Chapter 91 Julian Almost Trapped
The atmosphere in the living room was suffocating. It wasn't for lack of oxygen but because my father's gaze had shifted from "friendly host" to "low-rent salesman trying to hawk damaged goods."
And the merchandise he was selling... was me.
"Mr. Vance, Ilse is a bit stubborn," Father began, swirling his teacup with a pretentious flourish. "But she's a good girl. There's a line of suitors, you know. Why, just last week, I saw Duke Claus himself escort her home? Well, Ilse really has high standards, doesn't she?"
Clang.
My teaspoon clattered against the saucer. Damn it. He was really using the 'Duke Claus' card to inflate my market value.
I glanced at Julian. He'd just taken a sip of his tea, and at the mention of Duke Claus, he choked. Julian coughed violently, his cheerful expression replaced by a deathly pallor. He frantically reached for his pocket handkerchief to cover his mouth, trying to suppress the agonizing cough.
"Ah, is that so?" Julian forced a laugh once he regained his composure. He shifted in his seat, looking incredibly restless. "Duke Claus? That... is quite an honor."
"Indeed!" Father beamed, his eyes sparkling at the goldmine of an opportunity. "To us, both the Duke and the Viscount are men of honor. Ilse is lucky. Unfortunately, as a young woman, she needs stability. Someone who... let's say, is more inclined to spend his time at home."
Julian shot me a sharp look. His eyes were screaming:'Ilse, for the love of god, say something before I'm trapped here forever!'
I could only stare at the floor. Father really thought Julian was a top-tier backup plan. He had no clue Julian came here only for a letter to the woman he actually loved, was someone else entirely.
"My apologies, Lord Varannes," Julian cut in, his voice an octave higher than usual. He stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over the table in front of him. "I just remembered... I have urgent business. Very urgent. Something about... lost land taxes? Yes, land taxes!"
Father frowned. "Taxes? Young Viscount, you haven't even finished your tea."
"The taxes won't wait!" Julian grabbed his hat, panic flashing in his eyes. "Miss Varannes, forgive me! This business discussion will have to be postponed. It's important! Extremely important! Royal taxes never sleep!"
He didn't wait for a reply. He practically bolted out of the room, abandoning all pretense of decorum.
"Young Viscount? Mr. Vance!" Father gave chase, but Julian was already long gone. The sound of his horse's hooves faded, leaving a cloud of dust on the road outside.
The room fell silent again. Father stared at the door, baffled.
"Strange man," Father muttered, sitting back down. He glanced at me, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Ilse, what did you do to make him leave so fast? Did you scare him? Remember, you don't have much time. The Duke or the Viscount, pick one!"
I let out a long sigh, covering my face with both hands. Ilse's Father, Julian not scared of me. He's terrified because he came here for a letter for Gisella, and you just tried to marry him off to a daughter he doesn't love.
"I'm tired, Father," I said weakly, getting up. "I'm going to sleep."
"Ilse! We aren't finished talking!"
I didn't care. I rushed upstairs, slammed my bedroom door, and locked it. I threw myself onto the bed, staring at the ceiling in frustration.
This world is a joke, I thought. And me? I'm the punchline.