Welcome to the Rose Mansion - Chapter 18
Richelle was a bit surprised to hear Rogéros casually referring to the eldest son of the family in front of the mistress of the house, although she didn’t show it.
“Yes, it is.”
Madam Otis replied nonchalantly without even looking up from stirring her soup.
“May I introduce Miss Howard to Young Master Alan then?”
“Do as you wish. Anything concerning that child is entirely up to you. It’s none of my business.”
Madam Otis’s attitude turned indifferent again at the mention of her child. Amidst the awkward silence, Richelle’s eyes darted nervously. How was Alan Otis faring, facing such rejection from his mother?
Her worried gaze shifted towards the young man sitting diagonally from her.
That’s when it happened.
Alan Otis, who had been staring down at his chicken as if it were an enemy, suddenly looked up.
“……!”
Their eyes met unavoidably. His were clear and pure, like clean glass marbles, the color of the sky.
The only thought in Richelle’s stunned mind was, ‘Ah, the god of winter must have fallen in love with those clear blue eyes.’
Because the winter sky always casts nothing but dreary ash.
“So… Miss Howard?”
“Ye…Yes?”
Richelle jerked upright, startled. Rogéros was gazing at her, smiling softly.
“This is Young Master Alan Otis, the eldest son of the Otis family. I hope the two of you can become good friends.”
“Don’t make such a ridiculous joke.”
Alan Otis coldly snapped back, turning his gaze down to his plate again. The hostility emanating from the young man was startlingly clear.
Richelle was slightly taken aback, but she quickly decided not to take it too seriously.
‘He’s not yet of age. It makes sense for him to be sensitive. Even Meg’s kind younger brother was quite harsh at that age.’
Remembering Mr. Allison, who had later become embarrassed of his youthful brashness, Richelle felt a bit lighter. She extended a greeting first.
“Let’s get along well, Young Master Otis.”
Alan Otis did not respond, but Richelle was not dismayed.
She had a special talent for finding the silver lining in any situation, which gave her exceptional adaptability and resilience.
Even in the stifling atmosphere of this dinner table, her talent shone through. Richelle thought calmly,
‘Having dinner surrounded by beauties isn’t an everyday occurrence.’
While wary of luxury, Richelle did not dislike beauty; she enjoyed appreciating various forms of art.
The three people at the table were rare beauties, akin to living artworks. Surrounded by strangers, Richelle’s heart felt somewhat enriched despite her fatigue.
‘The children I’ll be teaching must have angelic appearances too. Even if they’re as sensitive as Young Master Otis, it’s fine. I’ve dealt with such types before… it won’t be too hard.’
However, even with this newfound peace of mind, the dinner couldn’t be described as pleasant.
From the start of the meal, Madam Otis and Alan Otis didn’t utter a word. Madam Otis aimlessly toyed with her salad, and Alan didn’t even touch his cutlery.
Only Rogéros casually enjoyed his meal and conversed with Richelle.
“I heard you worked as a teaching assistant at the Harriet Boarding School. It’s impressive for someone your age. I understand they are quite selective even with their errand runners.”
“It was thanks to my mentor’s help. Fortunately, she’s been favorably disposed towards me since my school days.”
“You must have been a talented student, and now a fine lady, to have had such opportunities.”
Rogéros had a knack for making people feel great. Richelle, who had been nervously observing Madam Otis and Alan Otis, gradually eased into the conversation.
Then, the main course was served. Beautifully plated dishes were placed before each guest.
“This is a leg of young lamb, marinated in red wine and aged for a long time, served with celeriac and mashed potatoes.”
As Richelle lifted her knife, a thought struck her.
Did lamb always have this kind of texture?
She was pondering this when suddenly…
Bang!
Alan Otis slammed the table out of nowhere. Startled, Richelle dropped her fork.
“Alan.”
Rogéros called out calmly, but his call seemed to go unheard. Alan Otis silently stood up, picking up a wine glass in front of him.
Richelle watched in a daze as his elegant, long fingers leisurely tilted the wine glass, like a pianist gracefully playing a piece.
