Chapter 18
Hermia set down her utensils, clearly unable to eat any more. While she couldn’t say she had eaten a large amount, it was evident that she had consumed more than double her usual intake. Had her stomach shrunk in the meantime? It felt quite unfair, considering such opportunities were rare.
‘How long has it been since I overate to the point of breathlessness?’
Since she had no memory of it, it seemed this was her first experience. After the bread, cream stew, chicken, and fish, she expected dessert to follow, but that was a mistake.
Instead of dessert, a plate of dark red meat appeared as if everything she had eaten until now was merely an appetizer. Hermia gasped and raised both hands in protest.
“I’m done now…”
“This is filet mignon, seared with butter to give it a crispy exterior.”
“Filet mignon…?”
“It’s even better when paired with some mashed potatoes. This is my pride and joy.”
The chef confidently introduced the dish he personally placed before her. Normally, she would decline, but the savory aroma wafting from the glossy steak made it impossible to resist.
If he took pride in it, she felt she had to at least taste it. Determined not to disappoint the eager chef, Hermia picked up a new fork and knife.
“Is it to your liking?” Walter asked as he noticed her eating with more enthusiasm than before.
“Yes! This is… no, it’s incredibly delicious.”
‘Asking for leftovers would make me seem ungrateful. I should just be satisfied with having eaten enough.’
Looking down at the remaining steak that was still more than half untouched made her feel regretful. However, no matter how much she wanted more, she truly had reached her limit.
“This is the best steak I’ve ever tasted.”
Wiping her mouth with a linen napkin, Hermia thanked the chef sincerely. It was a common remark made by guests who were served a meal, but she meant it genuinely.
As Walter’s gaze lingered on Hermia, Mel interjected hastily.
“That’s right! I was really surprised when I first tasted it too. Our chef back home… well, he’s good too, but I don’t think he can compare!”
“Oh my! I’m so embarrassed to receive such high praise!” The chef took off his hat and mimicked the ladies waving their fans.
Hermia burst into laughter, and a slight smile appeared on Walter’s lips as he watched her.
Mel realized that not just the servants but all the soldiers were focused solely on Hermia and stiffly smiled along.
“Haha… this is not funt…”
However, her muttering was drowned out by everyone else’s laughter and went unheard.
A little later, instead of dessert, various snacks began to arrive in the banquet hall. Following that were large oak barrels that could fit a person lined up as they entered.
The ten rolling barrels were clearly filled with beer. Mel’s expression brightened instantly.
Before the drinking began in earnest, Walter spoke up.
“Everyone can drink comfortably today; tomorrow morning’s training is canceled.”
“Thank you!”
The cheerful response followed his welcome command. As Walter stood up to take the two women aside, Mel quickly held out her palm in front of him.
“Wait! Lady Hermia, let’s have a drink together.”
“What? Why should we join? We have things to discuss separately in a quieter place…”
“Melissa.”
Walter called her name as if to dissuade her, but Mel ignored him and provoked Hermia instead.
“Are you trying to avoid getting caught for being weak with alcohol?”
With a sudden snap inside Hermia felt something break off completely.
“Melissa, let’s save drinking for later…”
“Just wait a moment, Your Grace.”
“Yes.”
Hermia laughed in disbelief. Upon reflection, frustration welled up within her.
How ridiculous must she have looked for Mel to act like this at their engagement ceremony?
Before getting serious about their conversation, she decided she needed to show Mel—no, Melissa Vansen—who she really was at least once.
‘You need to know who you’re picking a fight with.’
—
“These shoes are too small! I can’t wear any of them because they’re tiny—why? Because that lady has small feet!”
“I’m sorry…”
The soldier held by Hermia’s collar looked utterly defeated.
“I’m going to end up with crooked toes and my pelvis will be misaligned too! Your captain said so. This is serious!”
“That really is serious…”
“What if Irene teases me again! Oh right. She’s now with Ban.Sa.Yo”
“Ban.Sa.Yo?”
“And I’m Helen.”
“Helen…?”
“You don’t know that? Stop just shooting guns and read some books.”
“I’m sorry…”
After going around in circles again, the soldier apologized once more. From afar, Mel frowned and asked,
“Walter, how much beer did she drink?”
“…Three sips.”
Looking at the glass that looked no different from when it was first poured, Walter replied. His next question carried a hint of sharpness.
“Do you know Lady Hermia’s drinking capacity when you said that?”
“She has never drunk at home. She always only had beverages at parties,” Mel retorted immediately with an indignant tone. That much was true.
Now that she thought about it, had Hermia even taken a sip of champagne at their engagement? As she recalled with remarkable memory… no, there hadn’t been any such moment.
Walter then remembered Count Vansen stumbling into the Duke’s castle completely drunk.
‘My son-in-law! Call my son-in-law!’
But Hermia was nothing like him. Even if she was drunk, it didn’t irritate him at all.
Compared to the Counts’ drunkenness, Lady Hermia’s tipsiness seemed almost cute…
“You’re really sweet. Will you marry me?”
“…….”
Walter’s expression darkened as Hermia grabbed the collar of another soldier, proposing to him.
“You’re drunk.”
“Huh?”
Hermia slowly turned her head at his firm voice. Her sea-like eyes blinked slowly as her face flushed red.
He suddenly thought how nice it would be if she looked at him this warmly even when sober.
A sudden feeling of suffocation filled his chest; it was an emotion that arose every time he witnessed her reaction reminding him of their arranged marriage.
More precisely speaking, every time he saw her acting as if trying to push him away like this.
As they continued meeting each other over time, his feelings grew larger while Hermia seemed to be building some kind of wall around herself.
Didn’t she find him appealing as a marriage partner? Or was it because of that book?
If it was the latter, did it have to do with Melissa? Would sending Melissa back to her estate ease her worries?
If those assumptions were wrong and it simply meant he wasn’t appealing as a marriage partner—what should he do then?
He couldn’t figure that out. He wasn’t so naïve as not to understand his feelings for her; he simply lacked experience in expressing them properly.
Walter patiently began loosening Hermia’s grip on another man’s collar one by one.
“Lady Hermia, you’re engaged to me. That means you’re not allowed to marry anyone else.”
“Engaged… married…?”
Hermia murmured while looking up at the ceiling. As if thinking about something before suddenly jumping up with an “Ah!”
“Frederick! That bald guy!”
Frederick Cotton—the name of the man who had previously been discussed for marriage with Hermia came up in Walter’s mind instantly.
Walter’s eyebrows furrowed naturally at this revelation; so he was bald after all?
“I need to tell him.”
“What do you mean?”
“That it’s okay if he keeps seeing his lovers… just marry me.”
“Lady Hermia.”
Should he repeat that his fiancée is him and that the man she wishes to marry is also him?
Not only did she propose to an officer wearing an engagement ring but now also mentioned some lewd old flame?
Walter closed his eyes momentarily in an effort to suppress his emotions before opening them again just as Hermia muttered softly,
“That way I can get plenty of alimony later…”
“…….”
“So I can live well on my own in this damn world.”
What on earth is this woman saying? What does alimony have to do with living alone?
“I don’t want to get married at all. I just want to live well on my own and eat well. Is that too much to ask? It probably isn’t possible anyway.”
“Everyone.”
He turned his head sharply towards the soldiers watching blankly and commanded,
“Leave.”
With piercing eyes like needles directed at them, the soldiers moved swiftly out through the door. The last remaining low-ranking soldier dragged Henry away by his collar as they disappeared out of sight.
Even the servants who had been watching cautiously slipped away like tides leaving only Walter, Hermia, and Mel behind in solitude.
Hermia seemed thirsty as she grabbed the abandoned beer glass before her. Walter stopped her hand and handed her a water glass instead.
“It would be best if you stopped drinking for today. I’ll prepare your guest room so you can sleep there and come back tomorrow…”
“No way! Lady Olivia will scold me!”
“I’ll send someone over for you.”
“I don’t care. I’m tired of being scolded. It’s not like I asked to be adopted. They’re all garbage.”
She gulped down water noisily before releasing a long breath she had been holding back.
“Haa… The Countess who took in an illegitimate child for her reputation, and the stepfather who sold me for pocket change—they’re all trash.”
Walter paused and looked at her intently.
Was this mature demeanor stemming from such experiences?
He gathered information about her when her will was made public; thus he knew Lady Hermia’s name before acquiring Vansen’s name:
‘Hermia Nocturne.’
Despite its romantic sound—her past wasn’t very romantic at all either.
When she was around five years old or so; her biological mother married a man named Nocturne only to pass away five years later due to illness.
They lived in a slum area where her stepfather changed jobs monthly; implying they belonged to an unstable working class without consistent income.
He ended up gambling away money given by Arnold Vansen when taking his daughter away only for fate’s cruel twist leading him into death during a robbery incident early one morning.
Just reading those few lines written in reports made it easy enough for anyone who could guess what kind of environment she’d grown up in.
Yet despite everything—she shone brightly; dazzling purely by herself rather than due solely from background or status.
Moreover—she could apologize politely even after being treated rudely by her biological father.
That made Walter doubt even more; how could someone like her appear as a villainess in some third-rate novel?
“First one to pay alimony for marrying a garbage daughter wins! What, where did everyone go?”
Hermia’s sadness suddenly gave way to a cheerful shout.
How much alimony would she demand to be happy?
Not that he had any intention of divorcing her.
