Count Domenico wasn't the only one who was stunned. Eileen, equally shocked, nearly fainted. Her mouth agape in astonishment as she stared at the count, who, in turn, seemed confused by Michelle and Eileen's presence.
Michelle's freckled face contorted in displeasure, and she murmured softly:
— A moment of peace seems like a relic of the past.
Interrupted in her moment of privacy, her expression of disapproval was clear. Still, respecting protocol, she lowered her gaze to Count Domenico with a restrained posture:
"Business, I presume? May I ask the nature of your visit, Count?"
"I... I came looking for the skilled pharmacist who lived here, " said the Count, his eyes widening in sudden understanding. "Does Your Grace also happen to need medicine?"
Until then, Eileen had been speechless. More precisely, completely perplexed. The pharmacist Count Domenico was looking for was none other than herself.
The Count had been a client of the laboratory for some time. Normally, nobles were served by the innkeeper, as Eileen preferred to avoid them. Young and little known, she ran a makeshift pharmacy, hidden in a rented room of the old inn.
These were ideal conditions for anonymity, and, in fact, several incidents had disturbed it. Without the innkeeper's assistance, maintaining the laboratory would have been a constant struggle.
Most arrogant nobles preferred to send servants to fetch their medicines, making accurate diagnoses and effective sales nearly impossible. Therefore, most nobles simply refused the service.
Count Domenico, however, was a curious exception. Although he initially kept his noble identity a secret, his elegant clothes and courteous manners soon gave him away. Despite a certain social awkwardness, he was always polite during his visits to the laboratory, treating Eileen with a respect rarely seen by a nobleman when dealing with a commoner.
"Do you know where the pharmacist who lived here went? " asked the count, with a note of despair in his voice.
Michelle replied curtly and dryly:
I have no idea.
The Count's face withered like a discarded scroll. Despair hung in his features, a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor. Before anyone could react, Eileen felt compelled to speak. Half-hidden behind Michelle's imposing figure, she peeked out and spoke in a hesitant voice.
— It's me, Count.
- … What?
Unable to recognize her immediately, Eileen brought her hand to her face, embarrassed, trying to partially hide herself. The Count's eyes widened even more, and he took a step back, surprised. Visibly awkward, he stammered:
— A-ah?
Even the usually composed Michelle seemed stunned. With a swift movement, she tapped the Count's arm as he rose, in what appeared to be a forgotten attempt at a noble gesture. The loud thud echoed in the tense silence.
Peering through her fingers, Eileen saw a flicker of change in the Earl's expression—it was relief, not anger or contempt. Encouraged, she lowered her hand and instinctively moved to curtsy, but Michelle's firm voice cut through the air.
— One moment, Your Grace. A bow for the Archduke's guests, perhaps, but for a mere Count…?
"Ah! O-Okay, s-sorry… " Eileen stammered, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
The sudden reminder of her new position as archduchess hit her like a shock. Awkwardly, she murmured an apology. Michelle, ever practical, leaned in to meet Eileen's eyes.
— Why would he apologize? Your Grace is not feeling well, after all. Should we dismiss this gentleman?
Wait!
Before Eileen could answer, Count Domenico hurried over. He quickly removed his hat and bowed before Eileen.
— Please forgive my rudeness.
While pondering what might constitute such a transgression, Count Domenico looked at Eileen with a complex mix of emotions. Sensing his inner turmoil, Eileen spoke softly.
— I don't have any medication right now. The date we agreed on hasn't arrived yet, so I haven't prepared anything… Did you happen to run out of stock?
No, I didn't stay. I came here to express my gratitude and bring a gift.
In the count's hand was a package from a famous confectionery. He murmured, somewhat awkwardly:
The Archduchess... saved me...
Count Domenico gripped the bag of bread tighter, his veins bulging, betraying the tension.
Even now, you're putting yourself out there for my sake. You could easily have hidden your position.
Suddenly, he tilted his head heavily, his face filled with thoughts difficult to decipher. Eileen struggled to discern his intentions, unsure what to do, her gaze shifting between Michelle and the count.
Michelle casually snatched the package from the count's hands with a dry thud.
"Your Grace, should we take this home to eat? " he asked, opening the bag and chattering as if it were nothing. The Count, who had lost the bag without any resistance, kept his head down for a moment. Finally, he raised it.
His eyes gleamed with resolute determination. Count Domenico gave a small smile, almost a sigh:
I suppose I should become a dog.
Eileen couldn't help but question what she had heard.
A dog...?
— Yes. I believe that becoming the Archduchess's dog wouldn't be so bad. It could even be… pleasant.
Eileen, who had never once even considered listening to such a proposal from Count Domenico, was deeply taken aback by his statement. She looked at Michelle for an explanation, but Michelle merely shrugged.
He wondered if there might be some new trend in etiquette that he wasn't aware of.
In the distance, a black military vehicle approached. A man in uniform stepped out with fluid movements, stopping in front of the inn.
Cesare, stretching his long legs as he touched the ground, spotted Count Domenico and raised an eyebrow. Understanding the situation immediately, he smiled at Eileen. Pulling her close naturally, he asked:
— Were you expecting your hubby?
To be continued…