Chapter 40
The first, the second, the third. And then... what number had it been again?
He had exchanged eight letters with Sasha Grayson alone. Isaac gave up counting from there.
She seemed busy in many ways. At least, that was how it looked to him. On weekends in particular, it seemed there were things that required her to go to the capital.
When he asked her about it, she answered as though it were nothing.
“There are churches here as well.”
“Yes. That’s true. But, um... I have to go to that one in Clumber. Uh...”
“Is that another promise with your late grandmother?”
“Yes. That’s right.”
It was Friday afternoon. Sasha Grayson, who had arrived the previous afternoon, had spent barely a single night at the major’s residence before she had to climb straight back into a carriage bound for the capital. The scent of the black tea and biscuits he had shared with her still seemed to linger in Isaac’s mouth.
Isaac awkwardly held out his hand and helped her climb into the carriage with ease.
“...When will you come again next time?”
Isaac asked.
“Aren’t you busy preparing for the trial?”
“Ah, of course I am busy, but...”
Only belatedly did Isaac feel his face burn.
“I think I can still make time for tea. About twenty minutes a day.”
“Oh. I see. I’ll keep that in mind.”
What did she mean, “I see”? What did she mean, “I’ll keep that in mind”? Just look at me as if I’m being absurd.
The moment he said it, he cursed himself inwardly, but the words had already left his mouth.
What sort of childish nonsense was he spouting, as if pestering someone who had arrived, slept one night, and was now leaving again as though chased away? More than that, anyone could see this would make it look as if he was waiting for her visits.
Isaac groaned and quickly clamped his mouth shut, then soon began compulsively rubbing his palms against the seams of his trousers. It was one of his old habits, a way of easing anxiety that he had never been able to fix since childhood.
“I’ll send you a letter as soon as I arrive.”
Sasha answered calmly, heedless of Isaac’s agitation, as though she had not even noticed his anxious, nervous expression.
‘Why is she saying she’ll send a letter as if it’s the most natural thing in the world? At this rate, this really is...’
Isaac muttered to himself as he watched the carriage recede. Once the carriage had shrunk small enough to become a dot, he irritably mussed the hair he had carefully combed since morning. After giving Matilda a perfunctory greeting, he walked up toward the hill where the military facilities were.
Yes. In any case, Isaac had now met Sasha often enough that it had become troublesome to count on his fingers. He had shown her plenty of clumsy and pathetic sides of himself, and they had even shared conversations that were, in their own way, deeper than mere formalities.
Contrary to his original purpose, their meetings had continued in a way that anyone would say looked closer to socializing.
Whether she was a good person or a bad one aside, the more he came to know Sasha Grayson, the more there seemed to be something strange about her. It was not as if she had a knife hidden inside her, like the people from his past who had stabbed him in the back until now.
Rather, she had no interest in him. Though she behaved as if she was more intensely interested in him than anyone, Sasha had no interest in Isaac.
At some point, Isaac realized that. Even if he came out in his nightclothes, she would merely laugh it off and neither be ashamed of him nor embarrass him.
Yes, just as she had said from the beginning, her interest lay solely in marrying him. To be precise, it was only in “marriage.”
“You’re back now?”
Isaac gave Felix’s greeting a vague acknowledgement as he brushed past him and entered his room.
As soon as he entered his room, which reeked heavily of stale gun oil, he collapsed onto the bed.
She wouldn’t care even if I stink. She wouldn’t care even if I’m rude to her. No matter what I do.
That woman just needs to marry me, and that’s the end of it.
Wasn’t that a truly ideal relationship? When his grandmother had told him he absolutely had to marry, Isaac had reluctantly nodded, and the first thought that had occurred to him was whether there was a woman who would live out a dry marriage with him in exactly that way.
In that sense, Sasha Grayson was undoubtedly an ideal bride. A woman who had no flaws to find in him—no, no interest in him at all. That voice, explaining their contract marriage in a dry tone: they would maintain a hollow marriage for half a year, then immediately divorce and each go cleanly on their own way.
...That voice. That voice with no interest in me.
The only time that woman, like a wax doll, showed anything resembling a reaction was when talk turned to her grandmother. A renowned old lady who had taken in her granddaughter after she lost her parents and raised her with tender care. But when she spoke of her grandmother, those eyes of hers...
Knock, knock.
His continuing thoughts abruptly stopped. The door opened, and Jim, who used the room next to his, tried to sound friendly as he said, “A letter came for you, Fincher.”
“Get lost.”
“Seems like you’ve been getting a lot of letters from home lately. Could it be...”
Before Isaac could snap that he should never even think of reading his envelopes again, Jim closed the door with an awkward look and quickly disappeared.
Isaac rubbed between his brows with a tired face. Pathetic bastards. This 2nd Infantry Regiment was full of nothing but pathetic bastards like this.
Before the frustration and anger he had forgotten could swallow him again, Isaac got up from the bed. Then he snatched up the envelope lying on the desk.
“Caroline.”
It was from his grandmother, Lady Caroline. The moment he saw the pale rose-colored envelope, without even needing to check the sender, Isaac let out a small groan.
He realized anew that, over the past few weeks, he had failed to resolve that matter at all because he had been spending time with Sasha Grayson. Yes. That matter. His grandmother had urged him to properly apologize to Sasha Grayson of the House of Duke Grayson and receive her forgiveness without fail.
It was obvious that had to be what this was about. Or else some absurd matchmaking introduction. Something like that.
Isaac picked up the jackknife lying beside it and irritably slit open the side of the envelope. The letter was shorter than before. Regardless, Isaac let out a deep sigh like a child forced to eat vegetables he hated, rolled his eyes, then unfolded the paper and began to read.
Why did you not reply to the letter I sent last time? If you have forgotten how to write, that is truly regrettable, Isaac.
Is it not a great problem for someone who will one day become the heir to an earldom to be unable to write? I restrained myself from sending a writing tutor to your workplace.
Of course. Without fail. The moment Isaac read the opening, he suppressed the impulse to throw the letter away and forced himself to continue reading.
In any case, apart from your lacking manners, I will praise you for resolving the matter splendidly.
I do not know what sort of apology you gave, but Miss Sasha spoke most highly of you.
She praised you so much as a kind and gentle gentleman that I was quite embarrassed.
In other words, it would obviously be more or less the same as last time.
His expectations had been completely wrong. Isaac, who had been sitting crookedly at the desk while reading the letter, straightened his back without realizing it.
Then he quietly muttered, “What?” and began reading the letter again.
Surely you did not threaten her into telling me such things while begging for forgiveness?
In any case, Miss Sasha said she did not greatly mind what happened then. What an innocent and kind young lady she is! And we drank tea together and shared all sorts of conversation.
The Dilton residence where she is staying is not far from where I am residing. We have agreed to meet again soon. We even decided to go see a play together on the weekend.
I will enclose a ticket, so come up obediently. I will suitably make some excuse and persuade Miss Sasha, so all you need to do is stand there quietly without so much as opening your mouth.
What is this? Why a ticket all of a sudden?
Isaac’s gaze belatedly turned to the empty envelope. Baron Lampe’s Melancholy Holiday.
A single ticket, stamped with the title of a classic play he had only heard of by name, sat inside it all alone.
Miss Sasha is truly a fine young lady. I am not saying this simply because of her background, Isaac. In this day and age, it is difficult to find a young lady as well-educated, proper, and considerate as she is.
It must all be thanks to Lady Rosaline’s education. If even that notorious young duke had been raised under her as Miss Sasha was, he would have grown into a man of excellent character.
The letter was not that long, but it felt somehow disordered. As though the person writing it had been so excited that she had poured out everything she wanted to say.
At the very least, it meant Lady Caroline had been in an extremely good mood when she wrote this letter.
Isaac groaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. The amount of information was not only dizzying, but vast. It was a story he had never heard before.
He had not even known that Sasha Grayson had met his grandmother. Even though she had been with him until only a few hours ago,
she had not said a single word about such a thing.
...Not a single word.
In any case, the point is that you are to come up on the weekend without complaint. My grandson, Isaac Wilton Fincher.
I hope you will not disappoint me any further. Of course, you have handled this matter splendidly, but that is only thanks to Miss Sasha’s generosity.
I will send a carriage, so take care with what you wear. Especially that untidy hair of yours. It would be best to cut it short.
The letter ended there.
It was Friday afternoon. Isaac suddenly checked the ticket with blank eyes. The play was being held tomorrow.
“...Hah.”
Isaac was so dumbfounded that he sat there for a long while.