“I didn’t think you would actually call me to finish the game tonight,” Miller said, entering Francesca’s room with a warm smile. He took a seat on the chair near her bed, his large frame looking slightly out of place in the cozy, feminine novels scatter space.
Francesca, dressed in her silk nightgown, sat tucked against the headboard. She held up a small slip of paper with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I have the word ready right here.”
Miller leaned forward, his focus sharpening. “Is it warm?”
“Yes,” Francesca replied, hugging her knees to her chest.
Miller thought for a few seconds before asking, “Is it a feeling?”
“No.”
“Is it edible? No... wait, is it consumable?” Miller corrected himself, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Francesca chuckled. “No. You are far more competitive than I thought, Miller.”
“Well, I would like to win, considering you lost the last round,” he teased. “Is it a furnace?”
“No. Though I notice your mood has lifted significantly since you walked through that door,” she noted. Miller nodded, conceding the point, and went back to his mental list.
“Is it a concept?”
“Yes.”
“Does it require more than one person to believe in it?”
“Yes.”
Miller paused for a long minute. It can’t be ‘Love,’ he reasoned, since that was her guess last time. He tapped his fingers against the armrest of the chair before finally speaking. “Family?”
“Wow, you are actually very good at this!” Francesca looked genuinely surprised. “That’s the answer.”
Miller’s smile faded into something a bit more melancholic. “You know... not all families are warm,” he said softly. For a brief moment, images of his late uncle and the bitter expression of Aunt Maria flashed behind his eyes.
“Of course. I would know that better than anyone, don’t you think?” Francesca replied softly. She reached out and patted the spot on the bed next to her. Miller looked hesitant, but he took her hand and allowed her to pull him down to lie beside her.
As she held his hand, she continued, “But now I have a family that is warm, don’t you think?”
“I will try to be,” Miller replied, looking a bit lost in her gaze.
Francesca leaned over and hugged his arm. The silence stretched between them for a moment before Miller spoke again. “Should I start the process of taking the household authority back from Aunt Maria? You told me to wait a bit, and since you called for me tonight, I assumed...”
“So, you think I only called you because I had business to discuss?” Francesca asked, pouting as she looked up at him.
Miller shook his head quickly. “I apologize. You want us to build a bond as husband and wife, not just as business partners. It was wrong of me to assume otherwise.”
“As long as you know it,” Francesca replied with a satisfied smile. “But regarding the household... notify her tomorrow. Tell her she has exactly two days to sort through the ledgers before she must formally hand everything over to you.”
“I still don’t quite understand what you’re planning,” Miller admitted, his hand moving almost instinctively to stroke her silver hair. “You don’t need to understand yet,” she whispered. “You just need to be ready to move out with a group of knights the moment I send word. You’ll see exactly what I mean then.”
“Fine,” Miller agreed. He started to shift as if to get up, but Francesca gripped his arm tighter, holding him down.
“And where do you think you’re going?” she asked with a playful glare. “What kind of husband gets out of bed to sleep alone after cuddling with his wife? You’re staying here tonight.”
Miller’s face turned a deep, vibrant red. He looked at her, then at the pillow, and finally nodded, settling back into the mattress. “It’s not like we would do anything…” Francesca muttered seeing his red face with a chuckle.
Two days passed in a blur of quiet anticipation. On the morning of the scheduled authority handover, Francesca sat at her dressing table, watching Stella’s reflection in the mirror as the maid meticulously brushed her silver hair.
“Did Miss Maria go anywhere yesterday?” Francesca asked, her voice casual.
“She visited the Goddess’s Chapel, the one built by Lord Alaric’s family,” Stella reported, finishing the hair and moving to help Francesca into her day dress. “Apparently, she 'happened' to run into Lord Alaric, Lord Keith, and Lord Madson during her prayers.”
“I see...” Francesca looked at her own reflection, a cold light in her eyes. “So they’ve planned a meeting at the chapel today, then?”
Stella paused, her hands hovering over the silk ties of the dress. She looked at Francesca in genuine surprise. “How did you know that, Your Ladyship?”
Because in my past life, though it took a year to find out, Francesca thought. Maria was found embezzling funds alongside those three vassals. They were exchanging forged ledgers in that chapel, their secret meeting spot, right under Miller's nose. I won't let it take a year this time.
“You can say... I am just clever like that,” Francesca said, her smile widening.
She took her cane, the rhythmic thump echoing as she and Stella walked toward the drawing room where she had summoned Maria. Maria was already there, slumped in a chair with a sour expression that she didn't bother to hide. “Miss Maria,” Francesca greeted her smoothly.
“Why did you suggest going to prayer together, Your Ladyship?” Maria scoffed, not even standing to greet her. “I am quite busy today, you know. I have the handover to prepare for.”
“Oh, come now,” Francesca replied, her tone sweet and persuasive. “I simply wanted to offer a prayer to the Goddess, given that it’s been a week since I arrived in the North. I heard you are acquainted with a wonderful chapel in the city where you will be visiting today anyway, and I thought it would be lovely if we went together.”
Maria’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She scanned Francesca’s face, looking for a hidden motive, but she saw only the clueless, crippled girl she had dismissed days ago. Seeing no threat, Maria’s expression shifted into a fake, thin-lipped smile.
“Sure, why don’t we?” Maria replied, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. “I suppose I should get to know you, since we will be living under the same roof for a very long time.”
Yes, Francesca thought, her grip tightening on her cane. Though "the same roof" might be a prison cell by the time the sun sets.