Chapter 4
The Young Duke
“Roland Browning passed away two weeks ago. He’s already been buried in the cemetery.”
The shocking words made me clutch my head without thinking.
I blinked several times and even tugged on my cheeks, trying to confirm whether this was reality or a dream—but nothing changed.
While I was doing that, Lord Margus calmly observed me, studying my every reaction with composed attention.
──This won’t do.
I hurried to straighten my posture and looked up again at the young man before me to hear more details.
He was so tall that my neck started to ache from looking up at him… perhaps I should take a step back?
But retreating might be rude, so I hesitated—and in the end, stayed where I was.
“Such a great man has passed away, and yet there’s been no announcement to the people…?”
I somehow managed to get the words out.
No matter how unlikely, it seemed impossible that the Clarence family wouldn’t have heard such news.
“It was the late lord’s will. He wanted his death kept secret for a while.”
The way Margus said it—so smooth, so natural—left no room for doubt.
The war had just ended, and the country was drunk on the euphoria of victory.
It wasn’t hard to imagine a patriot choosing to delay somber news rather than dampen the national mood.
“I… I see…”
The conversation stalled.
I understood the situation—but then, why was I here?
Had there been some mistake?
Maybe the letter had arrived too late, and I hadn’t made it in time to see Roland von Browning before he died.
Until just a short while ago, even if I’d been practically sold off, at least I’d had a purpose.
But now? I’d lost even that anchor.
Though it wasn’t cold, my body began to tremble, and I found myself curling in on myself.
Would they just send me away?
Back to that house, to be called useless all over again?
Would the dragon-rider village even hire me back?
No, I didn’t even have any money—how would I afford the trip there…
My thoughts spun in circles, offering no solution.
“Then tell me—why do you think the carriage came to fetch you?”
At his words, I lifted my head in surprise.
Though Lord Margus’s face was cool and composed, there was a gleam in his eyes—something bright, almost boyish.
For a moment, I forgot my confusion, caught up in that unexpected light.
──He’s right. He knew I was coming.
If Roland von Browning was truly dead, there’d be no reason to send for me regarding a marriage proposal.
So there had to be a reason.
“Come in. You are welcome here.”
Margus gave a faint smile and stepped aside to let me pass.
Over his shoulder, I glimpsed a chandelier glittering even under the soft daylight.
The exterior of the mansion might have been plain, but inside—it was unmistakably the domain of a duke.
“…Ah…”
Could I really enter, dressed in such worn, shabby clothes?
Should I go around to the back door?
As I hesitated, Margus looked slightly awkward.
“At the moment, there aren’t many servants around. If you’re uncomfortable entering, we can speak on the terrace instead…”
“N-no, I was just lost in thought. Forgive me.”
I stepped into the Browning estate.
Following behind him down a long corridor, I turned a corner—and gasped.
A portrait hung there of a stern-faced man with white hair.
Could that be… Lord Roland himself?
I stopped and stared.
The man in the painting looked to be in his later years, yet the sharp, determined eyes reminded me strongly of Margus.
“My grandfather’s will,” Margus said. “He insisted that a portrait would suffice. Surprised?”
I dropped my gaze instinctively.
“A little…”
The portrait was so lifelike it almost felt as though the man himself would step out of the frame.
“Understandable. Even I sometimes get startled by it when I come home late at night.”
Margus’s tone held a touch of humor—clearly trying to ease my tension.
I could feel his kindness in that small attempt to put me at ease.
“Come in.”
He led me to a reception room on the first floor.
Apparently, a servant was present somewhere, because tea, light refreshments, and sweets soon arrived on a cart.
“If you’d like, I can serve—”
I started to rise, but he stopped me with a hand.
“I can handle such simple things myself.”
“M-my apologies.”
I’d heard that high-ranking nobles let their servants do everything for them—but as a soldier often at the front, it must have been different for him.
Having spent years in war, he’d never let someone untrustworthy near his food or drink.
It was obvious, yet I still felt embarrassed for not realizing sooner. My cheeks flushed hot.
He offered me exquisite sweets unlike anything I’d ever eaten—but my mouth was too dry to enjoy them.
“Not to your taste? It’s a demanding job. Perhaps you prefer something savory?”
“N-no, not at all! I’m just… not used to food like this…”
It wasn’t that they weren’t delicious.
But being watched so closely, I couldn’t stop thinking that my chewing sounded too loud, or that I was holding the cup clumsily…
“Do you prefer fruit, then?”
“Y-yes. I like apples.”
I answered reflexively—and instantly regretted it, feeling the air grow awkward.
“There should be some preserved ones somewhere.”
“N-no! That wasn’t a request! I only meant to answer your question…”
He raised his hand gently, as if to say “calm down,” and strangely enough, I did.
Perhaps dragons felt the same way when following their rider’s command.
“So, you like apples… like the dragons do.”
“Y-yes! The dragon-rider village has apple trees. I always looked forward to picking them—but the dragons love apples too, and they always beg for more during harvest season, so there’s never enough. Two years ago, I saved some seeds and planted them in a sunny spot in the forest… The saplings have finally grown, but I wonder how many years it’ll take before they bear fruit…”
I realized too late that I’d been babbling about something utterly trivial. Silence followed.
He must be thinking, why was this foolish woman brought here?
“There are apple trees here too,” he said at last. “Dragons love them, after all. Sadly, it’s not the season.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to apologize. I like apples too.”
My meaningless rambling had completely derailed the conversation, yet Margus—ever composed, ever noble—listened patiently and even responded with kindness.
──What a remarkable man.
Even setting aside how low my standards were, he was truly admirable.
“Would you like a sandwich?”
He noticed how little I’d eaten and spoke gently.
“Ah—yes. Thank you.”
“You must be tired. I have work to attend to, so please rest for now. You may use anything in the house as you wish.”
Just as I finished my sandwich, he said that—and my heart lurched.
If he left me alone here, I’d have no idea what to do next.
“W-wait, please…”
I called out, stopping him as he turned to go.
“Could you… let me work here?”
It was hard to say, but I’d already decided to live on my own strength from now on—no room for hesitation.
He probably thought it would be rude to send me away after calling me here, so he was being kind by offering me shelter for the night.
But that would only delay the inevitable.
Thick-skinned as it was, I had to take advantage of that kindness—do chores, anything—until I could properly earn my keep.
“There’s no need for you to work.”
──Rejected.
“That’s… a problem. I need money.”
I had no choice but to insist. If I gave up now, I truly had nowhere to go.
“How much?”
“Um… around one hundred thousand gitts…”
“There should be that much in my desk drawer. I’ll leave extra there so you can take what you need anytime.”
To him, that kind of money must have been mere pocket change.
“That’s not what I meant. I—I don’t have any way to repay you, so I’d prefer to earn it through wages—”
“You want a job?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s simple. You just have to become my wife.”
Margus said it without the slightest hint of hesitation.
