Chapter 87
“Yes! That was a lie!” Miles thought—but he couldn’t say it out loud.
“I reviewed the wedding budget and expenditures myself.”
Eliano had organized everything so clearly that Flint didn’t need to ask. The budget was large, yes—but all expenses were justified.
“Everything is reasonable. So why the problem? Am I extravagant, then?”
Miles bowed low in apology.
“I was wrong, Your Grace. Can only assume my head is failing.”
Flint’s anger eased when the elderly official humbly apologized. Flint trusted and valued the longtime local staff—and generally treated them kindly.
But one thing he couldn’t tolerate:
“Miles, did you suggest dowry contributions toward the wedding costs?”
Flint had interpreted Eliano’s unfinished remarks in his own way—and that gave her advantage.
When the word dowry slipped out, Miles’ face turned white. How did he know what I only thought? Indeed, he had whispered about dowry to some stewards before.
“Do I deserve to hear that I need my wife to contribute to her own wedding?”
Flint was stunned.
Where in the world does a man demand a bride’s dowry be used for wedding costs? Even if he didn’t know much about that side of things—he knew that.
Pressuring a lady over money was miserly. It was something from Zacador—something Flint despised.
His voice cold: “This will not be forgiven next time.”
All the finance staff watched, terrified as Miles scrambled. A mistress who came and immediately took over finances—and a lord who gave freely. It had all happened in under a week.
Flint summoned all stewards and said: Follow the Duchess’s directions completely. Anyone who defied her would be punished.
Meanwhile Miles came alone to apologize to Eliano. He knelt, completely submissive.
“I apologize for the disrespect I showed, Your Grace.”
Eliano looked down at him and let a slight smile appear.
“You treated Howard’s finances as if they were your own. Of course you would worry. But it came from loyalty, did it not?”
Her words carried meaning. Miles trembled. Eliano spoke softly:
“Are you unwell? You are old. In another household, you’d be retired by now.”
She suggested to have his health checked and even recommended herbal medicine—but she didn’t have him rise.
Eventually, Miles stumbled out of the room, knees shaking.
‘Once the wedding’s done, I’ll settle this with Miles.’
Eliano watched Miles’ retreating back with icy eyes.
She despised anyone challenging her authority. Flint stepped in now—but it would only last a while.
Frankly, she suspected embezzlement. Why else react so violently over someone else’s money?
Her instincts were sharp—and now confirmed.
That day she met the gardener in charge of Howard’s vast grounds. Eliano decided to hire several strong young gardeners to assist the elderly gardener.
In just one week, she grasped how the manor ran. Wedding preparations were moving steadily forward.
After dinner, she saw a stack of letters handed to her.
“What are these?”
Flint’s face darkened as he spoke:
“These were letters sent to you while we were away. Some are old.”
Why wait a whole week to deliver them? Eliano’s expression stiffened—until she saw unsealed envelopes and relaxed slightly.
One letter, addressed to Isabella Rosana, caught her eye. She passed the bundle to Jane, who quietly sorted them.
Jane’s voice drifted through the quiet:
“I hesitated before passing this one. Please forgive the delay.”
Only then did Eliano learn of Isabella’s news.
“Isabella Rosana married the Seventh Prince of Zacador. Their wedding was held in Lynsgen. It’s been some time.”
“…I see.”
Eliano had turned twenty-two on the journey north—exactly when she herself had married the Seventh Prince in her former life. She suspected she was never meant to be a political match. At audiences with the emperor, she had already sensed what was coming.
“Is Isabella the only daughter of House Rosana?”
That question implied: even if not her, someone had to be offered up in an alliance.
“But…”
Flint looked pained. He furrowed his brow, as if unsure how to share further.
And then he spoke softly:
“She has died.”
Eliano sat in a soft armchair, staring dully out the window.
Jane placed a gentle hand on the window.
“Your Grace, the breeze is cold. May I close the window?”
“No.”
Eliano stared at the shifting sky. Outside, movement stirred as gardeners and staff tended the grounds—determined to force flowers into bloom before the wedding.
Flint’s order had been absolute: Even if it’s not the season—make the garden bloom for the wedding. Wizards were even summoned.
Eliano didn’t mind. As bride, she had many duties—from fitting her gown to greeting guests.
She had issued every necessary instruction already. Her only role now was to oversee and correct where needed.
Gilbert and head maid Carol continued reporting various details. But Eliano remained detached, gazing into the distance.
“Your Grace…”
Jane asked quietly. Eliano blinked and asked,
“What did you say?”
“The officiant will be Vicar Marco from the central Northern Temple.”
“I was just about to request that…”
She honestly had nearly forgotten the wedding order of service.
“Your Grace, His Grace requested the ceremony and blessing be held on the same day—but wants your feelings first.”
Eliano’s eyes flickered.
“He wants the mass and ceremony in one day?”
“Not yet confirmed—Your Grace’s preference is requested first.”
Traditionally, wedding masses and ceremonies were held on separate days—especially for noble families. Combining them was a modern custom favored by the younger generation.
Eliano was surprised that pragmatic Flint would choose to do both in one day—but she appreciated the efficiency.
“If you’d prefer separate days…”
But Eliano shook her head.
“No, that’s easier for me too.”
Carol brightened. Usually ceremonies were grand with many guests, and the mass was more private with both families.
Flint had no close family to invite to the mass. Of course he couldn’t summon the Emperor or Crown Prince.
Everyone was quietly relieved that Eliano, born of House Rosana, did not insist on tradition.
Jane smiled as she filled the teacup.
In truth, Eliano felt much the same. Despite sending invitations to Rosana, she knew no one would come.
Frankly, she didn’t want a two-day event. Maybe because she’d organized so many ceremonies in her past life—this one, even though by her own choice, simply lacked emotional impact.
It felt similar to state ceremonies she’d overseen as Empress.
“Your Grace, the pastry chef and artisans you requested will arrive tomorrow.”
They planned a wedding cake.
“And the lead designer wishes to consult you about the dress fabric.”
Gilbert and Carol kept reporting progress, but Eliano looked listless.
Jane whispered something to them. They quickly delivered just the essentials in writing, then withdrew.
Preparation was underway—but the bride herself remained incredibly calm. Some staff whispered that even preparing someone else’s wedding would feel more exciting.
Though everyone tried to engage her in details, Eliano’s attention kept drifting. Her mood changed like boiling water—so erratic people wondered if it was pre-wedding nerves.
They consulted Flint.
If the Grand Duchess wants something…
Still, Flint sighed. He had noticed how weary and mentally distant she had become.
Once so energetic in managing the manor—but now all spark appeared gone.
I’ve heard that brides sometimes experience pre-wedding depression. Don’t worry, Your Grace.
One of his designers had said that—remarking that Eliano seemed more knowledgeable than many matrons.
Flint quietly understood why she’d become so withdrawn. Since hearing of Isabella’s death, her spirit had never returned.
When he finally informed her, she had barely reacted—no tears, just a slow calm sadness.
How unfortunate. Do you know the cause of death?
Her composed tone led Flint to answer plainly.
