—Never did I imagine that on a morning like this, I'd make my father cry over a resignation letter.
The duke's fingertip had come to rest at the edge of the contract.
Three strokes. Then stillness.
The silence stretched on. In her past life, this would have been a don't you dare quit silence.
"—Economic Advisor to the Grand Duchy of Vernant, is it?"
Duke Abel's voice was far lower than she had expected.
Six in the morning. The light slanting in through the study window still carried a bluish tinge.
Rosalind stood in that light, directly before her father's desk.
On the desktop lay a single sheet: the copy of last night's contract. Once more, her father's finger slowly traced the edge of the parchment.
Ah. This is...
Without meaning to, Rosalind straightened up inwardly.
In past-life terms—it was exactly that feeling of being summoned by the department head the morning after you'd handed in your resignation.
The study's longcase clock gave a single tick.
Steam still rose from the tea Sebastian had left. Emma must have quietly changed how it was brewed last night before bed; it smelled sweeter than usual.
"Father."
Rosalind composed her voice.
"I signed without first following the proper procedure of reporting to you. I will accept whatever reprimand you see fit."
"Rosalind."
"Yes, Father."
"Since when have you been a daughter who acts only with my permission?"
Rosalind blinked.
At last, the duke picked up the copy of the contract.
Annual salary. Penalty clause. Scope of duties. Approval chain. His gaze descended line by line, with the motion of a bookkeeper.
He let out a short breath.
"...Independent approval chain. Penalties borne by their side. Scope of duties extending to the authority to draft economic policy."
"Yes."
"You hammered this out in a corridor?"
"I hammered it out in a corridor."
"..."
The duke pressed lightly at his temple. Then he looked at Rosalind's face.
They were the eyes of a man who had been signing off on this daughter's decisions for nearly twenty years.
"Not bad."
"I am most grateful."
"In fact, I'm impressed you got them to swallow these terms."
"He told me I could set the terms myself."
"..."
The duke pressed his temple again.
"That Grand Duke did?"
"Indeed."
"The one rumored to turn down ten marriage proposals a month—"
"Indeed."
"Do you understand what that means?"
"Of course. He made securing capable talent his top priority, and offered exceptional terms to do it. Domestic administration is the Grand Duchy of Vernant's weak point, so my specialty complements it perfectly—"
"Mm."
The duke said nothing more.
Instead, he folded the copy of the contract shut with a soft flap.
Rosalind steadied her breathing, briefly, inside.
Now for the main item on the agenda.
"Father. Regarding the broken engagement, the fault does not lie with us. If anything, it is the Crown Prince's side that ought to pay our house a penalty. Last night, I made certain the documents were entered into the palace's own records."
"I know."
"Huh?"
The unguarded sound slipped out before Rosalind could stop it.
"I had Sebastian send a fast rider in the middle of the night. An old friend of mine among the palace's court recorders confirmed it for me."
"...How very prompt of you."
"It was your engagement. Naturally," the duke said evenly.
"The Crown Prince's declaration, the Saint candidate's testimony, the nobles' reactions—all of it is on record. To be safe, I had it checked once more this morning, to make sure nothing had been rewritten to disparage you."
Rosalind's hand stopped halfway to her teacup.
—Ah.
In this country, the only people who had called her by her name were probably her father and the old butler. She had thought so last night.
Apparently, he hadn't just called her by it.
He had sent riders through the night to check the records for tampering.
"Father."
"What is it?"
"Would my leaving our homeland be a loss for House Abel?"
Even she knew it was a tactless way to ask.
But she felt she had to ask.
Ritsuko, in her past life, would have swallowed the question and collapsed all on her own. The Rosalind of today asked.
The duke paused, just briefly.
"In the short term, it is a blow."
"Yes."
"If you withdraw from managing the estate, next term's projected revenue drops by thirty percent."
"...I am aware."
"However."
The duke lifted his teacup and took one slow sip.
"In the long term, leaving you at the palace would bring House Abel down along with you."
Something passed swiftly down Rosalind's spine.
"The finances of the royal House of Albert will hit a dead end within the next ten years, without fail. You ran the projections yourself, didn't you?"
"I did."
"If those projections are correct, then with you lashed to a sinking ship, House Abel's credit would sink right along with it. Since the initiative to dissolve the engagement came from their side, it is a godsend."
"..."
"Your decision is the right one for this house as well."
At last, the duke looked Rosalind straight in the eye.
"I respect your decision, Rosalind."
Rosalind let her gaze drift slightly toward the door.
She could sense Emma standing just outside the study door, holding her breath. Probably crying.
Rosalind pressed her lips together, ever so slightly.
Then she returned a ladylike curtsy, a little deeper than usual.
"Father. I gratefully accept."
How many times now had she said "gratefully" since last night?
The "gratefully" to the Crown Prince had been sarcasm.
The "gratefully" to the Grand Duke had been sincere.
The "gratefully" to her father was—perhaps—a kind she would say only once in her life.
The duke said nothing more.
He simply opened a desk drawer, took out a small bundle of parchment, and set it before Rosalind.
"The Grand Duchy of Vernant's trade balance for the past five years, and a register of its principal nobles."
"...Father, since when have you—"
"Bit by bit, these past three years."
Rosalind looked up at her father's face before she could stop herself.
The corner of the duke's mouth moved, ever so slightly.
"I always thought the day would come when you'd have had enough of this country. A father with no destinations in mind for that day could never have faced you."
"..."
"The Grand Duchy of Vernant was at the top of the list."
Rosalind received the bundle of parchment with both hands.
The edges bore the marks of having been leafed through many times, and had gone quite soft.
From the back of the drawer, the duke produced one more document, its wax seal still fresh, and laid it atop the bundle.
"And this—I had it accepted at the Royal Records Office yesterday."
Rosalind examined the seal, and her eyes widened, just slightly.
A certificate of separation. A document bearing the stamp of acceptance, formally separating Rosalind Abel from the Abel ducal house.
"As long as you remain a duke's daughter, should the worst happen, our homeland has a pretext to call you back. Duty of service, family obligations—they can come up with any number of justifications."
The duke's voice was even.
"I have left them not a single pretext. You are no longer a daughter of this house. —You are no country's appendage, and no one's. You are simply Rosalind."
Rosalind gently set the second document back atop the bundle of parchment.
"...Thank you, Father."
As she bowed her head, her voice wavered, just a little.
When she stepped out of the study, Emma was standing a little way down the corridor, the tip of her nose bright red.
"M-my lady..."
"Emma. Could I ask you to see to the packing?"
"Yes—I already did half of it overnight."
"As quick at your work as ever."
Rosalind gave a small laugh, then added, almost on impulse:
"Will you come with me, too?"
Emma's eyes flew wide.
"I'll come. Please let me come, my lady. I'm Lady Rosalind's maid—in any country at all, I'm still my lady's maid."
Rosalind pressed her fingers lightly, once, over her breast pocket.
Inside it were the copy of the signed contract and—the three years of preparation her father had handed her, together.
"We leave the day after tomorrow."
She could feel the softness of the paper's edges through the pads of her fingers.
Emma nodded. "Yes." The tip of her nose was still red.