Chapter 6
“Yes, Your Grace. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Her Ladyship’s appetite is alarmingly small.”
“Could it be that the food doesn’t suit her taste?”
Clayton asked back at the cook’s words. The cook shook his head firmly.
“I wondered the same, so I tried arranging vegetable-based meals, even went as far as procuring Iren Mountain wheat to bake bread. But still…”
The cook explained how, in just one month, the expenses for Lady Elizabeth’s meals alone nearly matched the combined food costs for the entire household staff of the ducal estate.
He had spared no effort, purchasing the finest ingredients and experimenting with various methods of preparation.
At that, Clayton’s expression hardened.
“How… serious is it, exactly?”
“When I asked the maids, they said there aren’t any particular foods she avoids. Nor does she complain of dislike. In fact, they say she praises the meals each time, calls them delicious. Yet her portions remain distressingly small.”
“Could it be because she’s eating alone?”
Clayton tilted his head, recalling the last time they had shared a table—five days ago. She hadn’t eaten much then either, but it hadn’t seemed alarmingly little.
The cook gave a small nod, agreeing.
“When Your Grace is present, and you encourage her to try this or that, she never refuses. But otherwise…”
There was, in truth, a reason Clayton did not dine with Elizabeth daily. First, he was often away from the estate, far too busy to return regularly.
The second reason lay with the duchy’s finances.
Once, the House of Cassion had been a prosperous family. But those days were long past. Now, the duchy was barely surviving, staggering beneath the weight of debts.
And if one were to ask what that had to do with Clayton not dining with Elizabeth—the answer was simple: food expenses.
Despite being young and a child born out of wedlock, Clayton had been accepted as the rightful duke by his retainers and the estate’s people.
His austere, frugal way of life had helped secure that recognition.
His own meals were no different from those served to the household staff: hard, coarse black bread kneaded with rye, a stew of snow hare caught easily in winter, and on fortunate days, a dish of pickled vegetables as a rare treat.
In this estate, only Elizabeth was served white bread made from the costly Iren Mountain wheat, butter, and a colorful spread of fresh vegetables.
The only times Clayton partook in such fare were the occasional meals he shared with her.
“Hm. It would indeed be best if I dined with her every day… but then, the cost of it…”
With a dark expression, Clayton muttered under his breath. In front of him, the cook, who had been bowing deeply, finally raised his head as though steeling his resolve.
Though he was proud beyond words that his master ate the same meals as the household staff, part of his heart ached all the same.
Clayton was only sixteen.
Back when his elder brother—the previous duke—had still been alive, the young lord had been treated with the dignity befitting his station.
To see him suddenly inherit the title, burdened with responsibilities far too heavy for his years, worn down by the weight of life—it was painful for a man who had served House Cassion for so long.
“Your Grace,” the cook began carefully, “if I put my mind to it, I believe I can prepare two portions without straining the budget any further. No matter how fine the food I serve to Her Ladyship, it means little if she barely touches it. But if Your Grace were to dine with her—at least once a day, even just for supper—it would make all the difference.”
The butler, Sebastian, who stood nearby, hadn’t been forewarned of this suggestion, but he immediately understood the intent behind the cook’s words.
Nodding vigorously, he lent his support.
“I agree. Of course, when you are away from the castle nothing can be done. But whenever possible, it would be best for you to share meals with Her Ladyship. Speaking with her, spending that time together—it may help her adjust to life here in Cassion as well.”
With even Sebastian joining in, Clayton fell silent, sinking into thought.
“…Very well.”
After a pause, he gave a light nod, accepting their counsel.
“Every evening?”
“Yes, my lady. Unless His Grace is away from the castle, he wishes to dine with you as often as possible—ideally, every day.”
At the maid’s report, Elizabeth tilted her head in puzzlement.
Even married couples did not always take their meals together.
She had lived countless lives, and her years of married life alone added up to decades.
Yet, in all that time, dining with her husbands had been an occasion reserved for fixed days of the week or for special events.
It wasn’t that she was unusual—this was simply the way of noble households.
Marriages were political partnerships, and meals were seldom shared.
Even now, nothing had changed. Though more than three months had passed since she came to Cassion Castle, the number of times Elizabeth had dined with Clayton could be counted on her fingers.
To Elizabeth, a spouse was nothing more than a political companion who happened to share the same roof.
And yet—every evening together? That was something not even lovers hopelessly infatuated with each other would attempt.
So when word reached her that Clayton wished to dine with her every day, without any apparent reason, Elizabeth was left bewildered.
What is this about?
She pondered his motives for a moment, then shook her head.
Does it matter? As long as he doesn’t pester me or make things difficult…
Her memories of the few meals they had shared came to mind. Each time, Clayton had asked only the most perfunctory of questions—How are you faring?—before falling silent and finishing the meal without fuss.
Because of that, Elizabeth attached little significance to this sudden wish for daily suppers.
Was he concerned? Or… is he worried I might be swayed by Enrique?
She knew perfectly well how Clayton—and others—interpreted her position here. Some even had the audacity, despite being mere servants, to look at her with pity.
But Elizabeth felt no offense. Her life had been far too long, and far too harsh, for the empty gazes of others to wound her.
Having decided in this life to avoid paths of hardship and struggle, she refused to waste her strength on caring about how people saw her.
And yet, from that very evening onward, what she encountered was far different from what she had imagined.
“This one is rather good. Why don’t you try a bite?”
“…Pardon? Ah, yes.”
“Well? How is it?”
“Ah—it’s delicious.”
“Is it, really?”
No sooner had Elizabeth answered that it was delicious than the butler, beaming, scooped a generous portion onto her plate.
“This is far too—”
“Not enough, don’t you think? Give her a bit more.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if Clayton had devised some strange new way to torment her.
But when she caught the expression on his face as he watched her eat, she was forced to reconsider.
With that look, it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to make me suffer… then what is this?
In the end, swept up by the atmosphere of Clayton and the butler, Elizabeth had no choice but to eat nearly twice her usual amount.
The result was an evening spent in quiet misery, soothing the discomfort in her stomach.
Clayton, the butler, and the chef, however, were gathered together with bright faces, raising a toast in celebration.
“It seems this bottle was saved for just such a day.”
The chef brought it out with confidence, and the butler’s face lit with joy.
“Good heavens—so that was still here?”
“There was just one bottle left. But on such a happy day, shouldn’t we all share a glass? If Her Ladyship would eat like she did today every day, I could die without regrets.”
The chef, full of cheer, recounted how the kitchen staff had even cheered in triumph when they heard Elizabeth had finished the dishes prepared.
“You know, I’ve been careless. I think I forgot what was truly important. From now on, I’ll need to consider what other things we might share together, beyond just meals.”
Clayton murmured the words with a twinge of guilt.
After all, it was his own selfishness that had brought this young, delicate girl all the way here.
No matter how attentive the servants were, Clayton couldn’t shake the thought that he, her only family, had been far too careless.
“Yes. I’ll think on it as well.”
“Now, now. A toast, then—together!”
From that day on, Elizabeth found herself sharing dinner with Clayton nearly every evening.
On the first night, she had gone without much thought, eaten whatever was placed before her, swept up by the atmosphere. But from the next day onward, she tried—at least faintly—to resist.
However—
“Why? Does it not suit your taste? The chef said he prepared this especially for you…”
With Clayton asking in such a worried tone, she had no choice but to answer:
“N-no, it’s fine.”
“Good. Seeing you eat well makes me happier than anything.”
And so, under this gentle but undeniable pressure, Elizabeth found herself overeating night after night. Inevitably, she was left to brood in private, clutching her head.
What on earth is this supposed to be? Some strange custom in Cassion that I don’t know about?
Unlike before—when she had read whatever book fell into her hands without much care—she now began searching specifically for records of Cassion’s customs and history.
Her reasoning was simple: Clayton and the butler didn’t seem to be trying to torment her.
Elizabeth had spent decades in the ruthless world of politics.
Reading the hearts of a sixteen-year-old boy and an old country butler was child’s play.
More than that, both of them could barely conceal their joy whenever she so much as took another bite.
After several days of overeating, Elizabeth’s body began to adjust.
On the first night, she had been miserable, her stomach heavy and unsettled.
But gradually, she reached the point where even when she ate as much as Clayton and the butler urged, she no longer felt discomfort.
Without realizing it, she began to eat more during breakfast and lunch as well.
And by the time spring arrived, two months later, Elizabeth’s body had filled out, round and healthy.
“My lady, you’ve grown taller!”
“Indeed. You look so much better than when you first arrived.”
“Heavens, your size has increased so much!”
“Congratulations, my lady.”
“Yes, congratulations.”
The maids were delighted, overjoyed that the frail, almost skeletal Elizabeth had finally taken on the figure of a proper young woman.
It meant all the spring dresses they had prepared in advance now needed altering, but they worked their needles with cheerful hearts.
Yet—
Not everyone was pleased.
