Previously: Roseward
By the time they arrived in Auremer, the city was already healing. The walls were being rebuilt and ships were slowly returning to the harbor.
It was early spring in Valeronne when their carriages finally rolled into town. The air was chilly, but the skies and waters were blue. Mireille du Maurier could hear seagulls and smell the fresh, salty air. Despite being a simulation, it all felt very real.
The strangest part of it all was how familiar everything felt. Which was ridiculous, seeing as she'd never actually been here before. But then, Mireille quickly realized just how much she wanted to be here.
The architecture of Valeronne was stunning, vastly more sophisticated than that of Avenholt. To Mireille, the Avenish were like the newly ennobled, proudly decked in garish fashions and surrounded by tasteless decor. But the Valeronnese were like an old-money family with ties to royalty, quietly dressed in understated refinement.
Auremer was a wounded city. The streets were filled with rubble, and countless buildings had burned in the war. Yet even as the people went about their day in tattered clothes, seeking food and firewood, they still had a calm air of dignity about them.
Mireille touched her pause bracelet. "Computer, why the hell did my character leave this place?"
"After stealing her family fortune, she likely feared reprisal from her stepmother," the computer replied.
"Oh." Mireille blinked, remembering. "Right."
After a brief pause, she asked, "Computer, I made a lot of mistakes in Westervale. I acknowledge that. So I'm asking you: what should I do once I get home? I mean, Thibault and I planned for the long-term, but now that I'm here, it suddenly occurs to me we probably didn't think everything through."
"When you arrive at your family estate, you'll notice that it's still in ruins," the computer told her. "It would be prudent to begin repairs immediately and hire new staff."
"Right." Her brow furrowed. "Obviously."
"You will be tempted to fast-forward through this time," the computer warned. "That would be unwise. Before you return to Valeronnese high society, you need downtime to learn about your environment."
Mireille cringed as she suddenly remembered her initial haste to throw a party at Roseward Manor. Her ignorance had led to one impulsive decision after the other.
The windows seemed full of ghosts, new and old. Mireille stared at her character's childhood home in silence, noticing how different she felt here. Where Roseward Manor had been quaint and cozy, the du Maurier estate was regal, noble, almost royal.
And there wasn't a single rose in sight.
This is mine. Her breath caught in her chest as she understood this simple truth. Despite the hefty sum she paid for it, Roseward had always felt borrowed. It's why a weight lifted from her spirit when she handed the deed to her former seneschal. That manor was never home.
But this...this was not only her home, but her birthright. Generations of du Mauriers had lived here. They'd fallen in love, had children, feasted, danced, and known heartbreak under this very roof.
"Is it how you remember?" Edith quietly asked, standing next to her.
"No," Mireille replied softly, slowly shaking her head. "It's even more beautiful."
***
The soldiers had left a mess behind, but the furniture was still intact, and so were the family portraits on the walls. Even though they were paintings, Mireille could see echoes of herself in the long-dead characters, same as with the living. The simulation had adapted every single portrait to resemble her in some way, even those depicting ancestors from centuries before.
She smiled. It was both endearing and amusing. She felt so thoroughly at home that, to everyone’s surprise, she didn’t mind picking up a broom or wiping the place down.
Over the next few days, after cleaning, the family ate cheap bread by the fireplace and drank cider.
"Where did you find cider?" Marguerite asked her husband, eyeing her wooden cup. Thibault flashed her a grin.
"I met some Wellenish traders," he replied. "Several of their ships are docked in the harbor."
"Wellenish?" Mireille asked.
"From the Wellen Isles," Edith helpfully explained. "East of the Everen continent."
Mireille's brow furrowed. "Why am I just now hearing about them?"
"The Wellenish invaded and conquered Avenholt centuries ago," Edith said. "In many ways, we owe Avenish language and culture to them. But their repeated incursions earned the disdain of the continent, so for a long time, they weren't welcome here. I mean, some places still trade with them, but the royal houses prefer to keep them at arm's length."
Mireille turned to her cousin. "So what's changed?"
"If I had to guess," Thibault said, shrugging, "without the Duke of Orvienne to finance his reign, King Renaud is turning to a new source of coin."
"Typical," Sabine grumbled. "If Renaud simply learned to spend his own money, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place."
"Let me guess," Mireille snorted, raising an eyebrow, "Renaud has a bit of a spending habit?"
"That's an understatement," Thibault laughed. "Let's just say, his whole family has very expensive taste."
"Except for Geneviève," Sabine countered. "The Queen has spent years trying to temper her husband's spending, to no luck."
"Doesn't she have Wellenish ancestors?" Élodie suddenly piped up.
"Then inviting them was probably her idea," Marguerite deduced.
"If that's the case, then she may try to wed her the Prince to a Wellenish girl," Thibault reasoned. He laughed. "Aurélien is going to hate that."
Mireille felt lost. "Why? If she's rich enough to solve his family's problems..."
Everyone else laughed.
"The Wellenish are not known for their charm or attractiveness," Edith told her.
"And they stink," Sabine chortled.
"But they make good ale," Thibault said.
Mireille smiled. This was nice. No servants, no seneschal, just a family talking around the fire, eating plain food and gossiping about royals.
I'm going to miss this, she realized. She could only hold onto it for so long. Sabine and Marguerite were already vetting potential servants, while Thibault and Lucien met with shipbuilders and dockworkers. Soon, the house would be full again, and business would be booming.
But for now, just for now, none of that mattered.
***
The new servants were mostly young women and boys. Half of them were orphans. The other half were now the sole breadwinners in their families. Mireille insisted on paying them well, but now knew better than to overpay.
Thibault tried tracking down his old business associates, but most of them were either dead or gone to Calderra. In the end, he had to buy three ships from the Wellenish, but he insisted on hiring Valeronnese sailors, just like before.
Life in Auremer was slowly returning to normal. The eastern traders brought ale, cider, and sausage to the markets, while more and more bakeries were up and running. The streets were soon cleared of rubble and before long, filled with new life.
That's when Mireille realized what it meant to live in a harbor town. Business mattered above all, and the show had to go on. She was glad she hadn't fast-forwarded through the experience.
She spent her days embroidering with the women in her family and reading old family journals, while the new servants took over the cooking and cleaning. People ate a lot of fish in Auremer, as expected. They also loved their spices and elaborate recipes, so the meals looked and smelled far more enticing than they did in Ravensbridge.
It was a good, simple life away from the nobility, and Mireille was just starting to rethink her role in this game when a messenger arrived from Laurenne.
"Marguerite Mercier?" he asked.
"It's du Maurier now," the tall woman corrected him, setting down her needlework and rising to her feet. She was heavy with child now, constantly rubbing her lower back.
"For you," the messenger said, handing her a large sealed scroll. Marguerite absently tipped him a silver, turning away as she unsealed the scrol.
"From the last will and testament of Lord Amaury de Montverre, Duke of Orvi—" She abruptly stopped, while a few feet away, Mireille's whole body went still.
It's happening.
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