Night of Eden 49

 Chapter 49

****

It’s so strange.

Wimfred stopped changing the kerosene in the lamp and glanced over at Theodore. A hangover? He had heard his master drank too much late last night.

His squinting eyes scanned the slouching figure from head to toe.

...He doesn’t look ill, but could something bad have happened?

Tilly said he didn't seem too happy yesterday either. But what could be weirder than that? Didn't he win a shooting bet?

Wimfred snapped the lid on the oil drum and turned his focus back to the couch.

Normally, his master was never one to idle or lazy away.

Even when he was at home, he kept himself occupied with a varied and demanding schedule, whether it was horseback riding, the tea ceremony, or reading.

But today, he had been stuck in that couch for hours.

With his arms folded and his head propped up, he looked like he's mesmerized by something. His smooth, handsome face, staring straight ahead, looked somehow angry and somehow languid.

But what seemed most strange was his hands, right now.

He never touched his face with his hands.

He rarely rubbed his eyes, scratched his neck, stroked his chin, or made other unconscious gestures.

Wimfred watched him and wondered if the difference between nobles and commoners could be traced to such small habits.

But now, for some reason, his hands were on his face.

His eyes were slightly lowered and he stared off into space, his face showing no emotion, but the way he slowly touched his lips was dreamy and languid.

...It's weird. It's really weird.

Every time his master went to Belvida these days, he was like that, like a screw had come loose somewhere.

Wimfred pondered, then stopped as something dawned on him.

"Ah."

There was something he had forgotten while he was in Kreutz.

Wimfred hurried out of the study.

When he returned, he held a thick stack of papers in his hand.

"Master, this is the list you spoke of last time. It's a personnel ledger with the names of everyone who has worked for Belvida in the past five years."

His master's pupils, which had been floating in the air, returned to focus. He pushed himself upright and accepted the papers.

"Luckily, butler Stan kept a meticulous record of them, and when I told him I needed them for the party, he gave them to me immediately."

Theodore slowly flipped through the pages, one by one. His gaze paused at one particular page.

A list of male servants filled one side of the page.

"...Ninety-eight?"

"...That's quite a lot, isn't it? The master asked me to find out the names of all the temporary hires, such as peddlers and chimney sweeps, so I wrote them all down."

Wimfred thought he was going to be praised for being so meticulous in writing them down...

He felt unnecessarily intimidated by the disgruntled look in his master’s eyes. Unable to shake the feeling, he opened his mouth.

"...Why do you need the list? If you tell me, I can...."

Poof.

The sound of him putting it down made the words slip in again.

He gathered up the papers and Theodore leaned back in his chair.

A moment later, the maid knocked and entered.

"They say an art dealer has arrived from Peron. My lady asks you to come down to the tapestry room."

Art.

One of his favorite things, one of the things that kept him awake at night.

But contrary to Wimfred's expectations, the turquoise eyes did not sparkle with pleasure.

Rising from the couch, Theodore left the room, looking a little troubled.

***

"That shooting wager has been making noise in here all day. We need to change the rules. They’re all talking too much."

Isabella sighed and shook her head.

"Well, I suppose it is a bit odd. Gentlemen's rules and all that, but they're unreasonable. I'm sure Master Hastings must have felt quite unreasonable."

"So do I. A misfire deserves to be recognized."

The art dealer nodded and sipped his tea.

"Anyway, it's a shame, because if we'd come a day earlier, we could have stopped by Belvida and watched the two masters duke it out."

"There's a Continental Cup polo match later this month, I'll send you an invitation, and you can come and watch."

His eyes lit up with joy.

"I would be honored. Thank you, ma'am. Thank you, Master."

The art dealer bowed, even to Theodore.

But no response came from the other man. He rolled his eyes and searched Theodore's face, just as Wimfred had done.

The heir to House Macmilan had been staring at the paintings with his arms folded the entire time.

When the Master had stumbled upon them last year, he had ordered that they be saved by any means necessary.

Theodore Macmilan enjoyed discovering untapped talent, and new artists were eager to catch his eye.

But the painter was a stubborn genius with an art disease, and he refused to sell, even after he had spent all the gold in the continent.

The art dealer spent months trying to change his mind.

"They say it's a reproduction of a rainy Eighth Avenue street. It's got an eerie blue color."

For once, he was confident that he had satisfied the demanding heir. But there was no response.

Hmph, he coughed, and then rambled on about the up-and-coming painters in the salon, the new galleries, and the new styles in vogue in the Far East.

The Duchess looked a little bored, and her son still seemed to be in another world all by himself.

"...Then I will take these paintings to Kreutz."

The art dealer looked a little puzzled and left.

Isabella yawned and took a seat across from Theodore.

Her eyes took on a slightly sinister glint as she scanned her son.

"...You're hungover, aren't you?"

Theodore, who had been leaning his temple against his fist, slowly turned to face his mother.

"I heard you stayed up late last night drinking with Master Hastings. What could two men possibly have to talk about, much less stay up that long?"

Suddenly a thought flashed through Isabella's mind.

"Oh, I wonder if Edwin hasn't told you about that maid.”

Theodore's blurry pupils came back into focus.

"Is that all that two men can talk about over a drink? The girl must have been mentioned, didn't she?"

Theodore didn't answer, which Isabella interpreted as an affirmative.

"What did he say, that he liked her so much that he didn't care if she was going to be his sister’s handmaiden?"

"...."

"What a surprise, a maid of the house, and no one else, but the eldest son of the Hastings family, who places honor above all else."

She paused, stirring her teacup with a spoon.

"Well, innocent and cute is exactly the kind of face men like, and I'm sure she had other charms that set her apart from the socialites, but... She's still a maid, no matter how you see it...."

"No. It's not like that."

The oddly blunt reply cut through Isabella's words. Isabella turned her head to face her son.

"Edwin is preoccupied with Pemburg, he has no time for women, and if he has feelings, they are not for that maid."

"...Uh...really?"

Isabella was at a loss for words, puzzled with her son's emotion.

Her eyes narrowed as Nordstrom stepped in front of her.

"Dessert is ready."

He set a tray of chocolates down on the table.

Isabella squealed at the sight of the colorful chocolates.

"I sent someone to Jean Cocteau's boutique early in the morning, as you ordered, and they told me that they've become more popular and there's a long line."

"Yeah, I knew it, his chocolates are a work of art."

A look of ecstasy crosses Isabella's face as she took a bite.

Her love of dessert was unusual.

She'd scoured the empire, somehow finding the best shops, and her discoveries were always a hit in social circles.

"Why don't you have some, Theodore?"

Theodore's eyes flicked to the chocolate. His emotionless eyes scanned the delicately embossed roses for a long moment.

Nordstrom quickly scooped some onto a plate and handed it to the Master. But,

"No. I'm fine."

Theodore replied, raising his hand toward Nordstrom in rejection.

Isabella smiled.

"It's weird, isn't it? Why do women like sweets more? I know so many men who don't like chocolate, but I've never met a woman who doesn't."

Just then, two maids knocked on the door. One carried a steaming basin, the other a towel and a kettle. They were to wash the master's feet.

"Don't let it get too hot."

"Yes, madam."

Isabella ate a few more chocolates while the maid mixed the cold water.

 "I'll have some, too," Theodore suddenly said as the maid bustled back and forth at his feet.

He popped a chocolate into his mouth and stared at the oohing and aahing maids.

"Is it good?"

"Yes, it's so good, I'm almost in tears."

Even Nordstrom, who had been watching the maids' round eyes sparkle, couldn't help but laugh.

Theodore stood up abruptly.

"I'll go first, then."

"Huh? Uh...yeah...."

The door slammed shut, leaving a chill in the wide hall. Isabella blinked a few times to clear her eyes, then sank back into the large couch.

The maids stirred various herbs and aromatic oils in a basin. Isabella closed her eyes languidly, intoxicated by the pleasant scents.

The maids were familiar with their master's penchant for foot baths and naps.

"Call me if you need anything."

 Nordstrom whispered and disappeared into the next room.

He studied the duchess's complexion and was about to leave when Isabella suddenly opened her eyes.

"What do you think, Nordstrom?"

"...What do you mean?"

"I mean, Teddy, hasn't he been acting a little strange lately?"

Nordstrom thought for a moment.

"Well, he's been a bit quiet lately, but se's always been very reticent and hasn't expressed his true feelings. Besides, I've been so busy assisting the Mistress lately that I've hardly had time to be with him."

Isabella nodded wordlessly.

"If you have any concerns or questions, I think it would be more accurate to ask Tilly; shall I summon him now?"

"No, thank you."

Isabella shook her head.

"You know what the Archduchess always says: ignorance is bliss for a boy his age."

Theodore was an adult now.

She been quietly accepting her son's transformation from a lovable teddy to a cold, quiet young man since he entered the Imperial Boarding School.

"That young maid, by the way...... If Teddy's right, she didn't do anything wrong, and I just kicked her out?"

Muttering to herself, Isabella's eyebrows drew together in the center.

"But Celeste swears she did... the way Master Hastings treated her, the way he looked at her, the way she was so strange... the way he thought she'd broken Teddy's teacup and tried to make up for it, the way she came running to him and threw herself at him like a baby in his arms. I wonder if Celeste was mistaken?"

Nordstrom paused for a moment as he cleaned up the tea bowl.

"It's a man-woman thing... I don't think anyone knows... At least while I was here, there were no strange rumors or suspicious behavior between Master Edwin and the girl."

Isabella blinked to herself, hummed, and pushed herself upright.

"Moreover, maid Rosi is very particular about her maids; she would never have allowed a child to be trained as a handmaiden if she were to have any sort of improper relationship with Master Edwin."

"...That...is...true...."

Nordstrom walked to the window and opened it halfway. A cool breeze drove away the stale air.

"By the way, this party's turned into a bit of a headache. Master Hastings is preoccupied with Pemburg, and it looks like Liana's going to have to play hostess, and I don't think even Teddy's going to be around to take care of her..."

"Ah," Isabella said, looking down at the rising steam.

"Well, I guess that'll have to do."

She turned toward Nordstrom.

"I need to go to Belvida."

***

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