Dylan de Beaumon, the adopted daughter of a Duke, recalls the memories of her past-life after hitting her head. Upon realizing she was a villainess character in a novel, she decides to use her intellectual giftedness to get a good career and run awa...
Dylan flinched as the Duke reached out to pat her head. Has she ever thought of the Duke's mansion as her home?
"Father," she smiled up at him sweetly. "Have you been faring well?"
He nodded faintly, then frowned at her appearance. She was fragile, narrow-shouldered and of a sickly constitution. It was also evident she hadn't been eating well since her cheeks were sunken.
"Come inside," he said, patting her shoulder gently. "We have much to discuss."
The attendants worked hurriedly to set out a variety of soups and salads. Since Dylan looked as if she would drop dead at any moment, they filled the table with light foods of all kinds in hopes of encouraging her appetite.
Dylan elegantly spooned a scoop of potato soup into her mouth and swallowed it. If there was one thing she liked about the Duke's mansion, it was the chef's potato soup.
"Truly, you do not look well," he said with a sigh. "This is why you were told to come home every weekend, Dylan. Why did you not listen?"
"Madam Natasha was having a tea party," Dylan replied as sadly as she could. "I'm having trouble making friends at the academy, so I really wanted to go."
He frowned at her suspiciously. "Don't disobey me again," he said. "I am only doing what's best for you, child."
"I'm sorry," she apologized, forking at her salad with an expressionless face.
"Did you have fun, at least?"
"Yes, father."
They ate in silence until he finally turned a concerned gaze on her.
"I heard Axil has been giving you a hard time," he said softly. "I've already written to him about his behaviour. You'll have to pardon his actions, since he is still learning and getting used to having a sister."
Jessie had written to him ahead of time, detailing Axil's aggressive and abusive behaviour.
Dylan straightened and smiled at him. "Of course."
His invalidation of Dylan's pain was expected. Since Axil won't listen to the Duke and change his actions, the only way to solve the situation was to ask Dylan forgive him.
'You never acknowledge your childrens' feelings.'
The Duke cleared his throat huskily and called his servant. "Bring it over."
The servants cleared Dylan's dishes and made space for a long decorative box. The idea of receiving a gift furrowed her brows. It was almost as if the Duke was bribing her to forgive Axil's abusive tendencies.
"Since you don't have a sword yet," he explained, "I had a light one-handed small sword made for you."
Dylan swallowed hard as she lifted the lid, wanting to throw the sword at his face. "I see," she said through clenched teeth, "thank you very much, father. I love it."
"I'm glad, dear. You should rest well so you can return and join the swordsmanship club like we planned."
In the end, the Duke was still trying to mold her into a replica of Marquis Ruenz.
'It's fine, since I expected this. I have a goal for coming home, anyways.'
***
With the dedication of the Duke's attendants, Dr. Peregrine's prescriptions and the constant efforts of everyone in the mansion, Dylan was soon able to get her energy back. Her cheeks looked less sunken and a natural rouge had returned to her once pale complexion.
'Maybe it's because the Duke's been busy, but these last few days have been rather peaceful.'
"Jessie," Dylan called, handing her an unsealed envelope. "Send this to the address on the envelope."
Sealing the letter, she glanced up at Dylan with a frown. "Milady," she said, "is this man a friend of yours?"
'I knew she would ask me that.'
She shook her head side to side. "No," she replied, "it's a letter containing questions, since I'm required to interview a businessman for one of my classes."
Not only was Lord Whittle a successful businessman, but he was also a renowned investor. The letter she wrote was a business proposal sent under the name of "Jonas Ferguson"—the identity card Laikin bought her.
The most popular writing tools in society are currently quill pens, made from bird feathers like swans and turkeys. What Dylan wanted to create was a pen that dispenses ink over a metal ball at its point. Not only would it get rid of quill pen's blotting and smudging, but you wouldn't need to constantly dip it in ink.
'If my memory serves me right, László Bíró first sold the ballpoint pen in 1938. I feel bad for stealing his invention, but I need a solid investment.'
"This project is worth a lot of my grade," she continued, "so when the reply comes in be sure to bring it to me immediately."
'Jessie won't tell the Duke my business if it's school-related.'
Jessie nodded and then hurried away. Dylan needed a way to collect funds behind the Duke's back in preparation for her escape.
If Axil was stripped of his position as heir apparent, then she would be next-in-line to inherit it. Dylan was intelligent and a Red Coat at Faerchester, which meant she was probably more suited to inherit the Dukedom over Axil. Despite this, she had no intention of actually sticking around long enough for that to happen.
'I have to see Lord Whittle before I return to the academy. If this works out, I'll be able to make money. Then I can purchase land and a noble title for Jonas Ferguson.'
A knock at her door drew her attention from her thoughts.
"Who's there?"
"It's Mina, milady."
"Ah, come in."
Soon Mina came into the room with flowers in her hands. She placed a bouquet of brightly coloured peonies on the table.
"What's that?" Dylan asked her.
"This is a gift from a visitor for you. Isn't it very pretty? Peonies mean good fortune."
"There's a visitor?" she asked with a perplexed expression. "Who?"
"Lord Laikin is here."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
