Chapter 192

Chapter 192

Deatrice noticed the stark differences in how Lucius treated plants, flowers, and his study compared to other aspects of his life.

When it came to his plants and flowers, he handled them carelessly.

In contrast, his study was always neatly organized, and even when he was alone or conversing, he maintained a formal posture. But during his training, there was no trace of this demeanor; he was entirely focused and disciplined.

As she silently observed him, Lucius, who had been muttering about how much ointment he had left, finally looked up at her, his face filled with surprise.

“Why?”

“Just because. I feel like I can’t help but love you.”

Caught off guard by her sudden confession, his cheeks turned red.

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”

“It’s just… you have this way about you that makes me think twice and reflect.”

Her romantic confession seemed to remind him of something, and he burst into laughter.

“Come to think of it, you said something similar when you first met me. You said I looked different, as if I was thinking ill of you.”

He teased her, recalling her innocent demeanor. Deatrice blushed and pushed him away.

“Speaking like that makes me sound like a dreamy fool lost in delusions.”

“Well, I wasn’t entirely wrong either.” He jested.

When he reminisced about the past, Lucius often wore a bittersweet smile, and it quickly faded into a playful demeanor.

“At that time, I thought you were trapped, like you’d fallen into a trap, so I thought I should rescue you.”

“That’s ironic.”

She said, clearly exasperated, and Lucius burst into laughter again. But for a moment, beneath his jesting exterior, she sensed sincerity.

Her heart raced, just as it had back then when she first met him. He might have been thinking such thoughts back then.

She leaned her head against his chest, and Lucius held her for a while before speaking.

“I think we really found each other at the right time.”

“Are you making fun of me again?”

“No, I’m serious. I’m lucky because of you.”

His whispered words were like the warmth of a winter fire settling in. She buried his confession in the depths of her heart.

“…I feel the same way.”

It was a warm winter.

* * *

As Deatrice ventured into the outskirts, leaving behind the capital, it was only then that she truly realized the extent of the damage caused by the storm that had struck here a fortnight ago. Despite two weeks having passed, the streets were still teeming with people who had lost the very foundation of their lives. The roads were submerged, the ground was caked in mud, and the recent rainfall had frozen, making it difficult for even carriages to traverse.

Deatrice made her way to Chetworth, all the while observing the desolate winter landscape, alongside the people who had queued up for relief supplies at the temple.

Even in Chetworth, the situation wasn’t much better. In fact, it seemed even more dire compared to the surrounding mansions.

“Trees fell and caused significant damage to the mansion. Moreover, the mansion itself is quite old, so we decided to carry out restoration work while it’s submerged,” explained the guide, sensing Deatrice’s surprise at the scale of the ongoing construction.

The person responsible for overseeing the construction led her to a place where personal belongings were gathered, handing over a list of items and even a detailed paper outlining how the allocated construction funds had been used.

Initially overwhelmed by the heaps of items, Deatrice soon mustered the strength to proceed. Even though the convention was to move valuable items once before construction began, she had assumed it wouldn’t be a significant task.

However, she now saw that it included precious Botahil plates, Dexie’s paintings, and an abundance of furniture. Deatrice diligently examined each item.

The construction work was still in progress, and the sounds of hammering and the clatter of tearing up the floor echoed throughout the room.

Dust also wafted in through open windows and gaps in the doors, causing Rosalynn to panic, as if the dust were a deadly poison, and she quickly covered Deatrice’s mouth with a silk shawl.

Surveying Lucius’s room carefully, Deatrice had initially thought she might have the chance to explore the mansion where he had spent his youth. However, that had been a great misconception.

Deatrice was faced with the daunting task of sorting and inspecting valuable items in a room overflowing with possessions.

Leaving items haphazardly scattered was a risk she couldn’t afford to take, as it might lead to their loss or damage.

She couldn’t help but think that if she had known how extensive the work would be, she would have brought along someone else. Instead, she and Rosalynn had come alone and were now faced with an even greater workload.

“Perhaps it’s better if I return and assist the lady with the matters,” Rosalynn suggested, clearly concerned about Deatrice’s well-being. She knew how taxing this work was on her, but Deatrice shook her head.

The toys covered in dust, the carefully collected curiosities scattered around – they were personal items, and Deatrice surmised that Dixie, in his own way, might have entrusted them to her, unwilling to leave them in the hands of others.

The discovery of the letter happened amidst the sorting of valuables. As one of the maids attempted to move a box made of brown wood, she accidentally tripped over one of the chair legs, causing the box to tumble open, and its contents spilled onto the floor.

Deatrice picked up the fallen bundle of papers, and in the process, her eyes unconsciously skimmed the end of a letter.

“[Always waiting for you, Bella.]” Those words felt oddly familiar, even if Deatrice couldn’t quite place them at first. It was a few minutes later that the name came to her like a bolt from the blue.

“Bella Anise.”