Episode 84: Approach
The noblewomen invited to today’s tea party were the wives of the Vandemir duchy’s vassals. Perhaps because of this, they were all tripping over themselves to curry favor with the Duchess.
“Duchess, where did you get those gloves? The lace is so delicate and elegant—they suit you perfectly,” one gushed.
“How do you always manage to wear such refined things? No matter how I try to emulate your taste, I can’t keep up,” another chimed in.
“Oh, come now,” a third laughed. “As if any of us could ever measure up to the Duchess’s standards!”
“It’s just that the Duchess was born with a certain grace. Even wearing the same thing, she looks far more splendid and beautiful than we ever could.”
Hypocritical laughter erupted from all sides, filling the air with its cloying sweetness.
Aracila sipped her tea in silence, observing the scene. The noblewomen pointedly avoided looking her way, ignoring her as thoroughly as if she weren’t there. It was clear they were deliberately treating her like an invisible guest, refusing to engage her in conversation—a classic tactic of social bullying meant to chip away at one’s confidence by making them feel like an outcast.
Unfortunately for them, Aracila wasn’t the sort of fragile noblewoman who would crumble under such treatment. Years of being regarded as an oddity had toughened her, and she could shrug off this level of pettiness with ease. Still, sitting through their tedious, self-absorbed chatter was its own kind of ordeal.
“By the way, I heard Lady Vandemir has recently had great success in business?” one of the noblewomen suddenly said, turning their attention to Aracila.
Caught off guard, she responded a beat late. “…Oh, yes.”
“How wonderful for you! They say the profits from the magic airship venture are staggering,” another remarked.
“Then you must have prepared something extraordinary for the Duchess’s birthday gift, haven’t you? I can’t wait to see it!” a third added eagerly.
“Oh, we’d better hurry and present our gifts before Lady Vandemir outshines us,” another teased. “I’ve gone with something simple, just a bracelet.”
The barrage of expectant comments pressed down on Aracila like a weight. But since Damian had handled the birthday gift entirely, she didn’t even know what he’d chosen, let alone feel pressured about its grandeur. How could she worry about falling short when she had no details to fret over? Her lukewarm response seemed to disappoint the noblewomen, and abruptly, the conversation veered elsewhere.
“This is perfect timing, actually,” one of them said, gesturing to a woman across the table. “Lady Ferisachi here runs a charity for the poor. Why don’t you make a donation, Lady Vandemir?”
The others quickly jumped in, piling on the pressure.
“What a splendid idea! It’s a chance to do good for the duchy and boost your reputation at the same time. Isn’t it just perfect?”
“Exactly! I heard this is your first time visiting the duchy since your marriage. A generous donation would be a fine way to make up for your absence.”
First the birthday gift, now a donation—Aracila could hardly believe their audacity. If she wanted to do something for the duchy’s poor, she’d take the initiative herself. Why would she funnel her money through someone else’s charity? It was obvious they’d take her contribution, claim the credit, and strut about as if they’d done the work themselves.
Turning to the noblewomen, Aracila spoke firmly. “No, thank you. If I’m going to help, I’d prefer to do it directly, not through someone else’s hands. I’ll have to decline.”
Her resolute refusal left the women momentarily stunned, but they quickly recovered, unleashing a torrent of complaints.
“Lady Vandemir, surely you’re not refusing because you don’t trust Lady Ferisachi?” one demanded.
“We’re the wives of vassals who’ve served the duchy for years. You can’t treat us so dismissively,” another scolded.
“You don’t know anything about the duchy yet, do you? Instead of jumping in headfirst, it would be wiser to take a step back and learn with some humility,” a third added.
The onslaught of nagging was enough to make Aracila want to sigh, but she held it in. Knowing they were vassals’ wives, she’d chosen her words carefully, tempering her response to avoid open confrontation. With measured patience, she spoke again. “I never said anything of the sort, so please don’t put words in my mouth or make strange assumptions about my intentions. Donating is a personal choice, and I ask that you respect mine.”
Her clear, firm boundary-drawing only deepened the noblewomen’s displeasure. One of them, seated to the Duchess’s right, fanned herself with an ornate feather fan and said, “Lady Vandemir, as you must know, a married woman belongs to her husband’s family. From now on, the duchy is your home, and the Duchess is, in a sense, your mother.”
“My mother is very much alive, so why would you say that?” Aracila replied, her expression one of genuine confusion. The noblewoman’s face twitched, her eyes narrowing.
“I wasn’t finished, my lady,” she said sharply.
“Oh, please, go on,” Aracila replied, her tone polite but unyielding.
“…As I was saying, you’re now part of the Vandemir duchy and its people. It would be best if you were more cooperative with us,” the noblewoman continued.
Another, seated to the Duchess’s left, nodded vigorously and added, “Your husband has been rather indifferent to the family and the duchy for a long time. It’s up to you to show sincerity on his behalf.”
She fixed Aracila with a pointed stare, her voice dropping as she added, “Otherwise, every day you spend in this duchy will be a difficult one.”
The words carried the unmistakable weight of a threat, and the other noblewomen joined in, each tossing their own jab at Aracila.
“Frankly, we don’t yet see you as part of the Vandemir family,” one said.
“Exactly. You’ve only just shown up in the duchy for the first time since your marriage. What reason do we have to welcome you?” another added.
“The position of the next mistress of the Vandemir duchy is not one to be taken lightly. It comes with a heavy price and responsibility,” one noblewoman declared.
“It seems it will take us quite some time to accept you,” another added.
Beyond the audacity of their presumptuous remarks, Aracila saw through their true intentions. This wasn’t really about urging her to donate to Lady Ferisachi’s charity. Their words, laced with malice, carried a singular message: You will never truly belong to the Vandemir duchy.
And the underlying intent was clear: They want me to leave Damian.
Aracila’s gaze shifted to the Duchess, who sat with a faint, smug smile. The reason these vassals’ wives could speak so brazenly, crossing every line of propriety, was undoubtedly because of her. She was either tacitly allowing it or had outright orchestrated it.
So this was the true purpose of today’s tea party, Aracila realized.
Unfazed by the chillingly uniform hostility in their eyes, she paused to consider her response. What could she say to satisfy these women? After a moment’s thought, she spoke, her voice steady and deliberate.
“I’ll handle it myself.”
No need to waste words on them—she’d conveyed her stance clearly and concisely. As she calmly sipped her tea, a serene smile on her face, the Duchess’s gaze grew colder, her eyes narrowing with icy displeasure.
When the tea party ended, someone grabbed Aracila’s sleeve as she turned to leave. Turning, she saw a noblewoman with dark green hair and a gentle, warm demeanor—one of the quieter attendees who had stood out for her reticence during the gathering.
“Yes? Can I help you?” Aracila asked.
“Oh, I just wanted to properly introduce myself before you go. Things were so hectic earlier, I didn’t get the chance,” the woman said, her shy smile betraying the truth: she hadn’t spoken up because of the Duchess’s watchful presence. “I’m Yona Fanning. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Vandemir.”
Yona’s slightly rounded figure and soft, unassuming features gave her a familiar, approachable air, as if she could blend into any crowd. Despite meeting her for the first time, Aracila felt an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
“I’m Aracila Vandemir. Nice to meet you too,” she replied, offering a brief nod before turning to leave.
But Yona, fidgeting with her handbag, clearly had more to say. Aracila paused, waiting patiently, until Yona mustered the courage to speak, her voice tentative.
“Um… if it’s not too forward, could we perhaps… become friends?”
“With me? Why?” Aracila asked, her tone curious but guarded.
Given what had transpired at the tea party, approaching her so openly seemed bold, especially here in the duchy, where defying the Duchess’s influence was no small risk. Yona hesitated, her response cautious.
“I… I don’t quite fit in with the others because I’ve fallen out of favor with the Duchess. But with you, I thought we might get along…”
Aracila said nothing, studying her quietly.
“I’m sorry, that was too forward, wasn’t it?” Yona murmured, lowering her head in embarrassment.
It wasn’t rudeness that gave Aracila pause—it was skepticism. Even if Yona was ostracized by the other noblewomen, she was still invited to this tea party. For someone in such a position to approach Aracila, claiming a shared sense of alienation, felt suspiciously convenient.
Should I play along and dig a little deeper? Aracila wondered. Dismissing her outright might mean missing a potential opportunity, so she nodded.
“I’d like that. Let’s be friends.”
“Really? Oh, I’m so thrilled!” Yona exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement. Aracila gently brushed off her repeated thanks and sent her on her way.
Instead of heading straight to her room on the third floor, Aracila turned toward the second floor. She needed to speak with Colin, and since he was usually with Damian, she made her way to Damian’s room. Recalling his advice to use Colin for discreet tasks, she intended to ask him to look into Yona Fanning’s background.
At Damian’s door, she knocked, but no answer came.
Is no one here?
Deciding to leave a note asking him to find her later, she opened the door. To her surprise, she spotted a figure stretched out on the sofa—Damian.
He wasn’t out; he’s been asleep.
Careful not to disturb his rest, Aracila tiptoed inside, searching for a pen and paper. As she moved, a faint, familiar scent caught her attention.
What is that? It feels like I’ve smelled it before…
Pausing to sniff the air, she was startled by a low, pained groan. Her head turned toward the sound, coming from none other than Damian, asleep on the sofa. He was sweating, his face contorted as if trapped in a nightmare, murmuring in distress.
Aracila realized she’d seen him like this once before—the morning after their wedding night. But now, he seemed to be in even greater torment.
“Mother…” he whispered, his voice thick with anguish.
Aracila hesitated, unsure whether to wake Damian, but the moment she heard his faint murmur, she instinctively moved closer. Grasping his firm shoulders, she shook him gently.
“Damian, wake up.”
His brow twitched. Aracila shook him a bit harder.
“Damian.”
Still, he only grimaced, refusing to stir. After a moment’s thought, she softened her approach, brushing her fingers gently across his cheek and whispering near his ear.
“Damian, it’s alright. Wake up.”
His eyelashes fluttered. As she stroked his cheek once more, a sudden force pulled her forward. Caught off guard, Aracila tumbled onto his solid chest. Lifting her head, she found Damian’s face mere inches from her own.
His dazed eyes locked onto hers, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Slowly, his gaze sharpened, clarity returning as he blinked. Realizing he’d pulled her into an embrace, their bodies pressed together, Damian jolted as if scalded.
He quickly lifted her off him and apologized. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” Aracila said. “Are you alright, though? It looked like you were having a nightmare.”
“I’m fine,” he replied, but his pallor betrayed his words. Rising from the sofa, he put a little more distance between them.
With a weary sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, his voice low as he asked, “What brought you here?”
“Oh, I wanted to ask Colin to look into a woman named Lady Fanning,” Aracila explained. “She’s the wife of one of the duchy’s vassals and approached me about being friends. I’m curious about her intentions.”
“I see. I’ll pass it along to Colin,” Damian said with a nod.
Aracila’s gaze lingered on the dark shadows beneath his eyes, her expression tinged with concern. “Damian, are you really sure you’re alright?”
“Of course,” he said firmly. “I’m fine, so you should worry about yourself instead.”
His tone left no room for further probing, and Aracila had no choice but to back off. If he insisted he was fine, pressing him would only make things awkward.
Feeling a touch uneasy, she returned to her room, where Audrey was waiting. The maid hurried toward her, as if she’d been eagerly awaiting her arrival, and lowered her voice to a whisper.
“My lady, I have something to report—about the task you gave me.”
Aracila nodded, recalling how she’d instructed Audrey on her first day to flaunt some valuables and gauge the maids’ reactions.
“Olga and Liz barely reacted, but Vicky was noticeably envious,” Audrey said.
When Audrey had deliberately shown off a jeweled necklace among the maids, Vicky alone had shown interest. Even when Audrey later displayed other jewelry Aracila had given her, Vicky’s eyes had sparkled each time.
“I overheard the maids talking,” Audrey continued. “Vicky mentioned that her family’s finances are tight, so she jumps at any chance to earn extra money beyond her wages.”
A smile curved Aracila’s lips. Few were as easy to handle as someone driven by money.
She turned to Audrey with a decisive command. “Bring Vicky to me—quietly, without anyone noticing.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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