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Chapter 38
With hurried steps, Scarlett boarded the tram, soon recalling Andrei’s words as she looked down at the hem of her skirt. It wasn’t dirty at all, but if she were unlucky enough to run into Viktor at the Dumfeld estate, he would surely have something to say about it.
Perhaps because she had spent all day sitting while working, the sunlight she hadn’t seen in a while made her dizzy. Still, the thought that Isaac could also feel this same sunlight warmed her chest.
Arriving at the Dumfeld estate around two o’clock, intending to leave before Viktor returned from the chancery, Scarlett was greeted by Blythe.
“You’ve come, my lady! I’m sure the trip here was burdensome and difficult, thank you so much.”
It wasn’t as if she had come for anything so important, and yet he was so delighted that Scarlett felt embarrassed.
“Well, even if something disappears, Viktor wouldn’t notice, would he…”
“Yes, I think so too. Still, I’m terrified that by chance I might sell something he doesn’t recognize and end up in trouble.”
“That’s true. That would be stressful.”
Scarlett nodded in understanding, then headed first to the dressing room of the annex she used to occupy.
Every time she came, the spaces she had once used were eerily unchanged, just as they’d been since the day she had left with only a few cherished belongings.
The dressing room, too, still held the clothes Scarlett had left behind. Dresses followed fashion, so they hadn’t been put up for auction since the cost of altering them would outweigh their price. Scarlett, holding a pen and notebook, remarked to Candice who was following her:
“They should’ve just sold all these dresses, but they left them.”
“Y-yes, indeed.”
Candice outwardly agreed but inwardly suppressed her concern.
It had been Viktor himself who ordered that her belongings not be touched. Scarlett couldn’t know how much work it took to maintain all the spaces she once used.
Some servants even called it “the dead wife’s room.” Only if the beloved wife had died and left it empty could such preservation be understood.
But Scarlett was alive, and she and Viktor had divorced for betraying each other’s hearts. Even so, why he would go to such lengths to keep the room intact—many wondered, though no one dared to ask.
Scarlett walked toward the jewelry chest inside the dressing room. Though called a jewelry box, it was large enough to serve as a table. Opening all its many compartments, Scarlett fell into thought.
“Hmm…”
The Dumfeld family had been the house of a dethroned princess, masters of abandoned lands. Hastily created to cast off Marina Irene, they had neither history nor tradition. Thus, the Dumfelds could never be considered a noble lineage.
To cover that weakness, Viktor consistently bought items with history and tradition at auctions. Even Scarlett’s birthdays or their wedding anniversary became excuses for him to purchase such things.
All the jewels and furniture he gifted Scarlett had once belonged to famous figures in history. He believed these items would one day grant legitimacy to the Dumfeld name. And indeed, in time, they probably would.
Though it would take a hundred years or more.
At any rate, such jewels were kept separately in the vault, so this large jewelry chest contained little. Even the chest itself had once been used by a famous singer.
As Scarlett pondered deeply, Candice, waiting behind her, spoke up.
“Can’t you put something from the vault up?”
“Ah, no. Everything in the vault has history, it’d be wrong to put those out. Viktor would hate it.”
Scarlett stroked the jewelry chest and added:
“Sometimes I feel sorry for him, clinging so desperately to honor like that.”
“You pity the young master? Then all the truly pitiable people in the world must be dead.”
At Candice’s jab, Scarlett laughed.
“That’s true, isn’t it?”
She looked once more through the chest and said:
“Still, you know… at least I have one family member who really, really loves me.”
“You were that to the young master, weren’t you?”
At Candice’s words, Scarlett smiled.
“Mm, now that you say it, yes. I loved him so much. People… betray each other sometimes. Couldn’t he forgive even that much?”
“Exactly. It’s not as if you spread malicious lies—just a few harsh words. Nothing untrue.”
With Candice constantly taking her side, Scarlett couldn’t help but keep smiling.
At last, while searching, Scarlett found something suitable for the charity event.
“Ah, this one will do.”
When she pulled it out, Candice looked troubled.
“You’re offering that?”
It was the tiara Scarlett had worn at her wedding—the only item she owned that was newly made.
In the name of “creating tradition,” she had worn Marina’s dress and ring, but the tiara at least had been made anew. Marina Dumfeld’s tiara, suited to her dark hair, did not suit Scarlett’s light blond.
“Will people dislike it, since it’s from a broken marriage…”
As Scarlett murmured to herself, Viktor entered the room.
Startled, she glanced at the clock—more time had passed than she realized while agonizing over what to offer. Hastily closing the jewelry chest, she rose.
“Sorry, I stayed longer than I meant to, couldn’t find anything suitable.”
She held up the tiara.
“I was thinking of putting this out.”
“Go ahead. It looks fine.”
“You don’t remember jewels very well, do you?”
“Not at all.”
When Viktor admitted frankly, Scarlett set the tiara down.
“This was what I wore at our wedding. Since our marriage broke, I thought people might dislike it if I put it out.”
“Isn’t there something else? You have plenty of jewels.”
“They’re all too important to sell. How could I put up Richard Camelli’s ring for his wife, or Natalia Irene’s necklace?”
Richard Camelli was a knight commander in history, and Natalia Irene, a royal woman from a century ago, recorded as the most beautiful of them all.
Whenever Scarlett heard tales of Natalia’s beauty, she thought Viktor’s looks were living proof of those stories.
But Viktor, uninterested in jewels, merely replied indifferently:
“That’s true. Then put something of mine up. They’re mostly new anyway.”
He tilted his head toward the door, suggesting she follow. Scarlett nodded and rose.
She soon entered Viktor’s room to look through his possessions.
Unlike hers, everything of Viktor’s was new—each carefully chosen, wrapped, and presented by her own hands.
Scarlett realized anew that all her things were old, while his were all new.
All through their marriage, they had given each other the opposite of what was desired: to him, who longed for old things to raise his family’s prestige, she gave new; and to herself, who had received nothing new since the age of twelve and longed for it, he gave only old.
In the early days of their marriage, Scarlett had been thrilled just to know Viktor prepared a gift for her. But gradually she came to see those gifts as merely props for building Dumfeld history under the guise of presents.
To such a man, she always gave the newest, most prominent things from department stores. Perhaps he had felt the same sting of disappointment she had. Lately, Scarlett often thought her efforts had been nothing but forced devotion.
Trying to keep her face calm, she asked him:
“Seventh Street is holding a charity event too—do you have any unused blankets or something?”
Viktor tilted his head, looking at her.
“What charity event.”
“Just as I said, the people of Seventh Street hold one too. They gather donations, put up blankets for winter, preserved foods… oh, and firewood too would be useful…”
Scarlett was explaining eagerly to persuade him when she stopped.
Viktor was leaning against the dresser, watching her.
Most people interacted not just with words but also with expressions and gestures. With Viktor, such things were difficult. He never offered small acknowledgments during conversation, only stared with that arrogant gaze, uninterested in the world. One could never tell if he was listening, if he cared even the slightest.
Scarlett, lips stiff, continued:
“If you don’t care, we can just forget it. For the auction, put these cufflinks. They don’t suit you.”
“I never said I wasn’t interested.”
“You’re not.”
She lifted her chin slightly to look up at him.
Viktor gazed at her for a moment, then leaned closer. The chill of his nearness made Scarlett’s shoulders flinch.
Tilting his head, Viktor asked:
“So, donations: blankets, preserves, firewood. And what else.”
At his close questioning, Scarlett’s lips parted, but no words came.
When she stayed silent, Viktor spoke again.
“And?”
“…Clothes made from wool yarn. If there are old ones, people unravel them and knit new garments. Remember those thick shawls I had? Things like that.”
Even after she explained, Viktor continued watching her, so Scarlett uncomfortably added:
“That’s all.”
Somehow, speaking to him felt like making a report, so she closed her words that way. Viktor turned his head aside and let out a laugh.
He rarely laughed, so it must have struck him as absurd. Scarlett’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she held her head high as if nothing was amiss.
Moments later, Viktor rang the bell to summon Blythe.
“If there are unused blankets, preserves, or firewood, send them to Seventh Street.”
“For the charity event, sir? Understood.”
“And also, any woolen items that can be unraveled for yarn.”
“Yes.”
“That’s all.”
“…Pardon?”
Blythe blinked in surprise at words Viktor had never spoken before, while Scarlett’s eyes widened in shock.
