Arc-6 Ch-22

 It’s not uncommon for nobles to alter their dresses. Announcing a family’s financial strength before other nobles is a key display of power, and every noble lady dreams at least once of becoming the belle of high society—wearing a handmade gown imbued with a couturier’s heart and soul. The more one obsesses over materials, design, and stitching, the more the cost naturally skyrockets without limit. Discarding such a dress simply because it’s “out of fashion” would drain even the deepest coffers.

Even the royal family—the rulers of the nation—must observe a budget when it comes to clothing. Thus, it’s only natural that passing dresses down to sisters or daughters and remaking them for reuse became standard practice among nobles. My fortune and misfortune alike stem from being born into the Redgrave ducal house—the foremost noble family in the Holfort Kingdom, second only to the royal family itself. When I was still a ducal lady, I had new dresses tailored every year—sometimes every season.

Raised as a candidate for the next queen, I couldn’t afford to wear anything less than perfection; even a single flaw in my dress or accessories could disgrace not only the ducal house, but the royal family as well. The total cost of my wardrobe by the time my engagement was annulled could easily rival the annual income of a high-ranking noble. Most of those garments remain at the ducal house to this day. I did bring a few favorites with me when I married into the Bartfort family, but after marriage, the biggest problem became my changing figure.

I conceived almost immediately after the wedding, and as time passed, my belly swelled more and more. On top of that, my chest is larger than most women’s, and loose dresses only make me look long-torsoed and heavyset. I used to wear corsets and waist-hugging designs, but those no longer suited me. Back at the ducal mansion, I could have simply ordered new dresses—but after marrying into a newly risen viscount house, such extravagance was out of the question. I even considered selling some of my old dresses and accessories, but Leon objected.

Apparently, the idea of being seen as a man who couldn’t provide for his wife was unbearable to him. Because of that, nearly everything I wear in public now is a remade dress from my days as a ducal lady.

“Should I tighten it this much?”

“A little more is fine. It looks worse if it’s loose.”

“Roger that.”

Leon stands behind me, pulling the lacing of my dress. For a pregnant woman, changing clothes is the most immediate form of hard labor. With a swollen belly and chest, I can’t even see my lower body. Reaching behind puts pressure on my abdomen, and sitting down makes me feel like I’ll roll away like a ball. Back at the ducal mansion, personal attendants or maids would have helped me dress—but since marrying Leon, I’ve had to manage on my own. Although I was trained at the academy to dress myself, realizing firsthand just how privileged and abnormal my former life had been marked a major turning point for me.

“Laces tied. Is this good?”

“It’s fine. Just tuck them inside the dress.”

“I’ve gotten good at undressing you, but putting it on still feels awkward.”

“Why do you only ever improve in the worst possible ways?”

“…Because undressing a beautiful wife is way more fun than dressing her up.”

“You should deeply reflect on the fact that your thoughtless, instinct-driven behavior led to my current condition.”

“Ah~! Ah~! Can’t hear you~! Nothing’s getting through~!”

When I shoot him a cold glare, Leon covers his ears and shouts to avoid the topic. My husband, clad in formal attire with a sword at his waist, looks more gallant than ever—provided you don’t know what’s on the inside. Why is it that the moment Leon opens his mouth, he becomes utterly deplorable?

If he stayed silent, his sharp eyes and facial scar wouldn’t be a flaw—in fact, they’d lend him a rugged, commanding charm, different from the delicate refinement of noble sons, and he’d stand out in a good way. If only he kept quiet, he’d have a solid reputation as a rising noble. But his words and actions are simply too lamentable. Even I, who fell for him, often find myself wondering every few days, Why did I fall for this man? whenever he spouts nonsense. I truly wish he’d restrain himself more.

“Here, put this on.”

He drapes a cape over my shoulders, completing the outfit. Leon and I are dressed not in casual clothes for visiting family, but in full formal attire—suitable for attending an official event. That, in itself, is our statement of intent. I am returning to the ducal mansion not as the daughter of House Redgrave, but as Viscountess Bartfort. Depending on the outcome of my conversation with Father, this could be our final farewell in this life. If that’s the case, then facing him in proper attire is both noble courtesy and a daughter’s way of showing gratitude. Outside the window, the capital’s cityscape comes into view.

By law, airships are forbidden from flying over residential areas in the capital. Even a viscount—a lower noble—would face strict reprimand for doing so. The Bartfort airship is granted permission to fly only out of consideration for the high-ranking nobles involved in governance. In other words, it signifies that the Redgrave ducal house is hosting the Bartfort viscount house—the family into which their daughter married. This privilege would never be granted to Leon alone.

Whenever Leon was previously invited to the ducal mansion in the capital, he was always picked up by carriage. Allowing us to use the mansion’s airship dock makes it clear that, within the Redgrave house, the actual daughter—me—is valued far more than the son-in-law, Leon. The cityscape I once knew well spreads out below. The buildings grow larger and more ornate as we approach the noble districts, marking the boundary from commoner to aristocrat.

Knock knock knock.

A knock at the door, and a man enters.

“We’ll be arriving at the ducal mansion shortly. Please prepare.”

“Understood.”

With a faint vibration, the scenery outside begins to slow. It seems we’re almost there. As the ship’s movement shifts from forward to downward, I sit on the sofa in the captain’s cabin and wait for the vibrations to subside. The familiar view outside the window draws closer, and the downward motion stops. It seems we’ve landed safely.

Leon hands the man a bag containing the necessary documents, takes my hand, and leads me to the deck. The Bartfort airship, designed for military use, allows boarding and disembarking from the underside. However, if the ducal house perceived such treatment toward their returning daughter as shabby, it would hinder future relations. Thus, we use the rarely deployed gangway stored on the deck to disembark with dignity. However tedious these formalities may be, they are an essential part of noble decorum. Stepping from the cabin onto the deck, I’m greeted by the warm air of early spring. I take a slow look around, reaffirming that I’ve truly returned to the ducal mansion.

“Was it always this big?”

“No expansions or renovations, right?”

“I can’t seem to relax. Is this really the mansion I grew up in?”

The docking area, the cobblestone path to the mansion, the lavishly designed building made with painstaking detail—all of it is familiar. In sheer area, the ducal mansion alone likely surpasses the entire town in Bartfalt territory. And yet, the sense of having grown up here feels strangely faint. It’s as if I’m visiting an acquaintance’s home—an odd feeling of distance. Sixteen years raised in the ducal mansion, both in the territory and in the capital; five years living in Bartfalt territory. There should be a threefold difference in time, yet now, I can’t shake the sense of unease within the ducal mansion. Have I truly adapted that much to life in Bartfort territory? Or was I always a cold woman with little attachment to her birth home?

Looking down, I see the ducal servants laying a blood-red carpet beside the gangway. The crimson path extends from the ladder all the way to the mansion’s entrance.

“Looks like a pretty enthusiastic welcome.”

“Indeed. It’s far too extravagant for welcoming a daughter married into another house.”

“That just proves how much Angie is loved.”

“Such excess only makes it uncomfortable. Moderation is best in all things.”

The old me thought this sort of treatment was perfectly normal. The environment one grows up in truly shapes one’s perception. Treating commoners as mere numbers within one’s domain, acting like a god among mortals, and then fawning over superiors in the capital just to maintain the family’s standing— I could easily have lived as a typical corrupt noble, oppressing others without a second thought. Even if I once believed myself modest and pious, looking back now only reveals how sheltered and privileged I truly was.

“Let’s go, then.”

“Yeah.”

We start walking, but Leon doesn’t fall into step beside me. Instead, he lingers just a little behind, following my lead. Trailing behind him are several guards and attendants burdened with luggage. I stop and glance back at his suspiciously awkward behavior.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, it’s been a while since you’ve been home, so I figured sticking too close might not be a good look.”

“…Are you mocking me?”

“I’m not. It’s just—the Redgrave people are kinda scary.”

Apparently, my husband is intimidated by my family. To be fair, that’s understandable. A marriage between a ducal house with royal succession rights—one of the kingdom’s highest-ranking families—and a newly elevated viscount house would normally be unthinkable. Among nobles, marriages are usually arranged between houses of similar standing. In the entire Holfort Kingdom, only two other ducal houses exist: one belonging to the Chancellor, the former king’s younger brother, and the other newly established after the annexation of the Fanoss Principality, granted to its former princess.

Neither maintains friendly ties with the Redgraves. For a daughter of such a house, marrying beneath a marquess—one rank below—would already be considered a loss of face. An earl, at the very least, would have been expected.

A ducal lady marrying a viscount? That’s unprecedented. It’s easy to assume the Redgraves, embarrassed by my broken engagement, merely wanted to rid themselves of me. If I didn’t know Father’s true motives in arranging this marriage, I might have believed the same. Which is exactly why I can’t afford to falter here.

“Are you that unhappy about marrying me?”

“Not unhappy. Just… feels like we’re unevenly matched.”

“Then prove otherwise, Leon.”

“Me?”

“Show them you’re worthy of being my husband. Don’t act like you received a Redgrave daughter—act like you bestowed the honor. With confidence.”

“That’s asking a lot.”

“Don’t give up before you try. Or would you rather live your life under my heel?”

“If it’s your heel, Angie, I’d gladly be crushed.”

His easy, shameless reply drains my energy. Honestly, calming and motivating this man is the most demanding task I face. My husband requires more work than our children.

“I’m not asking you to force dignity. Just stay by my side so no one gets the idea of suggesting a divorce.”

“I’d be the one divorced?”

“Well, if you upset Father or my brother, it’s not impossible.”

Among nobles, marriages are political—based on benefit. If one side loses its advantage, or a better prospect appears, remarriage isn’t unusual. Leon Fou Bartfort—the man who carries the true King Leah Bartfort's bloodline. I’ve already borne him two children who carry that same blood, and a third is on the way. To the ducal house, the bloodline goal is already achieved. If Leon loses his usefulness—his military prowess or his influence among young nobles—he’s expendable. That’s precisely why he must act the part of a man using the ducal house for his rise, rather than being used by it.

“Got it. I’ll do my best. I don’t want to divorce Angie.”

“Good.”

“How about I carry you, then?”

“Don’t embarrass me.”

“Then at least hold hands?”

“…That’s fine.”

I take Leon’s hand and step down the gangway. To the ducal servants watching, we must look like a devoted husband carefully escorting his wife. The surprised glances that follow us only make the moment more satisfying. Hand in hand, we walk the long stretch of red carpet leading toward the mansion. The distance from the airship dock to the entrance is considerable, but it’s a pleasant walk. I’ve been keeping up daily walks in Bartfort territory to prepare for childbirth, so this much is nothing. As we approach, the towering gates of the ducal mansion open wide to receive us.

“““““Welcome home, Lady Angelica!”””””

A perfectly synchronized chorus of voices echoes through the grand entrance hall. Butlers, servants, maids—more than a dozen—bow deeply in unison. The entrance hall alone rivals the entire Bartfort mansion in size. The sheer volume of their voices feels overwhelming, almost deafening. Most of those gathered have served the Redgrave house since before I was born. They were there throughout my childhood—trusted by Father and my brother, indispensable pillars of the household.

“It’s been far too long, milady. Everyone has eagerly awaited your return.”

Stepping forward as the household’s representative is a familiar bespectacled maid.

“Long time no see, Cordelia. Have you been well?”

“Milady looks unchanged. No—your beauty has only grown more radiant, if I may say so.”

“You’ve always been good at flattery.”

“It isn’t flattery, milady!”

“I’m married now, you know. You could go home and find yourself a husband.”

“I cannot leave the ducal mansion until milady returns for good!”

Cordelia Fou Easton—one of the ducal house’s longest-serving maids. Of noble descent herself, she entered the household as a manners apprentice in childhood and eventually rose to head maid. Her devotion to the ducal house is truly admirable… though her insistence that I return every time I visit is a touch excessive.

“Alright, alright, calm down. I’m Viscountess Bartfort now, not a Redgrave lady anymore.”

“No! To everyone serving this house, Lady Angelica will always be our lady!”

“I appreciate the sentiment—but please, don’t say such things.”

“When that fool unilaterally broke your engagement, the rage and grief we all felt! And when Lord Vince ordered your marriage to that frontier upstart, our despair knew no bounds! To have done nothing but watch you leave for the frontier remains our greatest regret!”

Leon’s face tightens in discomfort, while the attendants behind him wince. Cordelia has just called His Highness Julius a fool and Leon an upstart—right in front of him. Of course, she means no harm—only outrage born of loyalty and affection, having watched me grow up. Still, her words are… excessive. Yet I can’t bring myself to scold her when they come from genuine concern. That she’s a capable noble-born maid only complicates things further.

Poor Leon—he’s badmouthed every time he visits the capital.

“What a shame your long-awaited return comes without Master Lionel and Lady Ariel! Lord Vince has been looking forward to meeting his grandchildren.”

“…I see. I’m sorry about that.”

“We’re always ready to welcome them—children blessed with milady’s intelligence must be truly exceptional!”

Could this be Father’s scheme—to drive a wedge between Leon and me? Or perhaps he intends to use me and the children as hostages to control Leon. Either way, I must prevent anyone from looking down on the Bartfort house. If our children excel, people will praise them as “truly Lady Angelica’s offspring.” But if they fall short, they’ll sneer that “it’s only natural—after all, they carry an upstart’s blood.”

More than anything, I can tell that Leon beside me is disheartened. His expression hasn’t changed, but I know that face—he’s genuinely crushed.

“Don’t take it so hard, Cordelia. Leon has his flaws, certainly, but he’s brave, diligent, and humble. If I didn’t believe him worthy of being my husband, I never would have married him.”

“I heard, milady! Last year, the airship you were on was attacked by sky pirates! You may have survived, but a single mistake could have cost your life!”

Ah. So that’s the source of the rumors. The incident involving the Zola family and the Ladies of the Forest—who had colluded with sky pirates—was heavily censored. Officially, the reports claimed His Highness Julius and the others eliminated the Ladies of the Forest remnants, while Leon defeated a separate band of sky pirates that appeared in his territory. The truth—that the two events were connected, and that the masterminds included foreign agents backing the Ladies of the Forest—was buried. Given the incomplete information, it’s no wonder the narrative became “sky pirates attacked Leon’s wife in his territory, and he barely managed to repel them.”

As a result, Leon—already doubted for his governance—was branded unfit as the ducal house’s son-in-law and belittled by nobles in the ducal faction. This is my fault. I should have maintained contact with the Redgraves and worked to raise Leon’s reputation. I glance at Leon. He’s pressing a hand to his forehead, completely dejected. This won’t do. If he meets Father in this state, he’ll be overpowered, and all hope of persuasion will crumble. I have no choice but to swallow my embarrassment, lift Leon’s standing, and rally him.

“That incident targeted the Roseblade house—I was merely caught up in it. The blame doesn’t lie with Leon.”

“Even allowing danger to approach milady is an unforgivable failure!”

“You weren’t there, Cordelia. You wouldn’t know. Leon is a brilliant tactician and an exceptional fighter. The way he led his men to storm the pirates’ airship and rescue us was nothing short of spectacular.”

“You’re actually defending him!?”

“Leading subordinates into a sky pirate vessel to save the woman he loves—tell me, how many men could do that? Truly fitting for Viscount Bartfalt, ennobled for valor. I fell in love with him all over again that day.”

A murmur ripples through the hall.

“Above all, Leon is utterly devoted to me. Even without the Redgrave family’s influence, from the moment of our engagement, he swore he’d take neither concubines nor mistresses.”

“Is that true, Viscount Bartfort!?”

“Well, yeah, that’s true, but…”

Leon. This hesitation is precisely why the ducal staff look down on you. Then again, it’s understandable. Most servants here come from families that have served the Redgraves for generations, or they’re sons and daughters of nobles training in etiquette—people born and raised in refinement. Some even knew me as a child. For Leon, who grew up nearly as a commoner, it’s only natural that he finds their presence intimidating.

“Leon’s honesty and humility are virtues. On the battlefield, he’s feared by the Principality as the Villainous Knight for his ruthless cunning, yet with me, he’s like a shy puppy clinging to his master. When he holds me, I feel shielded from all harm—safe, warm, and cherished.”

“For milady to speak so openly…”

“Passing on the family line is a wife’s duty, but I’m not so easily swayed as to share my bed with a man I don’t care for. Fortunately, Leon and I are exceptionally well-matched.”

I gently lift Leon’s chin with my hand, brushing it with my fingertips, and offer a slow, knowing smile. The gathered staff stir, whispers spreading like wildfire. By the end of the day, I’m certain exaggerated tales of our passionate marriage will echo through every corridor of the ducal mansion.

“Don’t tease Leon too harshly. He’s my precious husband—light teasing is acceptable, but nothing more.”

“Y-Yes, milady. Understood.”

“Now, enough idle talk. Take us to Father and my brother.”

I clap my hands a few times, prompting everyone to disperse. The servants return to their duties, and the entrance hall quickly empties. The Bartfort guards are led to a waiting room near the entrance, leaving only Leon, Cordelia, an attendant carrying our bag, and me.

“Milady, Lord Vince and Lord Gilbert are awaiting you. Allow me to guide you.”

“Understood.”

Following Cordelia down the long corridor, I notice her repeatedly glancing back at us.

“Hey, Angie.”

“What is it, Leon?”

“Why’d you say all that?”

“Which part?”

“All of it.”

Ah, so he’s displeased about everything. I know I went overboard—but I have no intention of apologizing.

“That’s what you get for freezing up when it mattered most. If you walk into a negotiation looking beaten, even a solid plan will crumble.”

“You overdid it. Now everyone probably thinks you run the Bartfort house.”

“And what if I do?”

“…You kind of do.”

“You don’t mind being under my heel, do you?”

“Only in private. Hearing it said out loud is mortifying.”

“Then show some confidence. You’re like two different people—commanding on the battlefield, hesitant everywhere else.”

“Do you hate that about me?”

“Just… keep the weakness for me and the children alone.”

We continue our casual banter as we walk the endless corridor. I find myself hoping—quietly—that someday, I’ll be able to visit the ducal mansion with a truly peaceful heart.

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Authors Note

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Visit to the Ducal Mansion — The Political Arc Begins Next Time

The kingdom’s nobles view Leon harshly, and the ducal mansion’s staff are no different. In the original novel’s Volume 3, Leon held the same viscount rank, but without Luxion, and with Olivia and the capture targets completing their routes, his ability was seen as merely human. Cordelia’s words are harsh, but for her—someone who adores her lady—Leon will always seem unworthy of Angelica. Next time, I hope to portray the villainess and her villainous knight’s persuasion—or rather, their thinly veiled intimidation—with all due flair.

Your thoughts and impressions are always welcome—they truly fuel my motivation to write on.