The Fake Wife of the Strongest Husband Wants to Survive - Chapter 8

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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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Chapter 8
Pesha strode down the corridor and spotted a maid quietly cleaning the endlessly long hallway, a bucket and mop in her hands. She approached her with a request.
“You’re working hard. I need to give the steward some instructions—would you bring him to my room?”
“Yes, of course, ma’am.”
While the maid went to fetch the steward, Pesha returned to her room and, setting aside her anxiety, began listing the priorities of what needed to be done.
Just then came two sharp knocks on the door.
“Ma’am, it’s the steward Albert. I heard you called for me.”
“Come in.”
Seated at the desk, jotting down problems that needed to be resolved, she kept her eyes on the paper and merely extended her hand as she spoke to him.
“Glad you’re here. I have questions and matters to discuss. First, bring me the financial reports for the Count’s Castle household accounts.”
“Financial reports… you mean the account books, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
Yet despite her outstretched hand, the steward’s expression clouded with evident discomfort.
“Forgive me, but may I ask what you need them for?”
Was there truly a reason for the Countess to examine the household ledgers?
Newly married as she was, she remained undeniably the Mistress of this castle.
Lifting her gaze to regard the steward, Pesha found the question slightly absurd, yet answered with courtesy.
“I am the Mistress of this castle now, so I mean to fulfill my duties.”
“Ah…”
Had there been no issue, he would have produced the documents without hesitation, but he cleared his throat once before responding in a measured, businesslike tone.
“I’m afraid that would be rather difficult, ma’am.”
“Excuse me?”
Had he just openly refused a command?
Or had he failed to understand that she was giving one, despite her kindly phrasing?
“Why?”
“Until now, I have overseen every aspect of this castle’s management, and kept the account books meticulously organized ever since the Head of Household received his title.”
What was he getting at?
“The system has grown quite rigid according to my own methods, and you may find it difficult to decipher. The handover process itself is extraordinarily complicated.”
“I see. So where exactly are these financial reports?”
Pesha did not withdraw her outstretched hand despite his roundabout replies, and the steward, seeing he could not evade further, at last revealed his true intent.
“It seems to me that ma’am still lacks experience and is likely quite occupied with other matters regarding the adaptation to the territory. Therefore, wouldn’t it be more prudent for me to continue managing things as before? Of course, I promise to hand over the ledgers once you are sufficiently prepared.”
At this, Pesha laughed outright.
“When? Ten years from now? Or when I’m dead?”
“Ma’am?”
Though much information about Io, renowned as a master of Purification Magic, circulated widely, Pesha was relatively unknown.
Perhaps for this reason, the steward seemed to believe that if he stalled with excuses long enough, Pesha would either give up or, finding it tedious, simply delegate authority to him altogether.
In truth, having grown up in the House of Raidel without a Mistress to manage the estate, Pesha could not clearly define what a proper Mistress of a noble household was meant to do.
She had been too preoccupied with other matters to learn such things, feeling the absence of her mother.
Moreover, her father, the Duke Raidel himself, was hardly the sort of man to teach her these skills.
Ever since she had forgone her studies abroad to yield that opportunity to Jeremy, her father had arranged for a tutor to instruct her in basic knowledge and propriety.
Only Herbal Studies, her primary interest, had she pursued through self-study in whatever spare moments she could find, leaving her no time to acquire practical experience in estate management or household affairs.
“As you know, the Capital and the Eastern Region have many differences, and it may be burdensome for you to assume control of the accounts at once. And most importantly—do you have any knowledge of accounting?”
Though his words were courteous, by the end his tone had become openly dismissive.
Pesha maintained her smile as she answered.
“Of course not—did you think I hadn’t received Basic Accounting instruction?”
“I meant something more specialized, rather than basic…”
“Steward, is there some discipline of Countesshood that I’m unaware of? From what you’re describing, it sounds as though only a woman trained in advanced accounting, schooled in the Eastern Region’s methods, and versed in your manual could possibly become a Countess. Some marriage condition I never knew about, apparently. What a predicament—I’ve already married, you see.”
“…”
He likely understood well enough that she was telling him to hand over the books, yet he merely let out a low groan of discomfort and stubbornly refused to produce the ledgers.
Was this not underhanded sabotage?
‘Now I see why the food stores have only potatoes and stale meat. This man is behind it—I’m certain. You’re finished.’
As suspicion crystallized in her mind, she felt resolve harden: she would not back down now but press further still.
“Why aren’t you speaking? It seems my commands perhaps…”
She was about to ask whether his silence meant he didn’t consider her orders binding.
Knock, knock.
Someone tapped at the door.
Both Pesha and the steward turned their heads toward it simultaneously.
“Who is it? Come in.”
The steward, eager to divert the conversation and break its momentum—though this was not his study—hastily ushered the newcomer inside.
The door swung slightly open, and a woman appeared.
It was the head maid, Philia.
“Forgive the interruption, Mistress. But I’ve come with an urgent matter that concerns you.”
“Is something the matter?”
Pesha asked, and Philia—her hands folded respectfully before her—spoke without lifting her gaze.
“It concerns the new Dress you ordered yesterday. The tailor is waiting to take your measurements. Would you have a moment to spare?”
“My Dress?”
A Dress, of all things.
She’d never ordered one.
On the very first day after the wedding, arriving at the Count’s Castle, it made no sense that she would have suddenly demanded new clothes be fitted.
But she wasn’t so oblivious as to press the matter openly.
Clearly Philia had something else on her mind.
If she was willing to lie about this, the real concern was worth hearing before returning to the account books.
Still rankled, Pesha dismissed the steward with a pointed glance and spoke.
“Steward, we’ll finish that conversation later. For now, you may go.”
“Yes, of course.”
The steward left the room without hesitation, his composure unruffled.
Once the sound of his footsteps fading down the corridor had receded a suitable distance, Pesha spoke again.
“So. What’s this really about?”
Philia glanced toward the door as if watching for the steward’s return, her voice dropping low.
“Mistress, did you happen to call the steward to discuss the Account Book?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Please, forgive my presumption, but don’t.”
Pesha stared at Philia, unaware that ink from the Quill Pen in her hand had begun to drip onto the paper below.
“Tell me why.”
“I mean no disrespect, Mistress. This is for your own good. I’m worried.”
“Worried about what, then?”

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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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