My Anime Shopping Tree & My Cold Prodigy Wife!
Episode : 43

Chapter : 85

Rosa watched, her mind observing and cataloging the details with a cool, sharp focus. Lloyd's posture was relaxed, intent, lacking the awkwardness or hesitant deference he often displayed within the more formal settings of the estate. He moved with an economy of motion, a quiet competence as he handled the buckets and explained… whatever it was he was explaining. The servant girl, initially timid, seemed to gain a measure of confidence under his instruction, her movements becoming more assured as she assisted him. There was an unusual dynamic between them – not the stiff formality she expected between master and servant, nor the inappropriate familiarity that might suggest scandal. Instead, it looked like focused, shared work. Collaboration. And the work itself? It appeared remarkably like… manual labor. Involving dirt and ash.

Interesting, she thought, her mind sifting through the observations. Lloyd Ferrum, voluntarily engaging in such a task. With a servant of low standing. His demeanor is focused, competent, lacking his usual social hesitations. She noted the girl's transition from apprehension to attentive cooperation. He seems to be undertaking some sort of experiment. Agricultural? Or perhaps something more… esoteric, given the talk of 'hidden fire' and unusual properties of ash? The purpose is unclear. This is certainly a deviation from typical noble behavior.

She watched them test something with an egg. Saw the brief flicker of satisfaction on Lloyd’s face, heard the girl’s surprised gasp. They seemed pleased with the result of their strange ash-water filtration. Then they carefully collected the resulting liquid into a heavy jug, Lloyd handling it with noticeable care, as if it were something valuable or potent.

"Lyra," Rosa murmured, her voice a low, cool whisper that barely disturbed the air, her gaze never leaving the figures by the pond. "The girl. Identify her."

Lyra, ever vigilant, had already been assessing the servant. "Jasmin, Lady Rosa," she replied instantly, her voice equally quiet, devoid of inflection. "Seventeen years of age. Orphaned daughter of the late head butcher, Gerold. Employed in the estate kitchens since her father’s passing five years prior. Assigned primarily to the butchery section. Known for being quiet, diligent, keeps to herself mostly. No notable affiliations or scandals recorded." Lyra delivered the information concisely, efficiently, a walking personnel file. She added, as a subtle note of context, "Considered somewhat plain. Unlikely to attract… undue attention."

Lyra anticipated, perhaps, a flicker of annoyance from her mistress. A noble heir spending hours engaged in mysterious, dirty work with a low-ranking kitchen maid? It courted gossip, potentially reflected poorly on the household, and by extension, on Lady Rosa herself. A typical noble wife might display jealousy, suspicion, or disdain.

But Rosa’s expression remained utterly unchanged. Her face was a serene mask, her eyes holding only cool, analytical observation. Jasmin’s identity, her background, her potential attractiveness – these were simply data points, fed into the ongoing calculation. Annoyance? Jealousy? Such emotional responses were inefficient, illogical distractions from understanding the core anomaly: Lloyd himself.

She watched as Lloyd and Jasmin gathered their equipment, Lloyd carefully carrying the heavy jug, Jasmin trailing with a bucket. Watched as they disappeared down a hidden path, heading back towards the estate buildings, but clearly avoiding the main thoroughfares.

She noted his clear preference for discretion as they moved off, carrying their tools and the jug of processed ash-water. He's taking pains to avoid being seen, Rosa observed, her mind piecing together the implications. The purpose of this project remains obscure, but it clearly involves this ash-derived liquid and, given their direction towards the more remote service buildings, likely requires further steps involving heat – a forge, perhaps, or a controlled fire.

Rosa remained by the oak tree for several moments after they had gone, the image of Lloyd, ash-streaked and focused, explaining something intently to the nervous kitchen maid, lingering in her mind. It was a perplexing picture, one that didn't align with her initial understanding of him. This man… he continues to present contradictions. The mediocrity she had first perceived, the apparent timidity, the assumed lack of significant power or intellect she had coolly dismissed… her own direct observations were systematically challenging those early judgments.

She mentally reviewed the recent, jarring events. The cabinet incident – a display of impossible power, wielded with chilling, controlled lethality that spoke of hidden capabilities far beyond what was publicly known. Then, the confrontation with Viscount Rubel – a surprising display of political acumen, unflappable confidence in the face of accusation, and an unnerving knowledge of buried family secrets. And now this… this patient, focused, hands-on involvement in some obscure, messy project, working closely with a low-ranking servant, clearly prioritizing secrecy.

Chapter : 86

He is not what he seemed, she concluded, a rare frown almost touching her brow as she tried to reconcile the disparate pieces of information. My initial assessment was flawed, incomplete. He operates outside the expected parameters for someone of his reputed standing and abilities. She felt a subtle shift in her own internal landscape, not of emotion, but of intellectual recalibration. He exhibits hidden depths, capabilities he has kept concealed, and his motivations are far more complex than I first surmised. The logical course of action, then, was clear. Further, closer observation is necessary to form an accurate understanding of Lloyd Ferrum.

Without another word, Rosa turned away from the now-empty clearing by the pond and began her own slow walk back towards the main estate, her mind already working, trying to fit these disparate, contradictory pieces into a coherent, logical whole. The equation of her husband was proving far more complex, and far more interesting, than she had ever anticipated.

Later that evening, the memory of the strange scene by the pond resurfaced as Jasmin, her face still slightly smudged despite attempts to clean up, nervously navigated the twilight pathways towards the main gardens, Lloyd striding ahead with energetic purpose.

"Rosemary, Jasmin! That’s what we need!" Lloyd’s voice, carrying back slightly on the cool air, was full of that bizarre, infectious enthusiasm. "Snip the freshest sprigs! Enough for a decent distillation! Chop chop!"

Jasmin hurried to catch up, clutching the empty bucket, her mind still reeling from the revelations about liquid soap and different kinds of 'hidden fire' in ash. It was madness. Glorious, baffling madness. But it was their madness now.

She glanced at the Young Lord ahead of her – no longer just the awkward heir, but a figure of surprising knowledge, hidden power, and unpredictable brilliance. A genius alchemist from the stories, indeed. Whatever path he led, she would follow. The promise for her mother, the sheer fascination of his strange knowledge… it was more compelling than any fear or doubt.

"Yes, my lord!" she called back, her voice stronger now, filled with purpose. "Rosemary! Right away!" The soap empire, however unconventional, had its first, utterly devoted, employee.

—---

Dawn painted the sky in hues of rose and pale gold, but the opulent suite Lloyd Ferrum technically shared with Rosa Siddik remained steeped in pre-dawn gloom and the familiar chill of unspoken tension. Lloyd, already awake on the eternally lumpy sofa, bypassed the usual ritual of existential sighing. Today held the promise of progress, of tangible creation. The memory of the previous evening’s success – transforming raw ash into potent lye, the first crucial step towards his soap empire – fueled an energy that mere hours of uncomfortable sleep couldn’t dampen.

He dressed quickly, foregoing the stiff formalities of noble attire for practical, older clothing suitable for messy work. His mind was already buzzing with calculations: lye concentration adjustments, optimal oil blends for liquidity, the tricky process of scent infusion. Today was Phase Two: Liquid Gold. Or, more accurately, Liquid Soap That Might Eventually Lead to Gold.

As he slipped out of the suite, leaving the silent fortress of the four-poster bed and its inscrutable occupant undisturbed, he found Ken Park waiting patiently in the dimly lit corridor, a steadfast pillar of silent competence. The bodyguard inclined his head fractionally as Lloyd emerged.

"Young Lord," Ken greeted, his voice the usual flat baritone. "Master Elmsworth's tutelage is scheduled to commence in two hours. Shall I make preparations for your attendance?"

Lloyd paused, glancing down the long, echoing hallway towards the exit gate. Master Elm. Grain storage logistics, or perhaps guild arbitration today? The thought felt crushingly dull compared to the alchemical excitement brewing in his own plans. He’d attended diligently the past few days, laying groundwork, subtly shifting perceptions. But today… today was for creation.

"No, Ken," Lloyd replied decisively, turning away from the direction of the outside. "Inform Master Elmsworth I offer my apologies, but pressing personal matters require my attention today. I will not be attending."

He saw it again – that minute flicker in Ken’s usually unreadable eyes, the barest tightening around his mouth. Surprise. Ken had noted the previous days' consistent attendance, the unexpected engagement with Elmsworth's dry topics. He'd likely reported it to Roy, perhaps even hypothesized that the young heir was finally embracing his responsibilities, however reluctantly. This sudden reversion to skipping lessons seemed… contradictory. A regression.

Lloyd could almost hear the silent calculation behind Ken’s impassive mask: Deviation from recent pattern. Previous diligence potentially superficial? Motivation unclear. Reassess.