The Fine Print

"If you ask my profession, I am currently attached to the Kingdom Legislative Council's Public Bills Committee and the Inspectorate. Shall I tell you precisely what my duties entail?"

"……."

It was a far more respectable livelihood than she had expected.

"As for income, beyond what the kingdom pays me, I manage several of the properties owned by the Count's house, so you needn't worry on that account. And……"

As he spoke, Noah quietly studied Kasika. It was a gaze that seemed on the verge of saying something, yet whatever it meant, she could not read it. After hesitating a moment, he finally opened his mouth.

"And Count Elperts's debts are entirely my personal money. There is no need to concern yourself with the Count family's opinion."

"……I beg your pardon?"

"If this house is uncomfortable for you, I will look into another suitable residence. Or, if you prefer, would you like to return to the place that was once the Elperts Estate?"

Wait. Just—wait a moment. She couldn't keep up with what Noah was saying. It was his personal money? And the Elperts Estate still stood?

"Did you not tell me it had been sold?"

"It was sold, yes. I merely bought it — as Lambroise."

But why would he buy it? The Elperts Estate was, admittedly, quite handsome for a modest house. Still — why on earth would he have purchased it?

"It's been left untended, so it will take considerable time to make it livable. I'd allot at least six months to a year for the repairs. It's a bit small, but that staircase alone is truly magnificent, wouldn't you say?"

"It was your personal money, you said?"

Kasika asked. Noah replied, "Ah, yes. I purchased the house with my own funds as well, so you needn't think twice about it." No, but why on earth would he buy that? At the very least, considering how old Noah would have been at the time of purchase…… when had the estate been sold, again? She didn't know. After her marriage to Lamplis, she had kept little contact with the family. A few letters, and that was all.

Which made it all the more incomprehensible. What debt, precisely, had Noah been trying to lay upon the Elperts house? Or had he been trying to pay one off?

"Why, though?"

No — their relationship hardly warranted it.

"Why did you invest that much money in Cesare Elperts?"

"Because I wanted something."

"Wanted what?"

"I cannot say."

"……"

"You haven't signed the contract yet, after all."

What, exactly, was in that contract? Was it because of the confidentiality clause? What secret could it possibly contain?

"Once you've signed, I'll answer whatever questions you have. Provided it's something I'm permitted to speak of, of course."

"Meaning you might not tell me after all?"

"You state the obvious. Even a mistress has things she cannot say."

If that much money had changed hands, it was certainly no trifling matter.

"If you wish to know everything, you'll simply have to become my wife, won't you?"

Kasika struck his hand away. The man who had lectured her that one must marry someone one truly loved had been stroking another person's head with the most untroubled ease.

"I will need a day to review it."

"I shall wait."

Just as Noah made to rise from his seat, Kasika called out, "Noah." He looked down at her.

"Yes?"

"Do you truly intend to marry someone you actually love?"

For an instant, his expression hardened.

"Frankly, I find that even more absurd than this mistress proposal of yours."

"Where did you hear about that?"

His voice had gone sharp as a blade. Kasika, confronted with an expression and a tone she had never once seen or heard from him, pressed her lips shut and looked up at him.

"And besides, even if it were true."

Whether he had registered the shock on her face or not, Noah smoothed his expression — but the set of his face did not truly soften.

"It's hardly any concern of yours, is it?"

"……"

Well. There was nothing to say to that.

"No."

Kasika answered.

"No, I suppose not."

Dissatisfied with her reply, Noah's brow creased.

It made no sense to her whatsoever, Kasika thought, turning the contract over in her hands.

A mistress contract closely resembled a marriage contract. Marriages between nobles were governed by documents covering personal property, a minimum number of nightly visits per month, the number and upbringing of children — even how many lovers each party might keep, and the standing of children born to them.

What was written here, however, chiefly came down to three things.

The first concerned the oath of secrecy. Nothing she saw, heard, or learned over the course of her position was to be spoken of.

The second, that she was not to share a bed with anyone else.

The third, that she was to appear in public at regular intervals with Noah Lambroise himself.

Reading the third clause, one might assume he had no intention of marrying, or that he had taken a mistress for the sake of someone he did wish to marry — but it was the first clause that struck her as strangest of all.

Anything seen, heard, or learned.

The intelligence a mistress could plausibly gather was limited at best — so why had he poured the most effort into drafting this particular clause? The supplementary terms beneath it grated on her, too.

Counsel for both parties.

"Am I supposed to find myself a new lawyer, then?"

"Does it read that strangely?"

Lydia asked. Her curly chestnut hair would have looked the same brushed or not, but she had been diligently combing it all the while. Kasika passed the papers over. Lydia peered at them with evident curiosity, though unable to read a word, she could only offer remarks like, "The handwriting's lovely."

"It is, at that. The handwriting, anyway."

Frankly, Noah Lambroise's own handwriting had never been pretty. Back when she graded his essays, there had been occasions when she had to decipher what on earth the characters even were. His penmanship looked like a cipher all on its own — no need to compose a separate coded message — and Kasika had once exerted genuine effort toward correcting it, but a person does not change so easily.

"Though he probably had someone else write this."

Still, Noah's signature alone was genuinely beautiful. What was it he used to say back then? That documents would be written for him by his inferiors while his life consisted of nothing but signing his name, so there was hardly any need for pretty handwriting on top of it? It was a persuasive argument, and so Kasika had given up her campaign.

"In this case, some lawyer must have written it."

The financial provision was remarkably favorable to Kasika. Twenty gold a month — a sum more generous than a commoner's yearly earnings. Could this really be mere payment to a "contract mistress hired to dodge a marriage"? Of course, since nobles escaped the taxes levied on dignity-maintenance expenses, one could imagine it as a casual arrangement doubling as a tax shelter. A mistress had better look pretty, after all. Especially in that society.

But this was excessive.

"Favorable from one angle, disadvantageous from another."

Particularly this section.

"Ha. That son of a—"

It was this penalty clause that kept snagging on her.

"A son of a—? A son of a bitch, you mean?"

"Yes, that is roughly what I was about to say."

She truly could not fathom what Noah Lambroise was thinking. There had to be something more to all of this. She was certain of it.

The Elperts Estate stood on the outskirts of the city, far from the boulevards where the nobility gathered. Once, fine houses had dotted the outskirts, but the fashionable world had long since migrated toward the new district near the cultural and commercial quarter, and the poor had been pushed out to the edges in their place. The outlying district where the Elperts Estate stood had once boasted beautiful gardens overlooking the river; now it was a gloomy sprawl of untended trees, dreary beyond description.

A black carriage made its way toward the estate. The house, once surely beautiful, still bore the soot-black traces of an old fire, and the gardens around it had gone to wilderness. The steps lay untended, and the ornamentation of the great doors had all peeled away. It was the sort of door that would have groaned at the mere touch of a hand — yet it was so well oiled that it made no sound at all.

Black curtains hung over every window, shutting out a single ray of light, and only pale candlelight illuminated the corridors. Portions of the marble flooring were broken, never repaired, and the cracks ran everywhere.

The staircase alone, however, remained resplendent. The ebony balustrade was carved in the classical manner, a procession of foliage and beasts from the old myths marching along its length, and its graceful curves and soaring height were flawless. The carpet beneath was entirely rotted, but it still swallowed the sound of each footstep — unquestionably the sole piece of truly fine craftsmanship left in the place.

Noah climbed the stairs and made for the drawing room, from which the grounds of what had once been the gardens could be seen at a glance. There, too, the windows were curtained against the daylight, and white cloths had been draped over the furniture to keep off the dust. And upon those white cloths, several people were seated. As Noah entered, they lifted their heads in unison and greeted him. He acknowledged the salutations with a flicker of acknowledgment and opened the door to the study at the far end of the drawing room. There, too, people sat among furniture draped in white cloth.

"You've arrived."

"Nils. Bertram."

"You're later than I expected — for the simple task of delivering a single contract."

Undisturbed by Bertram's grumbling, Noah entered and closed the door behind him. It was a fine house, after all; with proper oiling, a door made no sound. He remembered how astonished he had been, on his first visit to the Elperts Estate, that a residence this good had been maintained so abominably.