The handwritten card from Olivier that arrived in Mademoiselle R's mailbox had its address changed once more in transit before reaching its final destination.
"Olivier."
The woman's elegant fingertips gently caressed the name on the card. It was scrawled, yet the penmanship was elegant.
Just from retracing that name, a satisfied sigh escaped her. As if she already held the chiseled, sleek, elegant, handsome duke in the palm of her hand.
*Unknown lady, what a grand scheme you have orchestrated. Perhaps you are far too wise for one as dull as I to dare fathom.*
"My, my."
She remarked with genteel sarcasm. Even while having the leash yanked, that pride of his in sending such an elegant reply—how very like him.
*A New World investment fund. I cannot help but marvel at this fresh proposal. You, who offer monetary compensation utterly unnecessary to a scion of House Dampierre who suffers no personal hardship—just who are you? Your identity leaves me so curious that I cannot sleep.*
Hah. Unable to hold back her laughter, the corners of her mouth twisted upward. She took a deep breath and continued reading the next passage.
*What is certain is that I have been caught, unable to move, in the snare you laid. Is this, too, part of your clever scheme?*
One hand holding the letter lightly rested upon her chest, which rose and fell rapidly with anticipation. She had thought he would spring away and flee a little further. Yet he had narrowed the distance, as if he might stride right up to her at any moment.
*My grandmother, Eleanor Dampierre, has shown interest in this proposal. That woman who was once a great stateswoman now wishes to secure the New World investment fund, even if it means selling her grandson's body.*
Her trembling hand reached for the teacup.
*"I wish to meet you. I suppose it would be best to offer my greetings in person? If you wait for me at the rendezvous point, I shall come to you shortly."*
Only after managing to take a sip of tea could she turn the card over to check its reverse.
Saint-Lazare Psychiatric Hospital, 15th District, Number 24
*—Or, go to hell.*
"Y-you..."
Her pale face slowly contorted. The letter finally slipped from her trembling fingertips and fell.
"You insane bastard!"
Accompanied by a shriek of fury, the teacup went flying into the wall and shattered.
* * *
Amelie, who had been groaning in pain all night, went to find Madame Maxine early in the morning.
If she was soon to go to prison, she needed to inform Madame Maxine, the head maid, as soon as possible so that she could post a help-wanted advertisement even a day sooner.
But having vomited everything she'd eaten all night, and with her fever returning, her condition was at its worst. As Amelie was handing over the letter, she staggered and collapsed into Madame Maxine's arms.
"Amelie."
Madame Maxine's face turned deathly pale. She ordered Amelie to go to the hospital at once and called for a hired carriage. When the carriage arrived at the back lane of the mansion, Madame Maxine followed Amelie out, draped a large shawl over Amelie's shoulders, and took out her wallet.
One, two, three, four...
Amelie wanted to tell her not to, but she lacked even the strength to speak. Maxine pulled out money haphazardly and pressed it firmly into Amelie's hand.
"Amelie, everything will be alright. Do you understand?"
When Amelie barely managed to nod, Madame Maxine embraced her tightly with a look of pity and patted her back.
"May we depart now?"
The coachman, a cheap cigarette dangling from his lips, hitched up his dirty trousers and asked. Having been urinating by the roadside, he had no idea what situation the openly crying head maid and Amelie were in.
"You there, coachman."
Madame Maxine whipped her head up and glared at him fiercely.
"The fare is already expensive as it is—shouldn't there at least be a cover on the carriage? For a maid of a Count's household to be dragged about in this kind of rattletrap..."
"Madame."
As if searching for anyone to blame, Madame Maxine's voice rose uncontrollably, losing all reason. Amelie, looking distressed, grabbed Maxine's arm.
"If I'd known this two-wheeled rattletrap was what would show up, I'd have called a better carriage for the same price!"
The coachman's face twisted red at being outright called a rattletrap. And rightly so—the two-wheeled carriage swayed back and forth with the slightest movement of the horse.
"What do you expect me to do about it? All the guild carriages are out today, that's why."
The coachman shot back fiercely, his bushy beard twitching.
"I dragged this thing all the way from quite far off, too. If you don't like it, forget it. If she's so precious, you carry her to Ejon yourself, my lady!"
He looked ready to unhitch the horse then and there. Instead of Madame Maxine, who was pounding her chest in frustration, Amelie quietly apologized.
"Sir, I'm sorry. The situation is just..."
The coachman's gaze finally reached Amelie. Until moments ago, she had been hidden beneath her hood and shawl, but now that he saw her properly, she was an incredible beauty. The coachman raised his thick eyebrows and grumbled in a somewhat softened voice.
"Tch, forget it. Let's go."
Though his gaze remained displeased, Maxine regained her composure and brushed Amelie's forehead several times.
"Amelie, for now, don't think about anything. Go to the hospital, and make sure to get an injection. Stop by the post office on your way back, too. When you return, I'll boil you some warm soup."
"Thank you."
Amelie managed a weak smile.
"Enough with the dawdling, let's get a move on. It's a long way. The doctors in town are already itching to go home by afternoon."
The coachman muttered curtly. Reluctantly stepping back, Madame Maxine requested in a much gentler voice.
"I'm sorry. Please take good care of her."
"Hmph."
The coachman spat and snapped back.
"This two-wheeled rattletrap is as sturdy as Dellare's fat bollocks, so don't you worry."
"Tch, how vulgar!"
A startled Madame Maxine glared at him with widened eyes, but the carriage had already departed.
* * *
Uurk!
"It'll be trouble if you vomit on the seat, miss. If you're feeling nauseous, use this."
The coachman sitting beside her tapped the small wooden bucket at his feet. It seemed he only emptied the contents and gave it a rough rinse, for it was caked with filth that was nauseating just to look at.
Amelie quickly turned her gaze far away and took a deep breath.
"Let me see. Did you get a letter from a debt collector or something?"
Though said like a joke, Amelie couldn't possibly laugh and shook her head.
"No."
"Then, are you off to... get rid of a baby?"
The middle-aged coachman asked in a deliberately low voice. His gaze was quite sinister and unpleasant, making Amelie hunch her shoulders. It felt like insects were crawling all over her skin.
"...It's nothing like that."
Seeing her sharp gaze, the coachman seemed to realize he had guessed wrong. He smacked his lips and trailed off.
"Well, I just thought, seeing such a pretty young lady retching like that."
With no response forthcoming and the atmosphere growing increasingly hostile, the coachman smacked his lips again and glanced sideways at Amelie.
"Say, you're the 'Sunshine of Vishega,' ain't ya? At first I thought it meant the lady of the house, but then I heard it's what they call the maid. Made me curious."
"..."
"Now that I look proper, I don't reckon there's anyone prettier than you, no matter how pretty they are."
Men like this invariably fawned over young maids at the slightest opportunity. She was sick of how they would lick their lips and slobber disgustingly over the tiniest smile or smallest kindness.
Amelie endured her churning stomach and sat up straight, looking only ahead. The lecherous gaze slowly swept over Amelie's body, her legs, then her shoulders and nape, and finally her face.
"Look ahead."
"Are you worried about me?"
Amelie barely held back the rising urge to vomit. Gripped by anxiety and fear, her hand clutching the shawl tightened.
"Your master must be worried you'll run off with someone. A rare beauty in these parts, after all."
The coachman cackled, revealing yellowed teeth. For some reason, he even licked his lips.
"Men your age are nothing but unripe green fruit. Ever thought of taking your time with an experienced man?"
Unable to endure any longer, Amelie took a large breath and folded her arms tightly. If her churning stomach settled even a little, she was ready to fire back a retort.
Just then, the coachman, having caught a glimpse of the red edge of the envelope Amelie was gripping tightly, muttered while looking ahead.
"That's a court order."
Amelie tried to quickly hide the envelope, not wanting it to be seen, but then a thought occurred to her. She turned her head and glared at the coachman.
"My lover got into some trouble."
"You have a lover?"
At the mention of a lover, his enthusiasm seemed to vanish. The coachman asked back in a lukewarm voice.
"Of course. An incredibly handsome man. He has lustrous dark blond hair and deep green eyes. And he's quite tall...."