Dad is Back From a Deserted Island - Chapter 87

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Father has returned from the Deserted Island
Chapter 87

The path leading to the main gate was broad and straight. The manicured gardens on either side achieved perfect balance, as if every plant’s height and spacing had been meticulously calculated.
The white gravel path lay immaculate, unmarred by a single carriage wheel track, and as I proceeded along it, a building constructed of luminous stone—nearly pristine white—came into view.
Such an expansive mansion in the heart of the Capital. I felt the weight of the Duke’s prestige and swallowed hard.
[Hmm. You possess rather refined taste.]
It was a place that satisfied Kiki’s exacting standards.
“Welcome to the House of Alençon, Miss Lamber. His Grace awaits you inside.”
As I descended from the carriage, a figure who appeared to be the Butler greeted me with impeccable courtesy.
The Butler, whose bow was executed without the slightest falter, widened his eyes in apparent surprise upon glimpsing my face.
Yet before I could register anything amiss, he concealed his startlement and returned to an expression of composure.
Following the Butler’s guidance into the entrance hall, I found it even brighter than the exterior. Beneath the soaring ceiling and expansive space, the white marble floor was adorned with delicate gold filigree that wove intricate patterns across its surface.
As I allowed my admiration to show openly, we arrived at the Living Room—an intimate space that nonetheless radiated the authority and wealth of the House of Alençon.
The Duke of Alençon, who had been standing by the window with his hands clasped behind his back, turned upon sensing my presence.
“You’ve come. Be seated.”
“Thank you for the invitation, Your Grace.”
“Not at all. I should thank you for accepting such an abrupt summons.”
So he does realize it was sudden. I rolled my eyes inwardly.
Meeting alone with an old man who had appeared only once, leaving behind merely a bewildered impression before vanishing, was no simple matter.
I had arrived with ambitions of forging a favorable connection with the Duke of Alençon, yet confronted with this cantankerous visage, my words caught in my throat.
The Duke of Alençon seemed disinclined to ease my tension. Still, he did offer me tea.
“Ahem. Since I didn’t know your preferences, I had them bring my daughter’s favorite tea. Do drink.”
“Thank you.”
I took a sip of the clear, pale-colored tea and smiled.
“Silverbell. I’m quite fond of it myself.”
“Cough, cough.”
At those words, the Duke of Alençon began coughing as if something had gone down the wrong way. When he finally ceased, his eyes were reddened.
“Are you… quite all right?”
“I’m fine, fine. Just… startled for a moment.”
What could possibly startle him? I blinked blankly as the Duke of Alençon set down his teacup.
‘Is he nervous?’
Given how cantankerous the old man was, I hadn’t noticed, but now it seemed the Duke of Alençon was quite tense. His gaze and movements carried an odd unnaturalness.
He continued to fidget restlessly with something in his hands.
[What is he doing?]
Even Kiki had noticed the unnaturalness and was asking me about it.
But asking first felt inappropriate given the difference in status and age—the gap was simply too overwhelming. I was no longer seven years old, no longer naive enough to approach him with casual familiarity as I once might have.
Vivian watched quietly for several minutes, observing his every reaction. Finally, the Duke of Alençon’s lips parted with difficulty.
“You resemble someone.”
“Pardon?”
“You look exactly like her.”
“Who do I resemble, Your Grace?”
The Duke of Alençon nodded slowly and extended the object he had been fidgeting with in his hands.
It was a locket designed to hold a portrait inside. Within it lay a painting of Vivian.
“What?”
Vivian accepted the locket in surprise. Why would the Duke of Alençon possess a portrait of me?
[That is not you, Vivian. The eye color is different from yours.]
Upon closer inspection, Kiki was indeed correct.
Vivian possessed clear, sky-blue eyes, but the girl in the portrait had the same pale green eyes as the Duke of Alençon.
“My daughter. Rosalind.”
“….”
Was this the reason the Duke of Alençon had sought me out? Vivian found herself at a loss for words.
What an extraordinary coincidence. Your daughter is truly beautiful.
“Sixteen years ago, she left me, leaving only a letter behind.”
Vivian pressed her lips together. A daughter who had abandoned her home—I had nearly made a terrible mistake by speaking carelessly.
The Duke of Alençon sniffled once before continuing.
“I wondered how she was faring after leaving me like that, but it seems she bore a daughter who resembled her perfectly, and then she died.”
“…What?”
His voice was thick with longing.
His eyes reddened at the rims.
There was no way to pretend I didn’t understand what the Duke of Alençon was saying.
“Your Grace, surely you don’t mean—”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Jean de Lamber’s mother is my daughter, who left home sixteen years ago.”
[I see.]
Even before visiting the House of Alençon, Vivian had puzzled over why she had been invited.
But among all her theories, the possibility that she was the Duke of Alençon’s granddaughter had never been included.
“Your Grace, such a claim—well, couldn’t it simply be that someone happens to resemble you by coincidence?”
At the confusion evident in her words, the Duke of Alençon laughed.
“I thought the same thing. Until I heard that someone at the Petit Debutante had seen a girl who resembled my daughter.”
It appeared someone at the Petit Debutante had spotted Vivian and reported it to the Duke of Alençon.
“I merely wanted to see the face of a child who resembled my daughter. But she had collapsed and gone away for a long recovery, so I waited. After the seasons changed and she finally returned, I hurried to see her face. …Miss Jean de Lamber. When you grow old, you develop a certain insight. Whether it’s instinct or the mark of years lived, I cannot say. And—”
The Duke of Alençon smiled bitterly.
“How could I fail to recognize my own blood?”
“….”
Vivian said nothing, only fingering the locket. The girl inside resembled me as perfectly as a mirror’s reflection, making it impossible to dismiss the Duke of Alençon’s words as mere fancy.
“When I recall the contents of her letter, it only confirms it. She wrote that she had found her destined love and was abandoning this tiresome family. Seeing that radiant face of hers, I could well understand how such words might escape her lips.”
Now I understood what Mother had said when she saw Jean de Lamber at the Art Gallery. It was directed at the man who had seduced her daughter.
“She’s had an eye for men’s faces since she was young. Her tastes were quite fixed.”
Learning this information from Mother after fifteen years didn’t fill me with joy. Vivian still wandered, unable to find where to direct her gaze.
“Once I became certain, I invited Lamber. Well, may I simply call you Vivian?”
“Ah, yes. Please, feel free.”
I couldn’t very well tell my grandfather—even one with mixed blood—not to address me casually. Vivian’s lips trembled as she forced a smile.
“Good. Vivian. You’re well-mannered. It’s fortunate your temperament doesn’t resemble my daughter’s.”
Such words—I couldn’t tell if this was meant as a joke or spoken in earnest.
“…I heard you lost your mother when you were young.”
It had been a long time since my eyes reddened thinking of Mother. Was this the first time since those days when I envied Mary and Peter?
The Duke of Alençon’s eyes, speaking of his daughter who had departed before him, remained reddened.
“If she hated being cooped up at home and left, she should have at least lived well. Truly a worthless daughter. Tsk.”
His voice trembled as he clicked his tongue.
Vivian didn’t dare offer any response. What could one say before a parent who had lost a child?
“Do you remember your mother?”
“…No. I’m sorry…she passed away right after giving birth to me—”
A spasm ran through the Duke of Alençon’s eyes. Whether from age or the difficulty of holding back tears, his composure wavered.
“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have burdened you with stories of a mother you don’t even remember.”
Vivian shook her head.
“No, Grandfather.”
“Grandfather?”
“Yes, well. Since you’re my mother’s father—wouldn’t it be right to call you Grandfather?”
Vivian was the sort of girl who addressed even the Castle Steward, whom she’d just met, with such natural warmth.
Seeing Vivian ask so carefully with the same face as the daughter who had always bristled with thorns toward her own father, the Duke of Alençon let out a hollow laugh.
“No. That’s exactly how you should call me. I’m your grandfather—how could you address me formally? Hehe, Grandfather indeed.”
Vivian laughed along, reading the mood. The atmosphere seemed to be settling into something pleasant.
“Yes. Vivian. Then you should live with Grandfather from now on.”
“Pardon?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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