Chapter 191

Chapter 191

A slow and drowsy smile crept onto Lucius’ face, accompanied by a sense of satisfaction.

After several rounds of polite refusals and equally persistent proposals, the couple finally reached an agreement to opt for a nourishing meal instead of consulting a doctor.

Deatrice couldn’t help but wonder if she had intentionally suggested these two options, using the reluctant doctor as a means to achieve her initial goal – making him eat the nourishing meal.

However, when she saw the look on his face as he returned after sending the doctor away, he appeared as if he were observing a patient who had spent years in a hospital bed. That look made her realize that both choices were made with genuine concern.

Lucius sat slanted towards her, gently feeding her spoonfuls of a rare concoction made from precious herbs and seafood. With furrowed brows, he watched her face intently as if the porridge were a potent remedy, and her complexion should visibly brighten with each bite.

“Oh, by the way, a letter arrived,” Lucius mentioned abruptly when she had nearly finished the meal.

She coughed involuntarily, perhaps reminded of Frederick’s letter. Lucius chastised himself for carelessly bringing up another topic while she, as delicate as a newborn chick, had yet to finish her meal.

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?”

As she shook her head and reached out, a cup of lemonade was naturally placed in her hand. Deatrice took a sip and, after clearing her throat, managed to respond awkwardly.

“What letter?”

“A letter arrived from Chetworth. It said there’s something to report to you,” Lucius replied.

“Ah.”

It was only then that Deatrice recalled Dixie’s request.

Dixie’s request had been simple: to check on the repairs in Chetworth. Considering that Dixie hadn’t even mentioned this matter separately to Lucius, it seemed like she was unaware of it. Lucius had a puzzled expression, wondering why Dixie sent this letter to Deatrice instead of him.

“Why? Don’t you remember? I told you that I had reconciled with Dixie.”

Deatrice recalled the conversation she had with Dixie when she received the letter. Lucius had laughed, saying that if they had reconciled, it should have been settled.

She wanted to continue discussing Dixie’s request, but at that moment, Lucius abruptly left for something urgent. Since then, they had been caught up in a series of events and worries, primarily concerning Frederick, pushing Dixie’s letter to the back of their minds.

“Dixie sent me a letter back then. She said Chetworth was damaged due to flooding and asked for assistance. It seems like she finds it challenging to move around due to the child.”

“So why did she entrust it to you?”

“I don’t mind. It’s a sign of trust, after all.”

“Trust? It sounds more like she’s just using you.”

Lucius retorted sharply and then planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead before stepping away. Deatrice watched his retreating figure and couldn’t help but feel a bit self-conscious.

Lucius drew a line as if to avoid any mention of Chetworth. It had been the mansion he’d lived in for over twenty years, but he didn’t speak of it.

“Dixie is organizing things there, so it’s a good time for you to retrieve your belongings.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah, I thought you might want to see it. Your room, or the toys you used to play with in your childhood. What other collectibles you had.”

She made an effort to lighten the mood as she spoke. It seemed to work, as Lucius’s face relaxed a bit.

“I might disappoint you then. I didn’t leave much of a trace from my childhood in the house. I was always out whenever I had the time. Most of my toys must have either broken or rotted away in the ground.”

“What did you do for fun then?”

“Well, I did have a genuine interest in gardening.”

Lucius tried to sound serious, but Deatrice knew it was an outrageous lie. She couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

“Lies. You’re always breaking branches or picking flowers whenever you go into the garden. Like a seven-year-old. Broken twigs, petals, and leaves are scattered around wherever you’ve been.”

“Is that so?”

His poorly crafted lie was exposed in an instant, and Lucius could only manage a sheepish smile. Seizing the opportunity, Deatrice decided to lecture him.

“You should really change that habit. Plants are living creatures too. What sin have they committed to become sacrificial victims to your boredom? And it’s not just plants. You’re subtly messy, often tossing your clothes on the floor.”

“It doesn’t matter; there’s always someone to clean up.”

Lucius made a boyish expression of annoyance and began applying ointment to her still slightly swollen skin. He was deliberately messy with his own things but took great care when it came to her injuries.

Deatrice looked at him with renewed interest in this contradiction. Now, Lucius gently applied ointment to the marks he had left on her neck from yesterday, a tender touch to soothe the wounds he had unintentionally inflicted.

These enigmatic contradictions in him occasionally left her baffled. Every morning, he dressed himself neatly and left the house, only to return later, casually tossing his clothes wherever.

It was a peculiar combination of the habits of nobility, who naturally accepted the care of others, and the self-sufficiency of wartime life, where everything had to be done by oneself.