Our Lady's Changed

She’d changed. That much was certain.

Tess, who had sold off the dresses and the jewels and come back with the payment, thought so. Impertinent as the thought was, Gloria Ernst, who had never once done a single thing to Tess’s liking, had plainly changed since the master’s return.

And not merely changed, either. It’s practically as though her very soul has been swapped out.

After the master left to fight in the Central Continent War, it was not many months before the lady set off for the Ernst family’s country villa, paying no mind at all to Hoillun’s pleas that the two of them, at the very least, had to keep watch over the ducal castle.

Though of course, once I later heard the lady had been in poor health at the time, I set aside my grievance — if you could even call it that.

The lady’s conduct after she returned to the ducal castle had likewise given plenty of cause to frown. She’d no thought of tending to the castle, already run-down from the failing finances, and instead made a daily habit of gathering up what little the household had left and gadding about outside.

When word came that the master had returned alive, all I hoped for was that he’d cut ties with the lady as soon as could be.

Her master had every right and every means to take a wife of far better standing. There was no reason at all to hold on to a woman trailed by rumors of madness.

“Don’t be so hard on her, Tess. Think how much heartache the lady must have borne all this while.”

When Hoillun had said as much to her, she’d fairly snorted with derision. That soft-hearted old man was the sort to feel pity even for the bandits up in the hills.

With every step Tess took, the gold coins in the purse she was carrying to the lady clinked and jingled against one another. Somehow that clear, pure sound was like the singing of a choir, settling her mind and heart.

Come to think of it, they’d been able to set fine meals before the master, and now to prepare the very attire he’d wear at the triumphal ceremony besides.

And all of it, thanks to the lady’s thoughtfulness.

“Perhaps Hoillun wasn’t entirely wrong after all.”

Tess thought it, clutching the purse of money tight to her chest.

It wasn’t that she’d forgotten how her lady had squandered the family fortune on revelry and gambling; but, absurdly enough, a person’s heart could be swayed by a few gold coins in the hand.

“What woman could keep her wits about her, told her husband was dead.”

Perhaps it was because her expectations had been so low. Tess now even found herself feeling a little sorry for the lady.

And above all, there was no more time to lose. Now that the master of this land had returned, all that remained for House Ernst was to reclaim its former glory. They had to recover what had been lost as swiftly as they could and set the house back on its proper course, fiercely and tirelessly, the way one rebuilds in the aftermath of war.

And for that, above all else, an heir is what matters most.

All at once she felt she simply couldn’t let things stand. Never again did she wish to be left adrift with none but Hoillun aboard a ship that had lost its captain. House Ernst needed a sail to carry it into the future.

Abruptly Tess turned from the path to the lady and made instead for the study where the master was. Her every step was heavy with resolve for the sake of House Ernst.

“So — do what, exactly?”

Herman lifted his dark, heavy brows at Tess, who had marched into his study without so much as a by-your-leave.

“What I mean, Master, is that it’s high time the two of you shared a room.”
“What in the world—”
“A child, Master. The sooner you get yourself an heir, the more secure the ducal house will be.”

Had the late duke and duchess still been living, Tess would never have stepped forward so plainly herself. But with the late duke gone, the master and the lady were far too stiff and distant with one another, and if she didn’t give them a push, it would likely be months before they so much as slept beneath the same blanket.

“Since your return, Master, the lady’s found some measure of peace herself. So what I’m saying is, you’d best make haste before it grows any later.”

At that, Herman narrowed his eyes to thin slits. True enough, his wife’s condition had improved a fair bit from before; of late she’d taken every meal with him without fail, and in between had even managed some normal conversation. Though whenever she spoke to him warmly, the whole of the exchange amounted to nothing but him rebuking her for it.

It wasn’t that Herman wished to say cruel things to his wife. But in the course of cleaning up the outrages she’d committed, the anger would pile up in him before he knew it, and perhaps that was why, the moment he looked at her face, the words came blurting out unbidden.

“Seems you had yourself quite a good time these five years I was gone.”
“…Sorry?”
“Am I wrong?”
“Good time how…”
“The way you were living. A fortune to spare, no one about to get in your way, treated like a queen wherever the money flowed. You must have been happy enough.”

It had been the same a short while ago: a conversation his wife had been the first to open would, at some point, begin to veer strangely off course, until before long it wound up in one-sided reproach. Ordinarily she’d have offered not a word of excuse and simply held her silence, showing no sign of blaming herself, nor of being cowed either.

“Happy…”

But that day, her response was strangely subdued.

“I used to think so too.”

His wife’s face, as she murmured the words softly in a calm, sunken voice, was shadowed with deep regret and sorrow. Anyone who knew nothing of the matter would have been moved to pity at the mere sight of her.

“I wasn’t especially happy, but I thought this much was fine enough. Though looking back on it now, it seems it was all a lie.”
“A lie?”
“…”
“What, now that you look back on it, does it feel like you dreamed some midsummer night’s dream?”

At his words, his wife looked down at her plate and smiled weakly.

“Part of me even wishes it had been a dream.”

Herman couldn’t hold back an incredulous, dumbfounded laugh at the sight of his wife reminiscing so mournfully over the past.

“Very well, then. Go on — tell me. Just what was so riddled with lies.”

He asked out of curiosity, wondering what memory had such a hold on her that she’d spout such nonsense.

“It’s just… it struck me all over again that I truly hadn’t a single soul of my own.”

A soul of her own.

Herman chewed over the conversation as it veered strangely off course yet again, and clenched his back teeth.

Ah — she must mean the leeches that latch onto a wealthy widow.

He’d heard from Hoillun that his wife had often kept company with swindler sorts. Taken in by their schemes, she’d bought some worthless plot of land believing it prime real estate, and lost a fortune on it.

“Not even worth a laugh. If having no eye for people is a crime, then I suppose it’s a crime.”
“Having no eye for people is a crime.”

His wife murmured it under her breath.

“You’re right. It is a crime.”

Why was it that, for a fleeting instant, he’d felt something like pity for her? He’d very nearly been taken in, hook, line, and sinker, by her act.

Perhaps I ought to suggest she take up opera acting on the side.

Just as he was thinking it, his wife slowly lifted her face.

“Please forget it. I spoke out of turn.”

His wife, wearing a smile clearer than any before, admitted she’d misspoken.

Why did I look away, just then?

The moment his eyes had met his wife’s, he’d felt his heart drop with a lurch, as though he were the one who’d misspoken. He hadn’t said a single wrong thing. So why?

Ever since, the sight of that woman forcing the corners of her mouth up had come back to him at all hours, leaving no room for resentment or anger toward her to gather. And so, of all the feelings he’d held toward his wife of late, these past few days’ had proven the most tolerable of the lot.

“When you look closely, Master, the lady thinks of you a great deal too. Why, she sold off every last one of her most treasured dresses, all to make ready the clothes you’re to wear at the triumphal ceremony.”

Tess drew out the purse of gold coins and held it up for him to see as she spoke.

“…”

Herman’s deep-set eyes came to rest on the weighty purse. He gave little outward sign of it, but for a good long while he stared at the money his wife was said to have prepared.

Perhaps that was her way of telling me how hard it had been, with no one to lean on for five years.

Herman came to the conclusion that he had, it seemed, been too indifferent to his wife.

I may well have shamed her. Or insulted her, even.

He’d spent far too long with none but men for company; he’d lost all sense of how gently a man was meant to speak to a woman, to a wife most of all.

“In any case, Master. Separate rooms simply won’t do any longer. Before you leave for the triumphal ceremony, you’re to share a room, and no arguments.”
“Isn’t that rather sudden?”
“Sudden, he says. It’s late — long overdue. A matter put off five whole years. Why, all this time you’ve been keeping needless faith with the lady, and—!”

Tess, rattling on in her agitation, barely managed to swallow the rest of her words. The master had never sworn to them that he would surely return alive from the battlefield. A promise one couldn’t keep bred nothing but false hope; that had been his reasoning. In the same vein, he’d said that if he were to die in the war, he wished his wife to be free rather than bound to him, and so he had boldly done away with their wedding night.

So now, at last, was the time to see to the wedding night they had put off for five whole years. At the very least, it was a thing Tess had awaited and awaited ever since the master first came of full marrying age.

“This sort of thing will be hard for a noble lady to broach herself, Master, so you must be the one to raise it first — gently.”
“…”
“Bear it in mind. Kindly, and tenderly.”
“…”
“You understand, don’t you, Master?”
“…”
“Master!”
“Fine. Kindly and tenderly.”

Even as he gave the answer, Herman found his lips oddly itching, and rubbed at them lightly with his thumb.

Kindness and tenderness, is it.

They were as foreign to him as a puppy trotting eagerly at his heels. And no wonder. What use were kindness and tenderness on a battlefield, or on a deserted island? Cruelty and cold-bloodedness, perhaps, but never those.

“I’ll speak to my wife about it before the day is out.”

All at once his posture felt uncomfortable. Herman straightened himself in his seat, pondering deeply just what sort of face he was meant to wear while raising the notion of sharing a bed.