“Lord Warren.”

“…Mrs. Gross. You’re quite impatient.”

“I’m simply frustrated because you keep holding the Duchess’s wrist without saying anything.”

“Why can’t you understand that your constant interference only prolongs this process? Now, my lady. How many fingers do you see?”

I glanced at Lord Warren’s wavering fingers and answered.

“Three.”

“Yes. Excellent. Your fever has subsided, and your cognitive abilities are intact. Though you may still feel discomfort in various places…”

Four days, I believe. That’s how long I had been unconscious since arriving at Manderley Mansion, collapsing into a state of delirium.

To be honest, I didn’t remember much. Only fragments came to mind—the silhouette of a tall, slender spire and the growling sounds of a beast.

“Therefore, I believe it’s now acceptable for you to explore the mansion, provided you wear appropriate Northern attire…”

“Why are you trailing off so uncertainly, Lord Warren?”

“Does the Duchess actually have any clothes to wear at present, Mrs. Gross?”

“…”

I alternated my gaze between the Head Butler and the Duke’s young physician, Lord Warren, who were glaring at each other. Then I shifted my attention to the sunlight stretching across my blanket.

The sky outside was perfectly clear, without a single cloud, and the maze garden below was saturated with blue-green hues. Though the tightly closed window prevented even the slightest breeze from entering, I curled my chilled fingertips in response to the cool vibrancy that captivated my eyes.

‘We’ll see when we get to the North. Rondo!’

Those were his exact words.

I could recall everything clearly if I tried—his voice, his anger-filled face, even the Duke’s retreating back. Everything.

Those words weren’t spoken carelessly. Yet during the four days I lay ill and the three days since I’d awakened, a total of one week, the Duke hadn’t summoned me or sent any messages.

It seemed that simply bringing me to the North was enough; he no longer sought me out.

My relief was brief, and as time passed, my unresolved anxiety only intensified. Still, there was nothing I could do. I had repeatedly asked the Head Butler whether the Duke had inquired about me or left any messages, but the answer was always the same.

No, my lady. His Grace has not issued any specific instructions.

“…You see? Didn’t I tell you repeatedly that we needed to prepare in advance? ‘We don’t know her measurements,’ you said. ‘We can have Northern clothes made after she arrives,’ you said. Such complacency! Now look at this situation…”

“Lord, your examination appears to be finished. Is that correct?”

“What? Well, yes…”

“My lady.”

“…”

“My lady?”

Snapping out of my thoughts, I turned toward the voice. Both the Head Butler and Lord Warren were now looking at me.

“Are you hungry?”

“…I believe I am.”

Though I had simply agreed with the Head Butler’s question, for some reason, Lord Warren’s face fell. I blinked in confusion until I noticed the Head Butler gesturing toward the door and finally understood the situation.

“You heard her, Lord. Please take your leave now.”

“…Yes. My lady, I’m always on standby should you need me…”

“Lord, the exit is that way. The Duchess likely won’t have much need to see you frequently, so please don’t delude yourself.”

The Head Butler, who had initially given the impression of being rigid and pedantic—someone who would follow every rule and principle—showed rare enjoyment when teasing Lord Warren, slightly raising one corner of her mouth.

Now accustomed to this sight, I gazed at them blankly before slowly moving my legs out of bed.

Regardless, I couldn’t remain in bed forever.

“I apologize, my lady. This is my oversight. I should have prepared your clothes in advance… but I failed to do so.”

“It’s quite alright. What about the clothes I brought from the South?”

“…They’re unsuitable for the North, so we’ve moved them all to storage.”

I nodded slightly. She was right—the winter clothes I had brought from the South, anticipating the North’s cold, were inadequate for this climate. My four-day illness had proven that fact directly.

The problem, as Lord Warren pointed out, was that I had no suitable clothes to wear immediately.

“Do I have any clothes that I can wear right away?”

The Head Butler responded with an extremely apologetic expression.

“I’ve summoned the tailor, but it will take some time before your clothes are ready… Until then… if you don’t mind, my lady, perhaps you could wear the previous mistress’s dresses?”

…The previous mistress.

I stared blankly as the Head Butler’s mouth slowly opened and closed. For a moment, I was speechless. I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

…Was there any reason to create conflict?

“…Very well.”

“Thank you for your graciousness, my lady. Vivi!”

I slipped my feet into slippers as the Head Butler called for the young servant.

‘You idiot! Please… What? You heard it too. They’re all dead!’

I could almost hear Oscar’s voice saying that everyone who had disappeared never returned, so they might as well be dead.

The overwhelming peacefulness of this place had made me momentarily forget.

The reports about the North—about the five missing wives.

Over the past fifty years, at ten-year intervals, five women who had married Duke Derien in this Winter territory had vanished without a trace. Whether they had fled or been murdered remained unclear. The official reports contained no definitive conclusions about the missing women’s whereabouts.

They were simply marked as “missing.”

Come to think of it, it was strange. Why me, of all people?

Among all the nobles of the vast North, why choose someone from the distant South—someone whose face he had never seen, who rarely participated in social activities, who had just come of age? No matter how prosperous the Veritatis territory in the South might be, it wasn’t enough to tempt the Northern Duke, who possessed territories several times larger.

And it seemed odd to attribute it solely to my being a discarded fiancée whose seven-year engagement had been broken.

If that were the true reason, the Duke should never have sent a marriage proposal to the Brote in the book.

Unlike me, who had nothing but Eric, the future Brote from the book that would never come to pass was officially competing with Oscar for the position of the Veritatis heir. Though her fate—being abandoned by Eric and sold off to the North through the Duke’s proposal—was no different from mine.

“My lady, which dress would you prefer?”

“…This one looks suitable.”

I pointed to the lightest purple dress among those Miriam had brought. At the Head Butler’s gesture, the young maid called Vivi quickly gathered the dress and approached me.

Missing, they said. Officially concluded as missing, not dead. I had proudly declared as much to Oscar. Yet now, as I contemplated wearing clothes that had belonged to a woman who had either disappeared or died, I felt a slight chill run down my spine.

Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.

I felt an impulse to ask the Head Butler what had happened to the previous wife, the former owner of this dress.

“My lady…?”

“…Give it to me.”

I suppressed the urge by clenching and unclenching my fist. Then, with Vivi’s help, I slipped into the light purple dress.

For better or worse, it was quite roomy. The shoulders and waist were so loose that some alterations would be necessary.

“Is there anything else uncomfortable, my lady?”

“This will do. It’s sufficient.”

“Then I shall escort you to the dining hall, my lady. Vivi! Tell Mrs. Potts to prepare the Duchess’s meal.”

After wrapping a shawl around my shoulders, I stepped into the corridor following the Head Butler.

“My lady… do you believe in God?”

It happened as we were walking down the corridor toward the dining hall.

With her back to the windows on the left side of the corridor that overlooked the maze garden, the Head Butler suddenly stopped and posed this cryptic question. Without time to consider, my body reacted before my mind.

“No.”

With the sunlight pouring in behind her, the Head Butler’s face was obscured by shadow, making her expression difficult to discern. But her voice was clear.

“In the North, people still believe in God, my lady. They consider everything—the food they eat, the clothes they wear, even each breath they take—to be God’s providence. At first… you might find it strange. But it’s not a matter of etiquette,”

I quickly understood what concerned her. Unlike the South, where belief in God had faded into mere custom, the North had always been the birthplace of myths and legends. Even I, a Southerner, knew that Northern history and culture couldn’t be discussed without mentioning the gods.

Noticing Miriam’s gaze shift from my face toward the dark brown wooden door at the far end of the corridor, I completed her thought.

“It’s a cultural difference—that’s what you’re trying to say. I may not be perfect, but I am aware of these things, so you needn’t worry, Miriam.”

“…Yes, my lady.”

We closed our mouths again and walked the remaining length of the corridor in silence, pushing open the tall brown wooden door that led to the dining hall. At that moment.

I finally understood why she had brought up the subject.

The entire dining hall was dominated by a work that embodied the composition of a typical religious painting—God’s messengers with long, ashen wings that resembled pieces of clouds after rain, tinged with a mysterious blue hue, gathered around a long white table, holding human tableware.

Even I, who didn’t believe in God, was rendered speechless by the overwhelming scene that made one feel compelled to kneel in worship. I had never seen or heard of anything like this before.

“My lady.”

A shiver ran down my spine. I wanted to withdraw my foot that had already crossed the threshold.

How laughable that I had just claimed to understand Northern customs, if not perfectly.

“My lady!”

“…”

“…You must get used to it.”

Knowing something versus experiencing it.

Not being arrogant about what I knew.

To doubt but not presume—that’s what I had resolved to do.

“…Yes. I suppose I must.”

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, I followed Miriam across the boundary, bringing my remaining foot inside.

* * *

“Gross. Is the bride adapting well?”

“Yes.”

“Is that so? That’s somewhat different from what I’ve heard.”

“…”

Derien whirled around.

Mrs. Gross, who had been standing before the Duke with her hands clasped, head held stiffly high, and mysterious gray eyes slightly lowered, quickly turned her head to avoid his gaze.

“Did Rondo tell you that?”

“Must I answer your question?”

“…At first… at first, she struggled a bit. But now she’s becoming much more accustomed.”

“That’s only natural.”

Derien turned back toward the window with a click of his heel. Beyond lay a cool white sky and the blue-green maze garden. Below stood his young bride.

He quietly observed Brote as she extended her hand with slight curiosity toward the enormous Mike, whose size exceeded her waist, despite her initial surprise. Derien tapped the window with his fingertips—once, twice, three times—as the young bride stepped backward from Mike, who kept pressing against her, seemingly unaware of his own size. Tap, tap, tap again.

“Treat her with the utmost care. Grant her whatever she desires. And ensure she doesn’t think of escaping, by any means.”

“…Yes.”

Tap. Left alone in the now-silent office after Mrs. Gross departed, Derien raised his white, smooth fingers to cover his eyes and muttered softly.

“Damn Manderley…”

His quiet voice crossed the silent office.