For a moment, Estella nearly blurted out, “Pardon?”

But she quickly caught herself and recalled something she’d once read in an etiquette book meant for noblewomen, part of her brief education in playing the role of Baron Vansen’s wife.

‘Right… it said that the nobility often welcome guests into their homes without hesitation.’

It was, apparently, one of the ways the upper class displayed their abundance—offering hospitality freely, without expecting compensation.

Thus, even if a barely acquainted noble happened to announce, “I was passing through and decided to visit Lord So-and-so’s estate,” the proper response would be, “Is that so?” followed by an invitation to dine and rest under one’s roof.

However, there was one unspoken condition attached to such gestures: the guest had to be of the same class.

Which meant, in this man’s eyes, both she and Ayla appeared to belong to the upper ranks of society.

‘I can’t tell whether to be pleased or troubled by that.’

Estella thought bitterly, a faint, sardonic smile touching her lips.

If she thought only of the immediate comfort, being mistaken for nobility was convenient—pleasant, even.

But such courtesy wouldn’t fill their stomachs forever.

‘Eventually, I’ll have to find work.’

And when that time came, being seen as a lady of standing would become a burden rather than a blessing.

Lost briefly in thought, Estella noticed the man still waiting for her answer.

She gave a small shake of her head.

“I appreciate the offer, truly, but that won’t be necessary.”

To speak frankly, to someone born and bred of the working class like Estella, unsolicited kindness from a stranger didn’t look like a lifeline.

It looked like a trap.

‘There’s no such thing as kindness without cost.’

At least, that had always been true in Estella’s life.

Fortunately, the man didn’t press her further. Instead, he said quietly.

“Even so, I’d like to offer at least a small courtesy.”

“…”

She wondered what he meant by that, but then another lesson from the etiquette books she’d once studied came to mind.

‘Right… it said that when one meets a person in mourning, it’s customary to extend even the smallest act of kindness.’

Much like it is today, it was considered basic decency among the upper class to apologize after bumping into someone on the street.

‘What a tedious culture.’

 Estella thought. Still, if the man before her was indeed one of the nobility, then refusing him outright wouldn’t be wise.

‘Better to give him something to do, something harmless.’

After a brief moment of thought, she lifted her gaze and said slowly.

“It’s nearly dinner time. I’m not familiar with this city, and I don’t really have anyone to ask… so I suppose I’m a bit at a loss.”

In other words, she was simply asking him to treat her to a meal at a nearby restaurant. To Estella, this was the most reasonable request she could make.

The man’s eyes lingered on her for a moment. Depending on the light, they appeared to be either blue or grey. Estella didn’t look away. She simply met his gaze until he finally spoke in a measured, calm tone.

“Since you’d prefer not to dine at my estate, I’ll take you somewhere nearby.”

“That would be fine.”

“Come to think of it, we haven’t introduced ourselves, Ian Wyndham.”

At the mention of the name, Estella’s fingers twitched ever so slightly.

‘Wyndham?’

Could it be that Wyndham?

‘But if he really is from that family, why is he here?’

No—it couldn’t be. She brushed the thought aside.

Besides, his introduction had ended there, simple and unembellished, lacking the grandiose phrasing typical of the aristocracy. He didn’t seem intent on forming any lasting acquaintance.

So Estella mirrored his brevity.

“I’m the widow of Baron Van—”

…but before she could finish the sentence, her red lips closed again.

After all, she was a woman who had been cast out, paid off with a meager sum because of her late husband’s mistress, Selena or Gelena or whatever her name was.

Would it really be right to introduce herself as “Estella of House Vansen”?

‘I was never any good at playing the part of a grieving noblewoman…’

She hesitated for a moment, but before she could decide, the man spoke softly.

“You can speak freely.”

He must have sensed her hesitation.

“…Estella.”

She didn’t give her surname, but perhaps because the omission fit her status as a widow, he merely inclined his head in acknowledgment and made no comment.

“Then shall we?”

He didn’t even ask the simplest formality—“How shall I address you?”—and instead simply guided her toward the restaurant.

That was fine with Estella. She had no intention of getting to know him any further either. After waking Ayla, she followed him out.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

To nobles, restaurants were a curious sort of place.

They were for the middle class, those who couldn’t afford private cooks or housekeepers or for the wealthy who sought novelty. Dining in public was, for the upper crust, a subtle humiliation.

But for Estella, who had been born and raised a laborer?

Hardly.

To her, such a place was a rare delight, a chance to taste dishes she’d never otherwise afford.

“The atmosphere’s lovely.”

She said with a genuine smile. Perhaps because of that sincerity, Ian paused for a fraction of a second before composing himself again, wearing that flawlessly polite, practiced smile.

“I’m glad you think so.”

His manner remained refined and measured as his eyes skimmed down the menu.

“There doesn’t seem to be much suitable for a child.”

“It’s fine. She’s not picky.”

Indeed, the menu was full of rich dishes, food meant for adults, not for children.

Ian gave a small nod and ordered something at least soft enough for Ayla to eat.

Once their orders were placed, silence settled over the table like a thin layer of dust.

Strictly speaking, the room wasn’t silent, the rest of the restaurant was alive with chatter, clinking glasses, and the occasional scrape of a knife against porcelain. Only the table between Estella and Ian was steeped in quiet.

‘Smells good.’

The scent drifting from the kitchen was rich and savory, the kind that suggested the cook knew their craft. Still, Estella tempered her expectations.

Her own cooking often smelled promising, but she knew all too well that aroma didn’t always guarantee taste—hers, for example, could drive away even the hungriest customer.

‘As long as it’s edible, that’s enough.’

Her purpose here was simple: to eat. She had no interest in meaningless conversation.

Ayla seemed to sense that intention too. Sitting unusually still for her age, she waited quietly for the food to arrive.

It was Ian who broke the silence first.

“Are you planning to leave this city?”

His eyes moved lazily around the restaurant, never quite settling on her.

At first, Estella wasn’t sure if the question was directed at her. It wasn’t particularly personal, but it was also not something a man would usually ask a woman he had just met.

When she turned her head slightly, as if to ask a question, he added, his voice as soft as a breath.

“You refused my invitation.”

‘Refused his invitation?’
‘Was that… a complaint? Or just a passing remark?’

She couldn’t quite tell what he meant, so she simply studied his face in silence. Then came his next, unhurried words.

“I wondered if you had somewhere else to go.”

She didn’t see why she needed to explain herself, but considering he was the one paying for the meal, she decided to answer politely.

“Well, I’m not sure yet.”

‘As long as I don’t name a destination, there’s no harm done.’

She spoke smoothly, offering a reply vague enough to satisfy curiosity without revealing anything.

“I plan to look for work. Whether that ends up being here or elsewhere—I haven’t decided.”

“I see.”

His response was brief, detached—oddly so, given how deliberately he’d started the conversation.

The distance between his curiosity and his indifference left her faintly puzzled, but before she could dwell on it, the waiter arrived.

“Your meals, sir.”

Ian gestured lightly toward the space before Ayla, and the waiter set down a plate of golden pancakes.

The girl, still holding her stuffed rabbit, placed it aside and murmured softly.

“Thank you…”

The girl’s small voice was timid, barely audible, but the man’s lips curved faintly.

“Eat plenty.”

Moments later, the waiter set down the remaining plates, one before Ian, one before Estella.

In front of her lay a dish of lamb chops, perfectly seared and accompanied by an assortment of roasted vegetables. It was a classic choice, simple enough to be found in most restaurants, yet demanding enough to reveal the chef’s true skill.

Among the sides was an exotic vegetable Estella had never tasted before, the kind usually too expensive for her to buy. Her expectations, despite herself, began to rise.

“Thank you for the meal.”

She said politely, erasing every trace of their earlier conversation from her mind. She picked up her fork and knife and began to cut into the meat.

‘Perfectly cooked.’

She cut off a piece of meat, speared a vegetable, and brought both to her mouth.

As she ate, the man watched her for a moment before quietly picking up his own cutlery.

And so began an odd, silent meal — neither awkward nor comfortable, just suspended in silence.

When she turned her head slightly as if to ask a question, he replied in a voice as soft as a breath.

✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦❘༻༺❘✦ ✦❘

When they left the restaurant, Ian didn’t offer the usual words of escort or courtesy—no “Allow me to see you home,” nothing of the sort.

He simply told her to take care, stepped into his carriage, and disappeared down the street.

‘For someone that distant, he certainly asked some personal questions.’

“I wondered if you had somewhere else to go.”

‘Why he even ask that?’

The thought flickered briefly, but Estella dismissed it at once, erasing Ian from her mind as cleanly as she could.

‘In any case, it was a good meal.’

Good enough to give her the strength she needed to face the next day, to walk from one labor office to the next, searching for work.

‘I’ll head out at sunrise.’

With that resolution, Estella took Ayla by the hand and hurried back toward the inn.