Chapter 32
. She Left Together with Adrian?
2023.11.01
“The opening bid is five hundred thousand rut per carriage, with a total of five hundred carriages available.”
The announcer’s declaration signaled the official start of the trade.
At that, an old gentleman in a gray fedora shouted in irritation.
“What? Starting price of five hundred thousand rut for those useless special carriages? I came thinking I’d buy them dirt cheap and maybe resell them for scrap, but this? Bah!”
Muttering angrily, he stormed out.
And indeed, compared to the actual value of the special carriages at present, the opening bid was set absurdly high.
But when compared to ordinary carriages, which easily exceeded three million rut apiece, the price was in fact rather low.
And soon enough, once the Imperial Household makes their official announcement, their value will only skyrocket… What a foolish old man.
Camilla scoffed as she watched the gentleman’s back disappear.
Now, only Camilla, Henry, and the Grand Duchess Rebecca remained in the hall.
Defeating that dim-witted Grand Duchess will be child’s play.
Camilla glanced at Henry with a leisurely smile.
“Since these are destined to be ours anyway, shall we amuse ourselves a little with Her Grace first?”
Camilla and Henry had prepared ample funds, enough to bid up to 1.5 million rut per carriage.
According to the information they had received, Grand Duchess Rebecca had only a little more than 1.3 million rut per carriage at her disposal.
No matter that she’s a Grand Duchess—she’s squandered her money so recklessly, there’s no way she has much left. His Grace would never entrust a novice like her with more capital either.
A sly smile spread across Camilla’s lips.
On any other day Henry would have found that expression adorable, but today his reaction was different.
He shrugged sourly, his face clouded with displeasure.
“Do whatever you want, Camilla. My opinion doesn’t matter anyway, does it?”
Camilla shot him a look, then gracefully raised her paddle.
“Yes, the lady in the front.”
“Six hundred thousand rut.”
“Six hundred thousand rut! Any higher bids?”
The announcer looked around, and Grand Duchess Rebecca lifted her paddle.
“Yes, the lady in the middle.”
“Six hundred… and fifty thousand rut.”
Camilla nearly burst into laughter.
Pathetic. Only fifty thousand higher? Well, she doesn’t have much to work with, so of course she’s scared.
She jabbed Henry in the ribs with her elbow.
“Henry, what are you waiting for? Call out eight hundred thousand.”
Reluctantly, Henry raised his paddle.
“Yes, the gentleman in the front?”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
“Eight hundred thousand rut! Any other bids?”
Camilla turned to watch the Grand Duchess.
Rebecca was whispering nervously with the blond man seated beside her.
Surprised at how quickly the price is climbing, Your Grace?
Smirking, Camilla called out again.
“Here. One million rut.”
“One million rut from the lady in front!”
Then, right on cue, Henry raised his paddle.
“One million two hundred thousand.”
“One point two million rut! Any others?”
Camilla was certain victory was within reach.
Rebecca would be forced to exhaust her funds, and Camilla only had to add a little more to crush her completely.
Winner: herself. Loser: the Grand Duchess.
Though the outcome was already decided, the process filled her not with boredom but with sweet exhilaration.
“Yes, the lady in the middle?”
The announcer gestured to Rebecca.
So she’ll push to her very limit after all.
Camilla’s lips curled upward in triumph.
“One… one point two five million rut…”
Rebecca’s voice trembled, her face torn with doubt over whether she should really commit such a large sum.
Really, she should have just kept wasting her days on gambling and luxury. Why bother with something so unfitting now?
Mocking her silently, Camilla smiled serenely and raised her paddle.
“Yes, the lady in the front. Your bid?”
Camilla drew in a long, deliberate breath.
She wanted to savor this moment—crushing Rebecca’s pride—for as long as possible.
Then, in the voice of a stage actress, she declared:
“One point five million.”
For speculative investment in special carriages, the sum was astronomically high.
It was not only far above Rebecca’s bid, but nearly the entirety of Camilla and Henry’s prepared funds.
The announcer could not hide his excitement.
“One point five million rut! Remarkable!”
Even he seemed certain now that Camilla was the winner.
“Any higher bids at all?”
He hurried to conclude the auction, as if afraid she might change her mind.
“One point five million rut! Any more?”
Camilla hid her smile behind her fan.
Indeed, heaven smiles on me.
This was the perfect chance to utterly humiliate the Grand Duchess.
“If there are no more bids, we will close the auction immediately. Truly none?”
Camilla held her breath, waiting for the announcer to declare her victory.
Tension filled the vast Hestia Hall.
“…What? Truly?”
The announcer’s eyes went wide as he looked toward the center.
No… it can’t be…
Camilla turned, her face twisting savagely.
Impossible. She doesn’t have the money to bid any higher…
Forcing herself calm, she shook her head slightly.
No. Even if she scraped up a little more, she can’t possibly outbid me.
She had, after all, secretly prepared additional funds without Henry’s knowledge—going so far as to borrow at exorbitant rates. But as long as she secured a good deal, she could easily repay it.
I can bid up to 1.8 million per carriage without worry. At most, she could stretch to…
One point six million, perhaps?
A smirk tugged at Camilla’s lips—until:
“My lady, what price do you wish to offer?”
The announcer turned to Rebecca, and every gaze fixed on her lips.
The hall fell into tense silence.
Then Rebecca’s quiet voice rang out.
“Two million rut.”
Gasps rippled through the hall as eyes flew wide.
Camilla and Henry exclaimed in unison:
“T–two million rut?!”
“You’re investing two million each—for five hundred carriages? In those special carriages?”
The shock was universal.
“M–madam, did you say two million? You do realize there is no withdrawing after confirmation… even if you lack the funds?”
The announcer’s lips quivered.
But Rebecca’s composure was unshaken.
“Of course. I have no intention of withdrawing. And I am most certainly not lacking in funds.”
Her red lips curved into a smile.
“Please, ask the others if they wish to bid higher. Perhaps someone might outdo me.”
She even winked playfully.
Camilla bit her lip hard, seething.
The announcer quickly turned to her.
“My lady, would you care to offer a higher bid?”
“…”
“Yes?”
Pressed for an answer, Camilla remained silent.
Then Henry’s weary sigh beside her stabbed her like a knife.
“Haa… So confident, and now look at you.”
Camilla glared at him, then slowly shook her head.
“I… I forfeit.”
The announcer nodded with satisfaction, and proclaimed loudly:
“Two million rut per carriage—sold! The special carriage futures contract is successfully closed!”
At the same time, inside the Duke’s study.
The servants kept sneaking glances at Cedric, lowering their heads quickly each time.
Something about him was off today.
Normally the very picture of composure, Cedric kept losing focus.
Even now, he repeatedly lifted an empty teacup as though to drink from it.
At last, the head maid approached with the teapot.
“Um, Your Grace…”
“Yes?”
“Shall I pour you more tea?”
“…Tea?”
Cedric stared blankly at the empty cup.
Realizing his absentmindedness, he sighed and stood.
He paced toward the window, tugging at his brow, then turned back abruptly.
And an unexpected name escaped his lips.
“Rebecca has not returned yet?”
His aide tilted his head, puzzled.
It was strange enough to hear Cedric inquire after the Grand Duchess at all—but stranger still that this was the same question he’d asked several times already.
Cautiously, the aide answered:
“No, Your Grace. It has only been ten minutes since you last asked.”
“…Ah.”
Cedric nodded slowly, murmuring, So I did.
He took a step toward his desk, then stopped and looked back again.
“She left with Adrian?”
The same question again, as though for the first time.
The aide could not conceal his bewilderment.
“Yes, Your Grace. Just as I told you earlier.”
Only then did Cedric seem to remember. He nodded faintly.
At last he sat back down and glanced at a few documents.
But even the head maid, who knew nothing of his work, could see he was merely pretending.
Before long, he shoved all the papers aside.
“…I cannot seem to concentrate.”
With a mutter, he pushed back his chair and stood.
“Perhaps a walk will help.”
At once the maids rushed to fetch his coat.
Cedric accepted it absently and was about to leave the study when he paused at the door.
“Ah, Riemann.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
He gestured the aide closer, and when the man bent his ear near, Cedric’s deep voice whispered:
“To cross paths with the Grand Duchess returning home… which way would be quickest?”
