CHAPTER 22
Eight days had already passed out of the ten days allowed. As the time to leave approached, Gideon became anxious. Leaving without winning Charlotte’s heart felt like a great regret that shackled him.
Over the past few days, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t spent any time with Charlotte. There had been occasions, often at the insistence of the Duke of Baytness, when they strolled through the garden together. But during those moments, Charlotte stuck to short answers like “Yes,”“No,” or “I don’t know.”
And asking the Duke of Baytness didn’t yield much better results; his responses were equally enigmatic: “Yes,” “Probably not,” “I’m not sure about that.” It starkly contrasted the contents of the letter, which had expressed brotherly affection.
However, Gideon chose to understand, thinking that if someone were to ask him similar questions about his own sibling, his answers might fall into the same vein.
Still, Gideon felt disheartened, fearing he might leave without gaining even the slightest information about Charlotte or a hint of how to develop their relationship.
“Isn’t there any good way…? Ah!”
Just then, like a bolt of lightning, one person came to mind—someone who might hold the key to his troubled journey.
“Wouldn’t Miss Aveline know something? She’s a woman, after all, and they’ve reconciled. She would be more helpful than the Duke. Yes, Miss Aveline might know a lot.”
Not wanting to lose his last hope, Gideon immediately summoned a servant, asking them to find a suitable place and time to arrange a meeting with Vivianne Aveline and deliver the request on his behalf.
This was his last chance, and Gideon had no choice but to stake everything on Miss Aveline.
While mending the hole in the dress Theo had gifted her, Vivianne finally put down the needle, unable to ignore Charlotte’s persistent voice.
After the manor changed owners, she had been unable to sell her embroidery for various reasons. Over time, she had accumulated a lot of it, but even if she sold everything, it would only cover a fraction of the debt she owed the Duke.
Charlotte’s words hit the nail on the head. Selling embroidery to repay her debt simply didn’t make sense. Yet, waiting endlessly for her mother’s return from Preston wasn’t a solution either.
I need to earn money. I need money. But how? How do I earn money?
As these questions swirled in her mind, Maria’s voice surfaced from her memory, softening the long-standing bitterness and disappointment she felt.
“Some noble ladies who are short on money sometimes make and sell embroidery. Why don’t you try making and selling embroidery too? You can sell it to the townspeople. With Mr. Evans’ help, you can earn money to buy food.”
That cruel girl, stitching her only dress, had once explained how to make money. The very next day, Maria had swept away the rest of their money and all their valuables. Left with no other choice, Vivianne reluctantly followed her advice and began selling her embroidery.
Thinking of Maria made Vivianne even more depressed. In the end, she couldn’t even finish repairing the dress. Her wrong steps had led her into a swamp, and she sighed quietly as if resigned to her fate.
Then, unexpectedly, news arrived for Vivianne. Baron Zimmerman had requested a meeting—news that, while she understood the reason, still puzzled her.
What puzzled Vivianne was that she had never shared a meaningful conversation with him during his stay at the manor. Yet, the reason seemed obvious—it had to be because of Charlotte.
Charlotte had wounded her countless times with harsh and painful words, yet Vivianne did not resent her. After all, ever since her parents disappeared and Maria left her side, hurtful rumors had followed Vivianne like a shadow more times than she could count.
She believed that Charlotte hadn’t apologized yet because the bitterness from that day hadn’t fully dissipated. Moreover, Vivianne understood Charlotte’s sensitivity; after all, she was facing the pressure of an unwanted marriage.
Once Vivianne let go of her resentment, she began to worry about Charlotte’s future as well. While their circumstances weren’t identical, Vivianne knew that choosing a marriage partner was the second most crucial decision in a woman’s life after having children.
When Vivianne had just debuted in society, men with greedy intentions had pursued her, fully aware of her family’s decline but coveted the vast inheritance of the Aveline heiress. Back then, she had dreamt of a fairytale-like romance, imagining a man who would truly love her.
However, when rumors spread that King Mayr desired the only daughter of the Aveline Family as his mistress, even the vultures circling for her inheritance suddenly vanished. By the time she regretted not settling for one of those who sought only her wealth, it was already too late.
“The reason I’ve requested this private meeting is…”
The meeting, held under the pergola in the rear garden, began on a positive note. What influenced her favorable impression of the baron was the modestly arranged tea table.
Ironically, her improved opinion of the baron stemmed from the terror Edwin had instilled in her not long ago.
From the moment the meeting began, the baron maintained a high level of formality and courtesy, leaving a strong impression on Vivianne. It was this impression that led her to offer a rare compliment to Edwin—a man she otherwise had no desire to praise.
“It’s almost time for me to leave, but I haven’t had the chance to have a proper conversation with Miss Windler. So, I’ve taken the liberty of seeking your help, Miss Aveline.”
Furthermore, the Zimmerman Carriage Company had recently gained even more fame thanks to a tabloid story. The Marchioness Denisson, newly crowned as the queen of society, had reportedly gone to great lengths to reserve one of their carriages. The story brought tremendous publicity to the company, while the Marchioness became the subject of ridicule.
“As you may know, Miss Windler and I are set to marry under the Duke’s wishes. However, if Miss Windler refuses to marry me until the end, I will not proceed with the marriage.”
Baron Zimmerman, with his wealth, social reputation, noble status, and thoughtful consideration for Charlotte’s feelings, was what one might call the ideal husband.
“But I’ve fallen in love with Miss Windler, and I want to win her heart somehow.”
The baron rubbed his sweaty palms against his thighs beneath the table.
“Do you happen to know Miss Windler’s preferences—what she likes or anything that might capture her heart?”
His pure and earnest gaze held no trace of malice. His honesty and straightforwardness inspired trust, and Vivianne found herself sincerely hoping Charlotte would marry this man.
However, she was stumped by his very first question. Though she had spent significant time clashing with Charlotte, Vivianne didn’t know much about her preferences or interests either.
Is there any way to figure this out? Wondering what she could do, Vivianne made a bold decision and spoke up.
“Could you give me just a little time?”
Her eyes lit up with determination.
“I don’t know much about Miss Windler either,” she admitted. “But I want to help you, Baron. You seem so earnest that I can’t bring myself to turn you away. Before you leave tomorrow, I’ll make sure you have a chance to express your feelings to her.”
Vivianne reassured him with a gentle smile. Soon, a bright smile spread across the baron’s face as well.
“I would be most grateful if you would, Miss Aveline, and I will not forget this favor.”
As their friendly conversation came to an end, the sound of distant footsteps drew their gazes down the long corridor. The first thing Vivianne saw was a man, his long legs cutting through the rising mist with effortless grace.
He held a fencing sword in one hand and a mask tucked under his arm. Finally, he looked up, revealing his piercing blue eyes. At that moment, Vivianne’s lips stiffened.
When she saw his face, her emotions took a sharp downward turn.
Right, this is about the time Mr. Roarke practices fencing with him.
She silently blamed her forgetfulness for not recalling it sooner.
“My apologies, Your Grace. It seems I neglected to check your schedule. I was having a private conversation with Miss Aveline. We’ll move elsewhere immediately.”
Following the baron’s respectful tone toward Edwin, Vivianne also rose from her seat. Maintaining politeness wasn’t difficult—it was something she had often done in Preston, even when it was far from pleasant.
“No need. Please, continue,” Edwin replied with a calm smile, his gaze now fixed on Vivianne.
His eyes trailed down her dress, stained and worn before his head tilted slightly to the side.
“The dress is pretty.”
Vivianne glanced down at her dress in despair. No matter how many times I washed it, the stains wouldn’t come out of this beige dress, she thought. Calling it pretty is an unmistakable mockery.
“… Thank you,” she replied.
Since meeting Edwin’s gaze, she had avoided his piercing blue eyes entirely. It felt unsettling, yet there was a faint sense of satisfaction in her defiance. It was the maximum defiance she could manage.
“Then, you two talk. We’ll focus on fencing. And Miss Aveline…”
Edwin’s call, the one she had hoped would never come, was finally directed at her.
“Miss Aveline, stay after the conversation is over.”
“… Why?”
Her eyes finally lifted, brushing past Edwin’s. Her questioning tone made it clear she had no intention of easily accepting his request.
“Because I have something to tell you.”
His words passed her by indifferently, as though she couldn’t care less. The two men moved toward the end of the rear garden, and Baron Zimmerman took a seat. After a moment of dazed hesitation, Vivianne sat down as well.
Gideon turned his head, glancing at Edwin and Roarke behind him. The sports of strong, young men were always brimming with energy.
“Life is truly unfair, isn’t it? It’s both amazing and frustrating that someone who lacks nothing could exist. Of course, I’m sure His Grace has faced his own struggles to get where he is, but sometimes, even with the same effort, the results can be vastly different.”
Gideon watched Edwin warming up with a look of envy and a hint of jealousy. After letting out a thin sigh of regret and lingering emotion, he withdrew his stubborn gaze and turned his attention to reality.
This time, however, Vivianne seemed completely elsewhere. Though he couldn’t quite discern what occupied her mind, she appeared lost in thought.
Her vacant eyes just stared at the pattern of the tablecloth, and curious if there was something there that he hadn’t seen, Gideon also looked down at the design.
However, he shook his head, convinced that it was just a pattern that made his head spin.
“Miss?”
“I…”
Vivianne, who had momentarily wandered into another realm while following the tablecloth’s design, finally spoke. Yet her gray eyes still seemed distant, as though they hadn’t fully returned to reality.
“How does one make money?”
Her tone was grave, an unusual question for a noble young lady. Gideon couldn’t help but suspect it was some kind of jest or test.
“I don’t know anything about money, but I want to earn it. The problem is, I don’t know how. But you, Baron, seem to know how to make money for someone like me.”
He was certain it wasn’t a joke, thanks to the sincerity in her eyes and the earnestness in her voice.
Anyone who had started from the very bottom and made it this far could always recognize the look of someone desperate for money, even with their eyes closed.
“How much do you want to earn?”
“… Why do you ask?”
“Because my answer will depend on the amount you’re aiming for.”
His upright smile carried a serious weight. His voice, in stark contrast to the tone he had used when discussing Charlotte, inspired confidence. Convinced that he was taking her seriously, Vivianne wetted her dry lips.
Her gray eyes flicked from the simple table to the man slicing through the air with his movements. His striking height naturally drew attention, and even with his mask on, he was unmistakable.
“Thirty thousand mori.”
The sum slipped from her lips, making her goal painfully clear, and at the same time making all the hours she had spent painstakingly embroidering seem meaningless. Once again she felt as if she had been hit by the stone Charlotte had thrown.
