Chapter 25 The Way of Women
When Oscar heard a sharp knock at the door, he thought his heart might stop. He rose — hastily — and went to open it. Normally, he could have commanded whoever stood there to enter, as he usually did. But he was rather upset with this whole ordeal.
Behind the door, Abélie raised an eyebrow, unaccustomed to her master opening the door so… briskly.
“My Lord, you seem… tense?”
On his order, she stepped into the room, and the young man closed the door behind her.
If he tried to appear nonchalant, Abélie easily detected an underlying tension.
“Did something happen while I was gone?”
“Why do you think that?”
She sighed, a small, sympathetic smile on her face, and set down a huge bouquet of flowers—one so huge that it made Oscar raise an eyebrow—before leaning against the desk.
“Sir, we’ve known each other for a long time. Even though you are one of the most rigid people I know, you become even more so when stressed — which is impressive in itself.” Although there was some irony in her tone, her voice carried a real glimpse of concern.
He raised an eyebrow, sceptical.
“For example, when you visit your father, you—” she started.
He lifted a hand, shaking his head.
“Enough. Yes, I understand. I become more rigid when I’m tense.” He faced her, fists on his hips. “And now, you think I’m tense?”
She nodded.
“Very,” she replied simply.
A moment of silence passed, then… Oscar sighed; his shoulders now slumped.
“Very well. I argued with the duchess,” he admitted, almost in a whisper.
Abélie straightened, a glint of interest in her eyes; Oscar couldn’t tell whether it was curiosity or genuine empathy.
“Argued? How so?”
He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, his gaze drifting hopelessly toward the distant view promised by the window.
“Well… after our dance session, I brought up the matter of hooded figures prowling the streets. Then I suggested increasing city patrols for greater security. If the duchess seemed merely annoyed at first, let’s say she became angry when I insisted. She said that she would see me at dinner, as if she was avoiding me, and… She accused me of not taking her seriously.”
The young majordomo crossed her arms.
“And… is that true?”
Oscar shook his head, adding nothing, unable to meet her questioning gaze.
Perhaps that was how she usually gathered information. He sighed once more.
The silence stretched, heavy in the room. Oscar chose to ignore it. But when he glanced at the young woman, she wasn’t scrutinising him; instead, lost in thought, she seemed to be considering a solution.
“You should go apologise,” she finally said.
“Apologise?” repeated the young man, uncertain. “Why?”
Very slowly, she raised an eyebrow, looking at him as if the solution was so obvious that he shouldn't ask the question at all.
“Well, because you were wrong?”
He furrowed his brow, though only slightly.
“I was not entirely wrong. The city could indeed use more patrols for better safety.”
Her gaze locked with his — something he did not like.
“Then why put yourself in such a state if you don’t intend to apologise?”
He paused, unsure how to respond; perhaps he simply didn’t know the answer yet.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Do you want to spend your time arguing with the duchess?”
“Hm, no, not really. It would just be a waste of time.”
That wasn’t the only reason.
“In that case, you should go apologise.”
“I tell you again, Abélie, I was not even half wrong.”
“So what do you expect? That the duchess magically understands your point of view? And stop arguing with you?”
She straightened slightly, and for once, Oscar found her expression more assertive. Perhaps she was showing one of those qualities he lacked.
He sat at his desk without breaking eye contact, hands folded in front of him.
“Abélie, I don’t understand what you’re getting at, and I don’t like the way you question me.”
The young woman tossed her ponytail over her shoulder, placing a fist on her hip. She wasn't backing down.
“I know, my Lord. And Brennan would scold me if he saw me break etiquette this much.” Before he could respond, she continued, “But I’m trying to help you. Why do you think your discussion turned into an argument?”
Oscar was about to retort, tired of being reprimanded by his majordomo, but on reflection, he didn’t even know, and she seemed to grasp the obvious answer better than he did.
“Enlighten me with your infallible wisdom, please,” he teased, frustrated at not finding it himself.
“Because you don’t consider the other person’s point of view. Her Grace has managed this duchy alone for years now, and you come to tell her her way of doing things is wrong. How would you react if I told you that you fight like a novice?”
He hesitated.
“I would tell you that you know nothing, since you’re not a fighter… But I am not unfamiliar with running a duchy.”
“Oh, really?” she said, leaning over the desk, placing her hand upon it—he didn’t like the shift in position—“and when have you managed a duchy alone? Not to mention the state of Rivière, since your father does—”
“Abélie.”
His voice boomed more than he intended. She straightened, startled.
Silence.
Then he coughed.
“Sorry, let’s… not talk about my father, shall we? He is far away.”
“I’m sorry, my Lord.”
The silence stretched uncomfortably between them.