Chapter 92: Bernard and Margaret Voss
The Capital.
House Voss occupied enough land in the industrial district that calling it an estate felt slightly misleading.
The enormous riveted iron gates opened with the hydraulic machinery letting out a long hiss of steam.
Vincent’s carriage entered the estate, and found itself in a factory that couldn’t be more busy.
There were no ornamental gardens, marble fountains or useless stretches of lawn in the estate.
Broad stone roads were built for loaded wagons. Brick workshops stood along both sides, their tall windows glowing orange despite the daylight. Iron pipelines crossed overhead like veins while steam periodically escaped through valves with sharp whistles.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
The sound of hammers came from everywhere.
’It looks the same even in the day,’ Vincent thought as he compared it to the night version.
The Voss Estate likely never slept.
As Vincent went further inside, coal smoke mixed with hot iron, oil and something faintly metallic flooded his senses. He could practically taste the estate on his tongue.
Several sealed wooden boxes travelled in the wagon behind his carriage.
Inside were the monster-rat corpses.
As the carriage stopped at the manor’s entrance and before Vincent barely stepped down, someone noticed him through an open workshop window.
The hammering stopped.
A huge bearded man wearing a leather apron leaned halfway outside.
He stared at Vincent.
Vincent stared back.
The man suddenly shouted, "THE YOUNG COUNT IS HERE!"
Vincent flinched. ’What in the world...’
Every nearby workshop in the estate reacted. Doors quickly opened, windows moved, and men began coming out.
’Oh wow...’ Vincent thought as he found himself at the center of attention. ’I don’t mind the attention, but like... all of them are...’
Most Voss men looked as though someone had taken blacksmiths, dockworkers and tavern brawlers and combined them into one family.
Broad shoulders filled soot-stained shirts. Thick forearms were covered with burns, old scars and black hair. Several had magnificent beards. One uncle appeared to have lost half an eyebrow to a furnace accident and likely decided that it wasn’t worth fixing.
Within a minute, Vincent was surrounded.
"So this is him?"
They did not greet him and began a discussion on their own.
"Of course it’s him. How many red-eyed young counts do you know?"
"He’s smaller than I expected."
Vincent’s eyebrow twitched.
A gray-bearded man slapped the guy’s shoulders and said, "Leona said not to talk about his smallness!"
"Ye, ye, I forgot."
Vincent’s expression changed. ’If it wasn’t Leona’s home...’
He would’ve shown them the might of this body they called ’small’. One slash was all it took.
"Lad, do ya really like our lassie?"
"The lassie hasn’t stopped saying good things about you since she arrived yesterday!"
’Oh? Leona said good things?’
Things were only just getting interesting when another man slapped the gray-bearded man’s shoulder.
"Stop crowding the lad. Let him enter."
The gray-bearded man clicked his tongue and said, "You’re crowding him too."
The man shook his head. "No, I’m welcoming him!
"With that face?"
"You...!"
Vincent looked around. He saw the men speak crudely but none seemed hostile.
They were just a painfully loud bunch of people, and possessed none of the careful restraints he had become accustomed to around nobility.
Whatever entered their minds came directly out of their mouths.
Anastasia stood beside Vincent and asked whether she should have them move aside. He was about to reply when the crowd parted on its own.
A two meter tall giant—no, man, approached Vincent from the main entrance.
Anastasia said this was Bernard Voss, Leona’s father.
He looked exactly like someone Vincent expected to be Leona’s father after seeing every other Voss man. Large, rough-handed and built from decades spent around anvils rather than banquet tables.
Beside him walked his wife, Margaret Voss.
The contrast was almost ridiculous.
Lady Margaret was slender and delicately built, wearing a simple cream-colored dress beneath a light shawl. Her features were gentle, and her carefully arranged silver hair made her look as if someone had accidentally placed a porcelain lady among a gathering of bandits.
’Dad’s genes didn’t even try...’ Vincent thought as he saw the striking resemblance between Leona and her mother.
Same silver hair, same red eyes, same delicate look...
If she didn’t look visibly older in age, Vincent would’ve thought of her as Leona’s twin.
Lady Margaret smiled.
"Welcome to our humble abode, Young Count."
"It’s my pleasure, Lady Margaret," Vincent bowed slightly and returned the greeting, not bothering to brood over the ’humble abode’.
Bernard did not bother with unnecessary ceremony and directly asked, "You came for Leona?"
Vincent nodded. "Yes."
"Okay."
Vincent waited, but Bernard did not speak further. This was apparently the entire conversation.
One of the men behind Bernard laughed.
"He’s Leona’s fiancé. Who else would he be here for?"
"Maybe he came to buy something."
"He owns the mines we buy half our metal from, idiot."
Vincent looked at the men, then Bernard, and suddenly understood something.
’They’re a powerful blacksmith family, renowned throughout the kingdoms and with more influence than a Baron, but they’re still commoners. Most likely due to their nature.’
These men were loud but honest and capable. They could forge some amazing stuff but could not scheme against anyone or even form the right connections to rise politically.
No wonder House Voss was in a predicament, and Leona had to step up.
She was much different from them. She watched, questioned, investigated, schemed, and wasn’t someone who wouldn’t use an underhanded method.
Leona used everything at her disposal, and Vincent had seen it live when she worked with him.
Most people thought Leona got lucky with House D’Arc approaching her for marriage, but none knew such wasn’t the case.
Leona was extremely capable and she surely would’ve found another way to make her house rise.
After Vincent interacted more with her and saw the fast breakthroughs, he knew his mother hadn’t picked her randomly.
Vincent had a feeling that she knew Leona was special.
If not for Leona, House Voss may have been absorbed by some power already.
’I keep feeling more proud of her everyday...’
Vincent smiled, then turned his attention back to her parents.
He glanced toward Bernard.
"I’m sorry for arriving without notice, but I need to see Leona urgently."
Work called, and Vincent couldn’t delay for longer.
The surrounding chatter stopped.
No one questioned Vincent about why he wanted to see her urgently.
Bernard turned to the side and pointed toward the deeper estate.
"Her workshop."
The men quickly parted and gave way.
Lady Margaret said with a warm smile, "When His Lordship is done with work, please have some tea with us."
Vincent shook his hand and said, "M’lady you’re my in-law, please don’t speak so formally and refer to me as Vincent."
"Oh my..." Lady Margaret covered her mouth and said softly. "The Young Count is really polite."
Vincent smiled at her and bowed slightly. "Please allow me now..."
He left with Anastasia to the back and got the servants to carry the rat corpses.
Soon, Vincent heard a familiar rhythm outside Leona’s workshop.
Clang!
Clang!
Clang!
He looked through the workshop’s window and saw her.
Leona was in black trousers that fit snugly around her waist. It paired well with her maroon blouse underneath a black leather apron. Her silver hair was pulled into a rough bun, though some damp strands had escaped and were stuck against her cheek.
Soot lightly stained her pale skin.
Her crimson eyes remained locked upon the glowing metal resting on the anvil.
She looked far more natural here than she ever did wearing an expensive gown inside a ballroom.
Vincent smiled faintly.
He raised his hand and knocked against the workshop door.
"Leona, it’s me."