Chapter 35: Saint Roche

“Hmm…”

Rosie groggily got out of bed, yawned, and rubbed her sleepy eyes.

‘Strange, why was Mrs. Zhang so merciful today not to call him for breakfast?’

‘Why did her shoulder feel so heavy? She must have a crick in her neck.’ Rosie sluggishly glanced down.

‘First class of the morning, review geography, key points, Northern and Southern Hemispheres.’

Rosie, “…….”

‘She was still half-asleep; she forgot Butler Chen had already left her home.’

She tidied her silk nightgown, which had become a bit disheveled from restless sleep, then looked around the room.

Although she no longer had her phone, losing Bilibili and Douyin, a little tune about facing reality automatically played in her mind.

‘Sigh, worrying is useless. The body is the capital for revolution. Better to fill her stomach first. Eat, eat.’

They say practice makes perfect, and this time when she put on the dress, Rosie wasn’t as awkward. After all, she still had to maintain the persona of a viscount’s young miss in the future; it would be too tiring to keep agonizing over it.

The dress must have been delivered by Wendy while she was sleeping. Its style was less conservative and formal than the previous leg-of-mutton sleeve dress. It consisted of a dark brown plaid jacket lined with a coral knitted top, paired with a matching short skirt, white knee-high socks, and black leather boots.

‘Hmm, it felt chilly and very insecure.’

She wore thin black tights under her short skirt, so the feeling of insecurity wasn’t about being exposed, but rather that without a long skirt, she couldn’t hide a pistol on her body like before.

‘Couldn’t this skirt be a bit longer?’

Rosie tugged at the short skirt annoyingly, then took a long stride to the bedroom door and pushed it open.

“Young Miss.”

There were two ‘door gods’ stationed one on each side of her room’s entrance.

Wendy, her personal maid, immediately turned around and bowed to her.

The other one, Miss Yvette, who was responsible for ‘protecting’ her, was much more aloof, simply nodding as a greeting.

Rosie, who came from an ordinary family in her previous life, was quite unaccustomed to such a display. She restlessly kneaded her fingers, trying her best to maintain her persona as a young miss, and asked faintly:

“Have Father and Mother had breakfast yet?”

“It’s already afternoon, Young Miss.”

“The Viscount and young master left after dining in the morning due to official business.”

“The Viscountess said you should rest well, so she didn’t call you for a meal.”

Rosie, “……”

‘She had slept for quite a while.’

“Would you like to dine first, or would you prefer to choose a piece of jewelry in the dressing room?” Wendy inquired.

“Miss Moulton.”

Yvette suddenly spoke.

“Someone from the Church came at noon; the ‘relevant preparations’ are already complete.”

“Please be ready by four o’clock this afternoon to return with me.”

Interrupting someone else’s conversation was considered very impolite in the prevailing social etiquette.

This Miss Yvette seemed to be the type of person who ‘didn’t know how to read the room,’ valuing the completion of ‘tasks’ more than others’ opinions.

Rosie, who had been tormented by being called “mister” here and “madam” there, and hearing “Truth above all” prayed at every turn, actually quite liked this straightforward, business-like personality.

“I understand, Miss Lambe.”

Rosie nodded, then asked, “Wendy, what time is it now?”

Wendy pulled out her pocket watch and glanced at it, “It is now thirteen forty-seven, Young Miss.”

“Please prepare the carriage for me. Miss Lambe and I have matters to attend to after I’ve eaten.”

For breakfast—no, lunch—since Rosie was eating alone, she instructed the kitchen to prepare something simple.

The main dish was a pie baked primarily with lamb, carrots, peas, corn, onions, and a special sauce, along with creamy and smooth mashed potatoes.

The accompanying main course was a rich soup stewed from delicious fish, milk, onions, and crisp celery.

They also prepared a dessert for after the meal, a fruit pudding.

How to put it, the overall taste was actually quite good, it was just a bit hard to get used to.

But, no chopsticks, bad review.

Rosie, the “Clear Soup Elder,” gave her honest evaluation.

Rose Street No. 11, Glenn Historical Site Preservation Society, First Floor.

“Hello, this is… Miss Yvette, you’re back!”

Mary Wheeler’s brown eyes lit up, and she darted out from behind the front desk.

‘This young lady seemed quite energetic. Rosie had thought all female members of this official organization were like Miss Lambe, adopting an unapproachable elite demeanor.’

“This is…”

Mary was only responsible for reception work and did not participate in any capture operations, so even though she had been busy running errands, sending letters and tea without end these past few days, she still only had a vague understanding of the source of the problems.

“This is Miss Rosie Moulton.”

Rosie slightly nodded, her lips curving into a faint arc.

“Hello.”

‘Miss Moulton?!’

Mary gasped, surprised, covering her small mouth, then lowering her hand, she said quite excitedly:

“Oh, hello, hello, my name is Mary Wheeler, you can just call me Mary.”

‘Why was she like a fan girl picking someone up at the airport? Did she know me?’

As she was pondering, the next second, Rosie got her answer.

“Miss Moulton, the ice cream you endorse is really delicious.”

“That…”

“I heard the Saint Margaret’s brand was created by their boss to express his admiration for you.”

“Is that true?”

Rosie, “……”

‘Then why isn’t it called Saint Rosie, or Saint Moulton?’