Episode 4

A week hence, I find myself ready to depart. Bags packed.

I glance around, observing our house pulsating with renewed life. Furnishings replaced, servants bustling about, and there's my mother, radiant in that burgundy dress, seemingly shedding two decades.

Her elegant form tastefully revealed, hair impeccably styled, adorned with her cherished earrings, a hint of color gracing her lips.

Mourning has ended.

Mine is green, a modest neckline accentuating the bust. The dress flows freely, skirts hitched at the back in the manner our times dictate.

I am content, albeit nervous.

I am leaving my hometown, my mother, friends, my life behind.

A life, though painful over the past year, I will miss.

After all, it's in descent that we begin to cherish life's simple joys.

Post-discussion with Uncle Otto, I walked from the inn imbued with a lightness of being.

Partly, for now my heart constricted anew.

His offer felt odd, yet in the end, after debates, he swayed me.

A worthwhile cause, I suppose.

For a lady who's never fibbed, the ruse he proposes brings shame, though it promises advantages. I shall become brazen, for a woman must play many roles. In our world, a touch of cunning harms none, certainly not in these times.

He would restore what the bank seized, and provide for my mother.

Esteemed as a coffee mogul down south, she would act as his representative in the north, repaying his "loan" through labor––the only terms under which she'd accept his aid, and for him to take me with him.

That, and another stipulated condition we agreed upon.

Marta was hesitant. She tried to discourage me, but knowing my stubbornness akin to my father's, she eventually consented. She has no fondness for Otto. But with contracts signed by his own hand, she held assurance his word would stand. It was that, or he'd take me regardless, as the rights of the nearest male kin afforded him.

And given the benefits he offered, we'd be fools to decline.

Society welcomed us back.

Only now, all was altered. She knew exactly whom to trust, whom to rely on amidst that city of self-seekers.

I watch our trusty coachman load my luggage onto the luxurious carriage parked before the house.

The local gossips, naturally, were on standby, eager to witness the poorly-clad departing with the coffee baron.

My mother approaches, embracing me for perhaps the tenth time that day.

"Are you certain about this, Adelaide? There's still time to recant."

"I cannot waver, Mother. I've given my word, as has Mr. Otto. Despite still deeming him a... libertine. He is a man of his word. Remember, Father summoned him?"

"I do... it took me time, but I understand. Yet the thought of seeing you... wedded... to a tedious old man like him displeases me."

We share a hushed giggle.

"Ah, Mother, he's hardly that aged... and we have an understanding."

"That if he dishonors it, I'll come myself to exact retribution," she whispers fiercely.

"Speak softly..."

"Apologies, but the sight of you departing with that man... chills me, Daughter."

"What has he done to earn such repulsion?"

In the last week, I had observed their courteous yet tense spar.

"One day, you'll learn. But for now, be wary. From what I've gathered, he's taking you to a viper's nest, and they will seek to harm you. Be careful, Daughter!"

"I will be. Promise."

She kisses me tenderly on the forehead and strokes my hair.

"You're so brave, Adelaide... I admire you, Daughter."

The coachman's shout signals the luggage carriage to proceed, making way for ours, and I am to ascend, for Mr. Otto is already seated in another with his aide and lawyer.

Ciri accompanies me, my lady-in-waiting and dear friend. She would never be left behind.

I embrace Marta once more and climb aboard, settling into the plush seat. Even at our pinnacle, I've never experienced such luxury.

Ciri beams with excitement, waving farewell to our cook and my mother.

And off I go. To an incredible journey in the country's south, at Mr. Otto's side.

My contractual husband.

In a year's time, I shall return, and the young woman embarking today will no longer be the same.

***

Despite the carriage's comfort, the journey is arduous, traveling first by road to the nearest town before boarding a train that will ferry us to the coffee baron's fertile lands, as he fancies being called.

He isn't truly a baron, yet he claims to be bargaining for a title, for himself and his heirs.

Mr. Otto, a widower of many years, sees our marriage as a display of authority to his sons.

In fact, they are the reason for this arrangement, and in time, the motive behind it will be clear.

Both are disinterested in the family enterprise, and without other heirs, the father found himself cornered. Hence the decision to remarry to discipline his sons.

I'm yet to fully comprehend their family dynamics, but if he believes a young, attractive stepmother can alter his sons' ways, he must understand the stakes.

He assures me no harm will come to me.

I need only adhere to our agreement and remain with him for a year.

"It's a breeze," I thought as I inked the nuptial contract alongside my mother.

***

Two days of travel leave me dizzy from the relentless rocking. Even breaks at inns for baths and meals can't stave off the weariness of the journey.

At last, we reach the grand railway. My heart races with excitement upon boarding the train. It's my first time, and this marvelous mode of transport swiftly earns my admiration and respect.

Its speed and comfort are a stark contrast to our carriages.

Mr. Otto sits beside me, a satisfied smile on his face.

Though cordial, I can't help but recall his dalliance in a room with women of ill repute.

But he is a man, a widower, and men have their needs. Two? Indeed, his appetite is robust, Mother would say.

"We're nearing our destination, Miss Adelaide. Are you fatigued?"

"A tad."

"Upon arrival, I promise you rest for as many days as you wish, before we begin our arrangement in earnest."

His sideways glance meets mine. Despite our distant kinship and his claim of no blood ties, I've increasingly pondered what he has planned for this "arrangement," in which I'm to be merely a facet.

"And your sons? What are they like?"

"My sons?"

"Yes, Sir."

He exhales deeply before speaking. "The younger, Beni for Benedict, chosen by his mother, is a studious, oversensitive lad. He aspires to botany, far from the coffee plantations. His world involves flowers, orchids, poppies, miritis..." A roll of the eyes betrays his fatherly vexation. "I'm at a loss there. And the older one..."

A sigh escapes him, gazing down at his hands—my prime boast yet great disappointment. The army, his erstinned path but soon abandoned for shadowy routes from which he cannot extricate himself. He skirts the issue but it's tied to a love interest who spurned him for his best man. The nuptials switched hands just before their own. After his turn back to military life, insubordination and embittered heart spurred departure. His modern days unfold recklessly, no care for the morrow.

I nod in understanding.

"And how, Sir, do you see my presence shifting their misguided tracks?"

"They're aware their inheritance is inevitable, and at their current pace, would squander everything on either florals or loose women. With you among us, a threat may invoke change. Realizing I've ceased fretting over their disregard for my wishes, I pray to God that at least one should awaken, harnessing the family business as should be."

A mirthless smile is all I can muster at a father's drastic bid to rouse his sons.

"And if it fails? If their paths waver further, risking your kin's trust?"

"At least I can perish, assuaged that I did all possible and necessary."

"You're still youthful, not near death's door."

His shy response evinces a weary man.

"Departure may come sooner than projected, young one."

Spared from retort, we pause the somber topic.

"Let's revisit this conversation later, shall we?"

"Agreed."

His gaze drifts off, capturing the horizon, faintly washed by the setting sun. Another day wanes; another looms. And I find myself on the threshold of life's grandest experience, aside a man enigmatic, secretive, yet concealing a vast heart.

He lightly taps my hand, a gentle gesture. Our contract forgoes physical contact, but this was innocuous, not laden with ill intent.

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