Chapter 59
While she was looking at the vineyard, Victor had breakfast brought into the bedroom. The servants set up two trays of food in front of the window.
Victor sat with his legs crossed in a chair. In front of him were fine dishes, yet he only kept a cup of coffee at hand and began reading the newspaper.
Scarlett, eating quietly by herself, couldn’t stand the sight of it. She split her cherry danish in half and placed a piece on his plate.
“Eat.”
The servants watching from a distance looked troubled. Victor was not the sort of man who would ever eat food from someone else’s plate. As expected, he didn’t touch the danish Scarlett had given him and simply returned his eyes to the newspaper.
They ate in silence, until Scarlett’s laughter broke it.
“This is how it used to feel when we had meals together.”
Victor looked up at her. Scarlett continued eating without adding anything more. After a moment, he said,
“Not at all.”
“Hm?”
“You used to talk a lot more.”
“……”
Victor took a sip of his coffee and went on,
“After the divorce, it took some time to adjust. It was too quiet.”
He spoke flatly, then set the paper down and looked at Scarlett, as if to say: Go on, talk about something.
Scarlett tried to ignore his stare, but couldn’t hold out long. She opened her mouth.
“After breakfast I’m going to braid my hair. It’ll take a while—I’m going to braid it over one shoulder like this.”
“You really do pick topics that are hard to sympathize with.”
“I’ll tell you the correct answer. ‘Oh? That’s a good idea.’”
“Oh.”
“And I’ll tie it with a blue ribbon.”
“That’s a good idea.”
The corners of his mouth tugged upward as he answered, and Scarlett nearly laughed, biting her lip to stop herself.
After finishing the meal, she braided her hair just as she’d said.
Victor watched as though he were witnessing something curious. Scarlett tied her braid with a blue ribbon. Her nimble hands moved briskly, like when tying back curtains—it was oddly entertaining to watch.
Once she put on her hat, the two of them left the villa. Scarlett led the way without knowing where she was going, then suddenly stopped.
“Wow…”
There was a lake so clear the bottom was visible. Around it stretched the vineyard, already painting an image of summer.
“It’s beautiful…” Scarlett murmured, captivated by the unfamiliar scenery.
Victor spoke.
“You don’t need to rely on loans for the university. If it’s just admission, I can arrange it.”
She froze and looked at him.
Sarantier University, with the best facilities and faculty, had three admission tracks: recommendation for nobles, donation for the bourgeois, and elite entrance for true prodigies.
The Crimson family had once been a noble house, gaining their title through skill, not lineage. But after her parents—its greatest assets—passed away, the family had declined. They had no power to secure admission anymore.
“I just want to learn my craft more systematically.”
Victor nodded.
“I understand.”
“You understand?”
“No. I mean I’ll try to, out of courtesy.”
“Ah.”
Scarlett gave a short laugh.
After looking over the vineyard, they returned to the villa. Tomorrow morning, they would head back to the capital.
Fresh from a bath, Scarlett came out to find Candice standing nervously near the bathroom.
Candice was a senior maid with strong pride in her work. Unlike untrained girls, veteran maids were hard to come by, and so they took deep pride in their professionalism. Candice too—usually. But during this vineyard trip, her behavior was oddly different. She seemed desperate to stay in Scarlett’s good graces, almost submissive.
Scarlett, who had worked as a maid herself before marriage, knew that look well. Maids only groveled like that when they had nowhere else to go.
But Candice should have options. The fact that even she was anxious meant the job market was in real trouble.
Scarlett glanced at the other staff. If Candice was this worried, the others were even more so. They avoided her gaze entirely, afraid of being caught in some fault.
In Sarantier, watches were more than necessities—they were luxury heirlooms. In uneasy times, such goods actually thrived.
But on Seventh Street, anxiety about a downturn always lingered like fog. Especially now, when rumors that nobles were hoarding gold were no longer even secrets. Gold coins had all but vanished from circulation, and the rare one that appeared could fetch any price.
Scarlett sat down at the table where snacks had been laid out, untouched. Blythe approached and asked politely,
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes. Something that helps me sleep.”
He bowed and withdrew. Soon Victor joined her at the table, and two cups of tea were set down.
Scarlett looked at him.
“Do you have any gold coins?”
“Why?”
“Well, all the nobles are refusing to release theirs lately.”
“Ah, because it’s a safe asset.”
“So do you have gold?”
“Pirates like gold coins.”
“So that means you have a ridiculous amount.”
“More or less.”
“You’d be fine even if a war breaks out, then.”
“Not all nobles would be.”
Victor reached into his jacket for cigarettes, then pulled his hand out with an irritated expression.
“The ones who’ve been spying early are fine. If war breaks out, the Vestina forces will definitely bomb the Dumfelt estate on the western coast.”
“Because you’re not a spy?”
“Because I’m not a spy.”
He chuckled, glancing at her.
“What? Surprised that someone as selfish as me isn’t one?”
“A little.”
“And no spy would ever admit he was one.”
“True. I’ll take it that way too.”
Victor gave another dry laugh.
“Emigration might be an option.”
“Oh.”
Scarlett nodded slowly.
“For the Crimsons, that’s impossible. Live or die, it has to be in Sarantier.”
“I know.”
“I just hope we’re not conquered by Vestina.”
“Then it’d be best to keep that hunk of scrap iron afloat.”
At his signal, Blythe refilled his cup.
Victor went on.
“Forget the donation admission. Don’t waste money. One phone call and one of the nobles who owes me will write you a recommendation.”
“You’d do that?”
“It’s useful for me too.”
“…Thank you.”
Victor drained his cup and asked,
“So I’ll handle the admission. You take the villa and vineyard profits and invest them in building aircraft.”
Scarlett paused, then asked,
“Out of patriotism?”
He laughed.
“Sailors go to sea at thirteen. I’ve lived longer as a soldier than as anything else. Every Sarantier sailor is drilled in patriotism and hatred of pirates. And I’ve fought too many battles at sea. I don’t want another war.”
She thought for a while, then answered,
“All right.”
“Think harder before you say that.”
He looked her straight in the eye.
“If people find out you can build aircraft, your life will never be easy. Vestina would drag you away the moment they knew.”
She fell into thought again.
She hadn’t even been able to keep Victor’s secrets, having spilled everything to the royal police. Could she really keep technological ones?
She finally spoke.
“Then kill me first.”
“……”
“I’m asking you.”
She held out her hand for a handshake.
Whatever her feelings toward Victor Dumfelt, she thought of this as a good proposal—not between divorced spouses, but between two people living on the same land.
When a lady offers a handshake, a gentleman should accept it at once. But Victor only looked at her hand, as if with something still to say. Only when Scarlett wiggled it impatiently did he finally extend his hand and shake hers.
