Surviving as a Terminally Ill Heiress - Chapter 15

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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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Episode 15

When I expressed a desire to meet the Duke of Ambrose, Fin readily offered to escort me.
I followed in his wake, glancing around as we walked.
My first impression of the East Wing was, how should I put it.
‘Less ornate than I expected.’
Given the effort lavished on the guest quarters of the West Wing, I’d braced myself for something even grander here.
Not that the standard was lacking, of course.
If anything, it was far more austere and antiquated—the sort of subtle, understated wealth that exhaled money without needing to flaunt it.
The West Wing, by contrast, had been garish and glittering, as if deliberately designed to cow anyone who entered.
“Here is the master’s office.”
Fin halted before a heavy wooden door.
Rather than open it immediately, he gestured toward something beyond it.
“And there lies the master’s bedchamber; directly across is where we are currently preparing the young lady’s quarters. I confess, I find myself most eager to see the two of you dwelling together in such domestic harmony.”
“…Would you just open the door?”
Spare me the unnecessary commentary.
The cunning butler finally relented and knocked.
“Come in.”
The reply came at once.
Fin opened the door and gestured for me to enter.
The study of the Duke of Ambrose.
A joke drifted through my mind—that it might be harder to gain entry here than to the Emperor’s own bedchamber.
I stepped inside with a flutter of nerves, but the sight before me proved disappointingly ordinary.
The first thing that struck me was the smell of paper and ink.
Along either wall stood bookshelves crammed with documents; in the center sat a large, refined desk of aged bronze that had clearly seen decades of use.
And there stood the master of this room, bent over the desk with his cane, poring over papers with absorbed intensity.
He hadn’t even changed out of his riding clothes, and here he was, throwing himself straight back into work the moment he’d returned home.
‘…I thought nobles were supposed to be idle.’
Every aristocrat I’d known certainly had been.
They rose near noon to begin their day’s affairs, and even if they could reach something by stretching out their hand, they’d insist on taking a carriage.
Especially once they reached old age—they seemed to spend their entire days in leisure and gluttony.
I studied the man’s sharp profile as he stood in rigid posture.
No matter how many times I saw him, his bearing was uncommonly robust for his age.
Whether it was from eating and sleeping well, or from some virtue inherent in his bloodline, I couldn’t say. Even in my childhood, I hadn’t been particularly short.
While I was still occupied with such idle thoughts, the Duke’s brow furrowed.
“If you have business, state it quickly—”
The man turned to look at me and his eyes widened.
Then, his lips twitching in what might have been a smile, he covered his mouth with his fist and let out a measured cough.
“Ahem. What brings you to my office?”
His voice sounded oddly flustered.
I tilted my head, then answered matter-of-factly.
“To receive a blessing.”
“…A blessing?”
“I heard that children of Ambrose receive a Lucky 1 Bell from the family head on their first birthday.”
I raised my eyebrows to prompt confirmation, and the still-bewildered Duke nodded slowly.
“Since I happened to be born outside the estate, it’s rather late, but I thought I might receive one too, if I’m eligible…”
I tilted my chin and tapped the floor with my heel.
Not so much asking a favor as throwing down a subtle assertion of pride.
Still, it was true that I was ignorant of Ambrose’s customs—I’d never had the chance to experience them before.
The Duke, looking down at me, muttered something in a tone that was neither warm nor cold, but distinctly ambiguous.
“Well… if you bear Ambrose blood, your eligibility is beyond question.”
“Is that so?”
At my deferential response, the man’s voice grew louder.
“Indeed, it is not only appropriate but necessary. What a shambles. It seems you must be taught from the beginning how to assert your own rights.”
“Understood.”
Taking his rebuke to heart for once, I broke into a wide smile and extended both hands.
“Then please disburse all of my allowance from birth until now.”
“…”
“With interest, if you please.”
I would extract every last coin from him.

* * *

As Naomi’s hint had suggested, Ambrose’s system for calculating allowance was elegantly simple.
One Bell at age one. Ten Bells at age ten.
Each year it increased by an amount equal to one’s age.
If one received it monthly as standard practice.
‘Twelve Bells, twenty-four Bells, thirty-six Bells… up to one hundred and eight Bells last year. A total of five hundred and forty Bells.’
As I bent over the ledger with the Duke of Ambrose, calculations between us, I suddenly spoke up.
‘Ah, last month was my birthday.’
‘Last month? Then…’
‘Since I turned ten and lived a month at that age, you must add another ten Bells.’
The Duke, having opened his mouth to protest, added the ten Bells with nothing more than a cough of resignation.
Even the interest I’d demanded, he yielded without quarrel.
And thus the sum I extracted totaled.
“Eight hundred Bells…!”
A thrill ran through my body.
As it did, the white quilt covering me fluttered and billowed.
My younger siblings, lying in bed beside me, cast sidelong glances in my direction.
It was a scene that had been repeating since earlier.
Even sleep-drunk Dido voiced a complaint, but I could not suppress my joy.
My apologies, but understand—when the servants were about, I had to maintain dignity and couldn’t indulge myself so openly.
I giggled quietly, then rolled the object in my palm.
A smooth, circular disc of metal.
To be precise, the Duke of Ambrose had actually given me eight hundred and one Bells.
‘The Lucky 1 Bell.’
After scrawling a few lines to add those eight hundred Bells to my account, he suddenly had his butler fetch something.
A pristine new coin that had never passed through another’s hands.
The Duke had placed it directly in my palm.
There were no words of blessing or special ritual.
Yet the Bell I received in that unthinking moment felt somehow heavier and stranger than an ordinary one.
‘Though on closer inspection, it did look different.’
Beyond that, there was something else—something symbolic about it. This was not mere money, but something more.
Setting that aside, combined with the rest of my allowance, my total assets now stood at eight hundred and seven Bells and eighty-six Harks.
Enough to send several letters, at the very least.
Satisfied, I felt the weight of the coin that had slid up through the darkness, caressing its surface in the dimness.
It resembled an ordinary 1 Bell only in its size. This one gleamed more golden, and the engraving was entirely different.
A bee with wings spread wide.
No resident of Aterra could fail to recognize it.
It was the Symbol of Ambrose.
Perhaps a commemorative coin? Ambrose would certainly be capable of minting such a thing, yet I’d never seen one before.
So coins like this existed in the world. So too did fortunes received in this manner.
I held my Lucky 1 Bell tight between both palms and closed my eyes.
I was certain to have the most wonderful dreams tonight.

* * *

The moment morning broke, I dispatched invitations.
The cost of stationery still made me grit my teeth, but with my newly ample allowance, I managed to steel my nerves.
‘Now, let me attend to the other preparations.’
I sent word to the servants for several items to be procured.
Among them was the Sandwich I’d foregone yesterday.
With it in hand, I made straight for the senior physician’s quarters.
“Scott, good morning.”
I flashed my brightest smile at the frowning old man.
In truth, it was not so much a smile as a grimace.
‘There go four Bells and thirty-eight Harks…’
The Sandwich cost an outrageous two Letters in price.
I’d been so exhausted with Walter insisting he personally fetch my snacks that I’d simply paid for it instead, and I’d been royally fleeced. Such was the madness of Ambrose’s prices.
But what could I do? A man dies of thirst digging a well.
I extended the plate of Sandwich toward Scott.
“I’ve heard that you’re partial to this, so I’ve specially procured it for you. Might you…”
“What is the meaning of this?”
Just eat it. Two Letters, do you understand?
I gazed at the Sandwich as it cooled with sorrowful eyes, then spoke.
“The matter is, I should like to recommend a physician I know as your apprentice.”
“What was that?”
Scott’s brow crinkled sharply.
“Surely you don’t mean someone you knew from the Slums?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Hah!”
He laughed in a way that suggested I’d lost all sense, then his voice rose in indignation.
“It seems you do not yet understand where you are. This is the household of the Duke of Ambrose—the Duke of Ambrose! This is no place into which just anyone can be admitted!”
Right. And what of it? I’d already sent him a letter inviting him to come.
I nearly let that honest thought slip out, but caught myself just in time.
I couldn’t say such things to Scott. No, I must hold my tongue and endure.
I regarded him with a magnanimous expression.
“I understand. But Scott, he has examined patients with Wax Disease. His experience is not something to dismiss—”
“Wax Disease?”
Good. He’d taken the bait.
My heart thundered as I let the words unfold naturally.
If only he would continue the thread of conversation.
“What is that?”
What?

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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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