A Capable Servant's Capable Master

Hemos, absorbed in his cooking, turned at the sound of a cough behind him. Yuri Anesis stood there — golden hair, red eyes — a cluster of maids at her back.

"Who is that food for?"

The corners of her brows were arched, her expression dark.

"Come to spy on me, have you? That's damned unpleasant."

Hemos clapped the flour from his hands and glared at her.

"Her Grace the Duchess's cheeks have been filling out day by day, and the Dowager is quite concerned. She wondered if perhaps someone in the kitchen has been... helping her."

Hemos snorted.

"This is a snack for His Grace the Duke. Spare me your idle suspicions."

Yuri's sharp gaze swept every corner of the kitchen. It was no illusion that Esika was growing more beautiful. Even her dry silver hair had begun to gleam; her hollowed cheeks were filling out, and her rough complexion improved with each passing day.

"For heaven's sake! How long are you going to stand there gawking? You're ruining my concentration!"

Hemos snapped at her and jabbed a finger toward the end of a shelf. On a shabby plate sat a loaf of rotting bread. That would be Esika's.

"Fine, then... I've confirmed what I needed to... However."

Yuri's brows arched sharply as she went on.

"Before long, the Duchess will ask you to prepare refreshments. For a tea party."

"Refreshments?"

Hemos's brow furrowed.

"Serve plenty of them — but include cookies with peanuts."

"Peanuts..."

His brow furrowed further.

"If anyone later asks why you served peanut cookies, just mumble that the Duchess requested them for herself. The Dowager will handle everything after that, as she always does."

Hemos nodded with a sour look.

"Well. That's no trouble for me."

Only then did Yuri's lips curl into a wicked smile as she turned away. Once she and her maids had vanished, Sella poked her head out from the storeroom. Hemos and Sella exchanged a look.

Esika watched without interest as outsiders entered carrying catalogs. They handed her a volume of the latest dress designs.

"What is this?"

Hans the butler, who had accompanied them, answered.

"His Grace the Duke has ordered dresses purchased for you, my lady."

Esika flipped through the catalog with a blank face, without the slightest care. Every dress was expensive and beautiful, but she had no interest in such things. When she showed no sign of pleasure, Hans continued, a little flustered.

"He also said that should you need dresses in the future, we are to provide them at any time."

Her expression remained ice-cold. After turning a few more pages, she handed the catalog straight back to him. Hans stared at her, bewildered.

"Nothing here appeals to me."

He stammered in alarm.

"I know you have only one dress remaining. After the Dowager burned the rest... In any case, His Grace has taken the trouble to arrange this. Perhaps you might choose something?"

Kalian was not a man who concerned himself with his wife's dresses. But if she bought fine gowns, wore them, and pleased him by doing so, it would ease the guilt he had lately begun to feel toward her. Esika, however, spoke as if she couldn't care less.

"If it's His Grace's wish, I am even less inclined to choose. Take it away."

At her firm refusal, Hans let out a small sigh.

"My lady... if only for the sake of my dignity..."

"You know every circumstance of this household, and still you hope I will get along with His Grace."

Hans's hands twitched at her words. He was one of the few in the Klaus duchy who had shown Esika even a shred of consideration — which is to say, he had once pressed a dry handkerchief into her hand while she wept.

"And the reason is that I am a Brigate."

"...My lady."

"Because it would be a headache if I demanded the return of the enormous dowry I brought with me when we divorced."

Hans's face stiffened, but he could not deny it. The vast dowry Esika had brought into the marriage had barely pulled the Klaus family's precarious finances back from the brink. And under imperial law, if the husband was clearly at fault, a wife had the right to demand her dowry's return. The reason Kalian could not openly take a mistress was Hans's caution on this very point.

"And perhaps you also hope for financial support from House Brigate through me."

A man who acted for the family's finances could never be wholly the Dowager's creature — his tacit acceptance of her tyranny was a separate matter.

"...I apologize."

Hans bowed his head to Esika. Then he spoke calmly.

"I am aware that you have changed of late, my lady. Unlike before, you seem to have not the slightest interest in His Grace."

He continued.

"Of course, regarding His Grace and the Dowager's neglect and abuse of you all this time, I have nothing I can say. But divorce..."

His eyes had grown heavy. The Dowager was already boasting of the Chwihen investment — whose outcome was still far from certain — as if House Brigate were no longer needed. Hans thought otherwise.

"...I would ask that you consider it carefully."

"Don't worry about that."

His shoulders jerked at her reply. When he looked up, he found her beautiful face wearing a deep, unhurried smile. Her blue eyes were as clear as jade, and as cold as a tidal wave.

"You have served House Klaus your entire life, and you will continue to do so. No matter who becomes master of Klaus, you, Hans, will always be its butler."

His pupils trembled. Hans was quick-witted; he grasped at once the meaning buried in the phrase master of Klaus.

But in her eyes burned a cold flame that could never have belonged to the woman she once was. The unhurried flame of the strong, converting thought into certainty.

Esika stepped closer and spoke as if whispering.

The intimate, chilling voice slipped into Hans's ear and set his heart racing.

A knock, and Hans entered Kalian's study. The duke was absorbed in reading and signing documents.

"I accompanied the shop's designers to call upon Her Grace."

Kalian's pen stopped at once; he focused on Hans's words. Unaware of the duke's growing impatience, Hans paused.

"...However."

Kalian set the pen down with a sharp tap.

"I apologize. It appears Her Grace has no interest in dresses."

"She refused them?"

His brow furrowed.

"Yes. I tried to persuade her, but she was so stubborn there was nothing to be done."

"From now on, don't bother trying to persuade her. Just turn around and leave."

"I beg your pardon?"

Hans looked puzzled.

"I offer a hand, and she tries to climb all the way onto my head."

The corners of Kalian's brows shot up. After all that patience, this was the result — and he let his anger show.

"The accusations of extravagance may have been a misunderstanding, but that doesn't mean she has the right to refuse her husband's goodwill."

He had even consulted his friend Gaven and gone out of his way — and Esika had thrown that kindness back in his face. The daughter of a house that bought its title with money, putting on airs as if she were some lofty noble on par with Klaus.

"Esika Klaus will be forbidden from purchasing new clothes for the time being. I intend to make her pay the price for her choice."

Esika should have received that catalog with gratitude. She should have been moved that Kalian had taken the trouble.

"...Understood, Your Grace."

His insides twisting, Kalian could work no longer and rose from his seat. Esika was a woman who could not defeat him. However much he and Leona had wronged her, that was simply the way of a ducal house. And yet lately she had not yielded an inch, matching him in a battle of wills.

"Perhaps a bit of fresh air, Your Grace."

Watching Kalian's mood, Hans ventured the suggestion. Still wearing his angry expression, Kalian moved at once.

"I suppose I should."

In his current state, further work would be inefficient anyway. Hoping to cool his temper, he went outside. In the garden, a tea party was in full swing — fragrant tea and sweet desserts laid out in abundance.