Resignation: handled. The real problem is—where I get hired next.
The moment she passed through the doors of the great hall, that thought began turning in Rosalind's head.
Not one second to spare for savoring the aftermath of a broken engagement. A habit from her past life.
Go back to the ducal house, and another marriage proposal would come raining down. She would not make the same mistake twice.
—Isn't there somewhere I could work under my own name?
She walked the corridor, thinking this in all seriousness. Honestly, what was wrong with her.
"Lady Rosalind Abel."
It was a low, restrained voice.
Farther down the corridor. From the shadow of a pillar, a tall figure took a single step forward.
Black hair. Pale blue eyes that called ice to mind. Jet-black formal attire, ornament kept to the bare minimum.
—I know that face.
Of course she did. There wasn't a young lady in society who hadn't seen that face.
Rosalind tightened her grip on her fan, just slightly.
"...Your Highness. Grand Duke Vernant."
"Yes."
"If memory serves, Your Grace's name was not on tonight's guest list."
In a corner of her mind, the ledger of invitees flipped open. Founding Day celebration. Allied nations. —No. The Grand Duchy of Vernant was neutral. Not an ally.
Which meant he had come, of his own will, somewhere he had not been invited.
"Good evening, Your Grace. And what business brings you here tonight?"
The society greeting came out on reflex. But inside, a different calculation was already running.
—The "Ice Grand Duke," of all people?
A man rumored to turn down ten marriage proposals a month without so much as a flicker of expression—why is he standing in front of me tonight?
"I'll be direct."
Lucas Vernant dispensed with pleasantries entirely.
"I want to hire you."
"...Huh?"
A most unladylike sound escaped Rosalind's lips.
"Economic Advisor to the Grand Duchy of Vernant. You may set the terms."
Under the corridor lights, the man was looking straight at Rosalind and no one else.
Just behind him, a taciturn swordsman—his aide, by the look of him—was quietly holding out a sheaf of papers.
—Since when has he had those ready?
Rosalind adjusted the angle of her fan, just slightly. Just enough to keep her agitation from showing.
"Your Grace. Forgive me, but I am a woman who has only just had her engagement broken off by His Highness the Crown Prince."
"I know."
"A woman with a wretched reputation in society, as a villainess."
"I know."
"A woman who can do almost nothing but talk about economics."
"That's all I need."
Three instant answers in a row.
The corners of Rosalind's mouth moved, ever so slightly.
Her corporate-slave brain from her past life delivered its verdict at once.
—This is headhunting.
And not the kind that takes advantage of your weak position, either. The kind that leaves the terms up to you.
The kind of offer Ritsuko Tanaka had never once received.
"Might I have a look at the contract?"
"Go ahead."
Beneath the corridor's candelabra, she unrolled the parchment the aide offered.
These were eyes Ritsuko Tanaka had spent ten years honing in her past life. Thirty seconds was plenty to find the landmines in a contract.
Job description. Authority to draft economic policy. An independent office. Chain of approval. Compensation clause. Penalty clause.
—No one-sided restrictions. No exits blocked. No unilateral clause binding me to them for good, either.
Rosalind's gaze stopped on one particular line.
The figure offered as annual salary.
...Ten years' worth of what I made in my past life.
She reran it with exchange rates and adjustments for prices, and the conclusion stayed the same.
A sum Ritsuko Tanaka had failed to earn in ten years was sitting right in front of her, as one year's pay.
—"A woman like you won't make it anywhere you go."
Her boss's voice from that night came back to her, deep in her ears—and then crumbled away without a sound.
The one that didn't make it was that company.
Rosalind let out a short laugh.
Truly, for only the briefest moment.
"Your Grace. Might I add just one thing?"
"Name it."
"A space on the contract where I sign in my own name. Not as 'duke's daughter,' nor as 'former fiancée,' but as Rosalind Abel."
Lucas's pale blue eyes narrowed slightly.
"...Granted."
Without a word, the aide held out a quill.
Rosalind spread the parchment out on a small attendant's desk against the corridor wall and, with an unhesitating hand, wrote her name.
Rosalind Abel.
For the first time in a long while, she felt she had written it not as a surname held for someone else's sake, but simply as her own name.
"—Then I accept, with the utmost respect."
It was her second "with the utmost respect" of the night.
The first had been sarcasm, accepting notice of a broken engagement; this one was sincere, accepting an offer of employment.
"Then we have a contract."
Lucas took the parchment. His fingertips paused for just an instant, as if tracing each letter of the signature.
Rosalind Abel, it read.
Rosalind, not noticing, was folding her fan.
"I'll send a carriage for you tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow morning?"
"I won't leave you so much as one night at the venue where your engagement was broken."
He said it flatly, and Rosalind took it as "Logistics that don't leave the involved party stranded at the scene. How rational."
Just then.
From the direction of the great hall, the murmurs of nobles only now beginning to grasp the situation came spilling out like a wave.
"The Ice Grand Duke, of all people..."
"He spoke to that woman."
"Wait, she was just told her engagement was broken off—"
"Something in the corridor—she signed some papers..."
Rosalind glanced back and, behind her fan, at an angle no one could see, secretly curled her fingers into a fist once more.
Her second fist pump.
Resignation and new job, both wrapped up in a single evening.
Not once in Ritsuko Tanaka's twenty-eight years, nor in Rosalind's eighteen, had there been a day this efficient.
"Then, Your Grace, I shall await your carriage tomorrow morning."
"Yes."
With a swirl of her skirts, Rosalind set off—this time for good—toward the main gate of the palace.
Behind her, she faintly heard Lucas giving his aide a few brief orders.
"Post men around the Abel ducal residence. Starting tonight."
"Sir."
"The Albert side may try to drag her back."
"Understood."
The words themselves never reached Rosalind's ears.
Even if they had, she would have filed them under "Security arrangements. Rational." Never dreaming they were for her sake.
Lucas silently watched her silver-haired figure as she turned the corner of the corridor.
For a while, he didn't move.
Then, at last, he murmured at a volume meant for no one.
"Tomorrow morning. You are absolutely not to be late."
The aide's eyes widened slightly.
In seven years of service, it was the first time he had ever heard the word "absolutely" from his master's mouth.