Eleanor sat alone with Baroness Pomfury in her private sitting room, sharing tea in silence. Vanessa had excused herself politely, saying she had matters to attend to, and disappeared somewhere else in the estate.
The fragrant scent of chamomile tea melted away the lingering discomfort from breakfast.
After moistening her lips with tea, the baroness lowered her cup with graceful, textbook-perfect movements. Gentle, yet strict.
That was the aunt Eleanor knew.
Which made it all the more surprising that she had shared a meal with a commoner girl under her patronage earlier. Still, it was not Eleanor’s place to interfere, so she chose not to dwell on it.
“It’s already been twenty years since I became Baroness Pomfury.”
Stephanie gazed out the window with nostalgic eyes. Small birds perched along the bare branches outside, tilting their heads and fluttering their wings adorably enough to draw a faint smile to her lips.
Beyond them, the cloudless sky gleamed blue through the leaves.
“And twenty-two years since I first came here.”
Stephanie Stikov had married Gael Pomfury twenty-two years ago, at the age of eighteen.
Back then, it was common for nobles—men and women alike—to marry as soon as they reached adulthood.
She too had married Gael Pomfury, her family-arranged fiancé, only a month after her coming-of-age ceremony.
It had taken merely two years for the young baroness who followed her husband down to Oclama to become the ruler of the estate herself.
For a man trapped in a political marriage, Gael Pomfury had been remarkably kind. Gentle, domestic, always respectful toward Stephanie.
Like a steady drizzle soaking into cloth, he had slowly seeped into her heart.
She still remembered vividly the flutter in her chest when he slid the ring onto her left ring finger. What began as friendship had deepened into affection, and eventually love.
But before their happiness could fully bloom, Gael died from illness.
He had complained of stomach pain for several days, and they had assumed it was merely digestive trouble. Then suddenly, he collapsed after coughing up blood.
He passed away at dawn the very next day.
Stephanie inherited both the title and the estate in place of her husband. Since they had no children, all of his property naturally transferred to her.
She poured the immense grief left by her husband’s death into Oclama itself. Rejecting the sweet temptations of remarriage, she devoted herself entirely to the estate.
She ran forward without once looking back, and before she realized it, she had reached forty years of age.
“Eleanor, I truly love Oclama,” Stephanie said softly. “I fell in love with this place the very moment I arrived. Before I ever fell in love with my husband.”
The baroness chuckled quietly.
Gael’s words—that she would absolutely adore this place—had struck directly through her heart.
Flowers bloomed along every path. Warm sunlight painted the land in every season. Honest, simple people lived together in harmony.
The moment Stephanie saw Oclama, she had fallen completely in love with it.
That was why she had been able to leave behind Beyrn so willingly—a city dazzling and beautiful, yet impossible to grow attached to.
“I’ve never once regretted leaving Beyrn to come here. Oclama is like the child Gael left behind for me… and at the same time, it’s my sanctuary. I healed every wound his death left me with in this place.”
Eleanor quietly listened, both hands wrapped around her teacup.
It was the first time her aunt had ever spoken about her late husband.
Gael Pomfury, the uncle who had died before Eleanor was even born, was practically a forbidden subject around Stephanie.
Even hearing his name caused her pain.
“Of course, managing Oclama alone wasn’t easy,” the baroness continued. “Gael died only two years after our marriage, and although Oclama is small, the land is fertile and the climate excellent for agriculture. The harvests are abundant for such a modest estate. Naturally, many people coveted it.”
Had it not been for the will Gael prepared in advance, both the title and the estate would have passed to his younger brother.
That man had always eyed Oclama greedily. Stephanie might have been forced to return to Beyrn with nothing but the remaining family fortune.
But Gael had always been meticulous.
Only six months after their marriage, he secretly prepared a will.
If Gael Pomfury died, the title and estate would pass entirely to Stephanie Pomfury.
Some days, she had been grateful for it.
Other days, it made her unbearably sad—as though he had been preparing for death all along.
Now, however, she felt nothing but gratitude toward her husband.
Without his thoughtfulness, Stephanie would have been forced to become Stephanie Stikov once more, abandoning both Pomfury and Oclama behind.
“If not for the people of this estate, the retainers of House Pomfury, and Oclama itself supporting me… I never could have endured these past twenty years.”
The baroness smiled faintly, compressing two lonely decades into a single sentence.
Eleanor could not fully grasp all the emotions hidden within those words. Some were experiences she herself had never known.
But one thing was unmistakable:
Stephanie’s pride as a ruler and her love for her land.
Among countless emotions, those two stood out with startling clarity.
“To me, Pomfury and Oclama hold immense meaning. They are my family, my husband, my child, my friend. Perhaps it’s difficult for someone your age to understand… but to me, that is truly what they are.”
The baroness looked calmly at her niece.
Clear eyes free from the shadows of the past.
A face focused entirely on her words.
Once Stephanie became certain that the traces of Eleanor’s childish immaturity had finally disappeared, she at last spoke the true reason she had summoned her here.
“But I am not immortal. Someday, I too will die. And for that day, I need a successor—someone to inherit my title and this estate after me.”
Stephanie Pomfury had neither husband nor child. Nor did she intend to remarry before her death.
She needed another way to secure an heir.
And in noble society, choosing a niece or nephew as successor was among the most common solutions.
Her choices were limited.
There were the two daughters of her older brother, Sean Stikov.
And there were the son and daughter of Christopher Pomfury, her late husband’s younger brother.
She had long ago decided Christopher could never be entrusted with Oclama, leaving only her two blood-related nieces.
To be honest, even the baroness herself lacked complete certainty.
Yet for some reason, she believed only her eldest niece could truly succeed her.
Something only Eleanor possessed filled the baroness with that vague but unwavering conviction.
“And I hope that person will be you, Eleanor.”
Eleanor’s eyes and lips slowly parted.
For a moment, she doubted whether she had heard correctly.
Perhaps the exhaustion from yesterday’s journey had distorted her hearing.
Had her aunt truly just said she wished to leave Oclama—and the title of Baron Pomfury—to her?
Eleanor stared at her aunt with a tangled mixture of confusion, shock, anticipation, and emotions she could not even name.
The firmness in her aunt’s delicate, stern features—where faint wrinkles had begun to settle—finally jolted her awake.
‘I… really did hear that correctly.’
Swallowing dryly, Eleanor set her teacup down onto the table.
“You mean… you wish to pass your position on to me…?”
“To be precise, it’s only a proposal,” Stephanie corrected gently. “You are the eldest daughter of House Stikov. You are the most likely to inherit the county title someday. I’m not demanding you throw away such a prestigious future just to succeed me.”
If Eleanor refused, the baroness intended to withdraw quietly.
She was not yet old, and there would be other opportunities to find an heir in the future.
Though more difficult than choosing family, it was hardly impossible.
Listening to her aunt’s considerate words urging her not to feel burdened, an odd curiosity suddenly rose within Eleanor.
If she rejected the offer…
Would the opportunity pass to Lydia instead?
She knew she ought to keep the question to herself.
But her lips moved before she could stop them.
“If I refuse… would Lydia be given the chance?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“If you refuse, I intend to bring in someone from outside.”
“Lydia…”
“I love that child dearly as well,” the baroness said firmly. “But from the very beginning, the only person I envisioned for this place was you. I always believed it should belong to you. So even if you refuse, I have no intention of offering it to Lydia.”
The baroness’s decisive tone made Eleanor’s heart pound violently.
When her aunt wrote saying she had something important to discuss, Eleanor had never imagined this.
The sound of her heartbeat seemed to spread all the way to her fingertips.
Her aunt’s words—words spoken solely for Eleanor—felt sweeter than wild berries.
Since arriving in this world and becoming Eleanor, this was the first time anyone had spoken as though something belonged only to her.
It was different from Stella’s gossip or Lisa’s casual affection.
Her aunt’s words acknowledged Eleanor as someone worthy of becoming a “master.”
To Eleanor, who had always been forced to step aside whenever Lydia wanted something, this was something personally handed to her.
Something truly hers.
‘If I became a baroness…’
Inheritance.
The very method of independence she had once discarded as impossible resurfaced before her unexpectedly.
If she inherited Baroness Pomfury’s title, she could officially become independent.
Without interference from anyone.
The path she had once avoided out of fear of becoming a countess exactly like in the original story had returned in a completely different form.
If she inherited her aunt’s title, perhaps she could not only gain independence—but also escape the original storyline entirely.
“I…”
Yet Eleanor could not immediately accept.
Even she found that surprising.
It was such a wonderful opportunity, yet her mind had frozen completely.
Perhaps it was simply too sudden.
She could barely imagine how different her life would become as her aunt’s successor.
And she could not yet tell whether that path was truly right for her.
Seeing Eleanor hesitate slightly, the baroness smiled softly.
“Eleanor, I’m not asking you to decide immediately. I haven’t fully decided on you yet either. I simply hope it will be you. Besides, you still know very little about Oclama.”
“Ah…”
“It’s possible this life may not suit you. Or perhaps you may lack the qualifications. So while you stay here, think carefully. Again and again. Then make your decision without leaving yourself even a single regret.”
Her aunt’s words were gentle, yet rational.
And precisely because of that, Eleanor felt reassured.
Stephanie was making it clear this was not a reckless decision, while also preventing Eleanor herself from making a hasty choice.
“Look around Oclama. Observe the people here, the lives they lead, what it means to govern as a lord. See it with your own eyes and experience it yourself. Then someday, I’m certain the answer will naturally come to you.”
The baroness spoke nothing but the truth.
At last, Eleanor’s expression relaxed completely.
Freed from the sudden flood of thoughts crashing through her mind, she smiled far more lightly than before.
“Yes. I will.”
The chamomile tea had long since cooled to lukewarm, yet Eleanor’s hands still felt warm.
Oclama.
House Pomfury.
For the first time in a life that had always followed a predetermined road, a crossroads had finally appeared before her.
As Eleanor left the baroness’s room and returned toward her own, she felt as though she were walking through a dream.
An utterly unexpected proposal had created an equally unexpected excitement within her.
Her aunt’s words seemed to spread clouds beneath her feet.
The sensation of walking atop something soft and fluffy made an unconscious smile bloom across her lips.
Nothing had been decided yet.
And yet she was simply happy that her future now contained choices.
With flushed cheeks, Eleanor headed toward the central staircase.
She had been about to climb upward when she suddenly stopped and looked down.
Hair the color of sunset caught her eye.
Vanessa was climbing the stairs.
Perhaps sensing someone ahead, Vanessa also stopped at the landing and looked up at Eleanor.
The buoyant mood Eleanor had been floating in wavered slightly at the memory of Vanessa’s unpleasant behavior during breakfast.
Still, remembering her aunt’s request that they get along, Eleanor lightly descended to the landing.
“Vanessa, where are you headed?”
“I left something in my room. I’m going to retrieve it.”
“Which room is yours?”
“At the end of the third floor.”
“Then we’re on the same floor.”
Eleanor smiled warmly, eyes curving softly.
It was the sort of friendly smile most people found instantly likable.
Vanessa, however, did not even blink.
Just like at breakfast.
Ordinarily that would have bothered Eleanor, but her heart was still floating like a balloon.
“Oh! After lunch, I’m planning to pack something light and go to Lake Nipla. Where should we meet?”
Remembering their breakfast conversation, Eleanor asked naturally.
Even if the promise had been made somewhat awkwardly in front of the baroness, they had still agreed to go together.
And now that Eleanor felt no hostility or resentment toward Vanessa, there was no reason not to extend her hand first.
Vanessa said nothing.
She merely stared at Eleanor silently.
Past her pale round forehead and neatly shaped brows, Eleanor met eyes as blue and cold as the depths of the sea.
And in that moment, Eleanor suddenly saw Leopold in Vanessa.
Their eyes shared no resemblance whatsoever—his violet, hers sunset-blue—yet the way they looked at her was exactly the same.
“……”
Because they had only just met today, Eleanor had assumed Vanessa had no reason to dislike her.
Now she realized that assumption had been premature.
Vanessa twisted her lips into a faint smile.
It resembled the one she had worn at breakfast.
“I’m sorry, but unlike you, miss, I’m not someone with endless free time. I don’t have the luxury to idle around leisurely.”
“……”
“Perhaps someday, when I become as unemployed as you are and can come here simply to play, I’ll accompany you then.”
With your permission.
Lifting the hem of her dress, Vanessa bowed politely.
Eleanor could only stand there blankly as Vanessa brushed coldly past her shoulder and walked away.
Then suddenly, Eleanor realized where she had seen that smile before.
Vincent often wore that exact expression when looking at her.
Whenever he was with Lydia.
Or angry at Eleanor over something involving Lydia.
Since Vincent was one of the male leads and adored Lydia obsessively, Eleanor had at least understood him.
It was simply part of his character to bare his claws at everyone except the heroine.
But Vanessa…
‘What did I even do for her to look at me like that already?’
Turning around slowly, Eleanor stared toward the direction Vanessa had disappeared.
Even Vincent had not behaved this way during their very first meeting. His hostility toward Eleanor had only sharpened as his role as a male lead strengthened.
Honestly, Eleanor still did not fully understand why Vincent disliked her either.
But at least he had not hated her without reason from the moment they met.
So why was Vanessa acting like this after only seeing her once today?
Why does she hate me?
What is her problem with me…?
Left standing alone on the staircase landing, Eleanor was overcome with bewilderment.
A troubling feeling suddenly crossed her mind—
The peaceful refuge she had come seeking might end up becoming just as exhausting as Beyrn.
