clifton watched her retreat, a low sigh escaping his lips.
“Come here, Merdi.”
She remained frozen.
“I take it you want to spend the entire night like this?”
That suggestion alone was enough to make the color drain from Merdi’s face.
She managed to force the words out.
“…You’re too close.
I already feel sick.”
Seeing her stubborn refusal, her face as pale as parchment, Clifton relented slightly.
He then summoned a maid from the main house and ordered her to bring a pot of boiled water.
‘A teapot…?’
Merdi watched him, a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
Without a word of explanation, he rose from the couch, retrieved a guest teacup from the office cupboard, and set it on the table.
This was a far cry from the scenarios she had spent all day dreading.
Of course, it was infinitely better than the grazing and touching he had threatened.
Merdi quietly observed his preparations.
He spooned tea leaves from a small tin into the teapot.
A fragrant, delicate scent of tea drifted past Merdi’s nose.
‘Rooibos…’
It was a smooth, caffeine-free tea known for its relaxing properties—unlike black tea or coffee, it was perfect for the evening.
Merdi was taken aback by his delicate choice.
“Drink.”
The steeped tea was a pleasing ruby color.
Her stomach still felt unsettled, but she knew if she refused, he would simply command her to drink it.
The gentlemanly Clifton she remembered was long gone; this man was far more cynical and twisted than she had ever known.
With that grim thought, she lifted the teacup and took a tentative sip.
To her surprise, the tea was exquisite.
It was hard to believe it had been brewed by a man of his stature, someone who would rarely have cause to prepare his own tea.
It was truly unfair how talented some people were.
If he was this capable, perhaps ‘he’ should be the one brewing tea, rather than her, who only seemed capable of “attacking” guests with her terribly bitter concoctions.
The unexpectedly wonderful tea captured her attention, and before she knew it, the nausea had subsided.
She found herself stealing glances at him from a safe distance, as if looking at a stranger wearing Clifton’s face.
Even as he drank his own tea, Clifton seemed to notice her stare.
“Do you have something to say?”
“…Why are you suddenly making tea for me?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.
Clifton chuckled, a low rumble in his throat.
“Did you think I would lay a hand on you without so much as a word?”
‘She remained silent.’
Her silence was all the affirmation he needed.
He placed his teacup back on its saucer and addressed her unspoken question.
“Your ridiculous symptoms may stem from anxiety, but attempting to fix them with brute force would be reckless.
There is a proper order to everything.”
“So… this is a probe.”
“Something like that,” Clifton answered coolly.
Seeing her visibly relax, he let out a laugh that was more like a sigh.
“To see you so relieved by something this trivial, it’s hard to believe you’re the same woman who confronted the daughter of Count Melvitch in front of all those people.”
Hearing Vivian’s name from Clifton, so soon after the Baroness had brought it up, flustered Merdi.
Of course, she knew he would find out.
The gossip had swept through the capital and reached Margaret’s ears that very day; it was impossible he wouldn’t have heard.
Still, she had prayed he wouldn’t.
Having already been punished by the Grand Dame, she wanted to avoid another sharp reprimand.
But the story of that day had ridden the spring breeze all the way to Greenfield, and it was clear Clifton, like Margaret, had no intention of simply letting it go.
Merdi lowered her gaze.
Clifton, having emptied his cup, leaned back comfortably against the couch.
His voice was decidedly more languid when he spoke again.
“In a public setting, you must attack with care to minimize the backlash.
Had the Count’s daughter possessed evidence to refute your claims, you would have been the one branded a liar.
Be more careful in the future.”
His response was so different from what she’d anticipated that Merdi blinked up at him.
Clifton was as calm and detached as a superior officer teaching military strategy.
There was no hint of rebuke or disappointment in his tone.
“…Is that all?”
Clifton returned her question with one of his own.
“Did you expect more?”
She didn’t answer.
Merdi was curious as to why he wasn’t scolding her, but she pressed her lips together and swallowed her curiosity.
There was no sense in borrowing trouble.
As if reading her mind, he calmly articulated her thoughts.
“You wouldn’t have tried to humiliate the Count’s daughter without reason.
If you were provoked, responding in kind is not a bad move.”
She was stunned into silence.
“I’ve always believed a passive attitude is no defense at all.”
It is better to attack than to be attacked.
Though this was Clifton’s way of thinking, Merdi couldn’t deny the truth of it.
She found herself comforted by the one person she’d least expected it from, simply by having her actions—born of long-held sorrow and careful deliberation—validated.
“Are you going to sit there in silence all day?” he followed up, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“What would you like me to talk about?”
“Anything.
Preferably something that will help you relax.”
Merdi understood, however, that Clifton’s consideration was ultimately for his own benefit.
He had no intention of breaking an engagement decreed by the Emperor, nor would he tolerate the liability of a flawed fiancée.
Curing her symptoms was simply the most expedient way to get what he wanted, even if it required a measure of patience now.
Strangely, that realization put her more at ease.
“…I enjoy reading,” Merdi said after a moment, choosing one of the first two things that came to her mind.
“When I’m reading, it feels as if I’m experiencing another world.
Through nothing more than bound paper, you can learn how people in other lands think and live.”
The quiet excitement that had begun to build in her quickly dissipated in the face of Clifton’s silence.
‘Ah, was that too much…?’
Just as regret began to set in, Clifton asked, “What book are you reading these days?”
At his question, Merdi’s eyes lit up.
The enthusiasm she’d been trying to suppress began to bubble to the surface.
“I’m reading about a people who live in a land without a single blade of grass, so different from Elsmere or Belloc.
They don’t settle in one place; they’re nomads who hunt with hawks and eagles.
They herd sheep and even make their own clothing.”
She chattered on excitedly, but a fire without bellows is bound to subside.
“So… the story ends with the protagonist leaving their home,” she finished lamely.
At her audience’s indifferent attitude, Merdi was pulled back to reality.
She felt a flush of embarrassment, thinking of how passionately she had just been speaking.
“It’s… just a story.”
Watching her spirits instantly fall, Clifton allowed the corners of his mouth to lift.
“Are you aware that your eyes sparkle whenever you talk about sheep?”
At his observation, Merdi frowned and tilted her head.
‘…Do they?’
She had been so absorbed in describing the book that she hadn’t noticed at all.
Feeling awkward, she mumbled an explanation.
“It’s not just sheep… I like horses and cats, too.
That’s why I used to visit the stables so often.”
At the mention of the stables, the smile vanished from Clifton’s face.
“You seem rather close to that stableman.”
“…Vincent?” she asked, though there was only one stableman at Greenfield.
And there was no way Clifton would know his name.
“Is there a reason to be close to a stableman?”
The question was sharp, and Merdi chose her words carefully.
The real reason she was close to Vincent was that he was one of the few servants who didn’t treat her with disdain.
But that was too pathetic to admit.
Sifting through her options, Merdi selected the most palatable one.
“I often went there to pass the time.
The sheep used to be kept there, too…”
After her hesitant answer, Clifton fell silent again.
A familiar dread settled in her stomach.
Merdi’s mouth went dry whenever he fell silent like this; she now knew from instinct that nothing good ever followed.
And just as she’d feared, his next words struck like a bolt from the blue.
“Effective immediately, you are forbidden from going to the stables and the hut.”