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Not only Count Domenico was surprised.
Eileen too was extremely amazed.
She was so taken aback that she stared at him with slightly parted mouth, and Count Domenico in response dazedly scanned her and Michele.
Michele twisted her face so that the freckles on the bridge of the nose comically wrinkled, and murmured: "Finally we and the mistress remained alone, and here's this."
Her face expressed clear displeasure because their privacy had been interrupted.
However, following the rules of decency, she indifferently glanced at Count Domenico and asked: "We are here on business.
And what did your grace forget here?"
"I... there is an apothecary here... came to take medicine..." the count faltered, but then his eyes suddenly widened as if he’d realized something.
"Can it be that your grace, the Duchess, also came to the apothecary?"
Eileen all this time couldn't utter a word.
More precisely, she simply had nothing to say.
For the apothecary the count was looking for was she herself.
Count Domenico had already several times visited her laboratory to buy medicines.
Usually, when noble guests came, instead of her the owner of the inn talked with them.
Eileen tried to avoid such meetings.
An old inn turned into a squalid pharmacy, a young apothecary with a doubtful past.
Ideal conditions for humiliations, and such happened not infrequently.
If not for the help of the inn owner who rented her a room, she would unlikely have managed to preserve the laboratory.
Most proud aristocrats sent servants for medicines.
But in such cases it was difficult to accurately determine symptoms, therefore she often refused.
And nine out of ten simply gave up.
Only rare stubborn ones personally came to this old inn, but then they were terribly angry from the fact that they had to visit such a squalid place.
And if they only sarcastically doubted the effectiveness of her medicines, that was at least something.
More often they behaved arrogantly, gave orders and even threatened that if the medicine didn't work, she wouldn't fare well.
And when it helped, instead of gratitude they began to demand even more.
Therefore Eileen usually refused most noble guests, saying that she had no suitable medicines for them.
But Count Domenico was different.
At that time he didn't reveal his status, but by expensive clothes and exquisite manners she immediately understood he was an aristocrat.
Despite a slightly nervous look, the count behaved very politely.
From the very first visit he addressed her with great respect.
He excellently knew the patient's condition and could in detail and accurately describe symptoms, name the illness.
He even showed her medicines he already took.
This greatly facilitated her task.
"These are the medicines she drinks.
Lately they haven't been helping, it seems she's only got worse.
Therefore I came to you." In his gaze an open request was read—to examine and try to do something similar.
"My wife has already for several years been fighting the illness."
As with many aristocrats, their marriage was a matter of calculation.
But, as the count told, with time they became imbued with each other, and this grew into a fiery love.
His face expressed both happiness and sadness.
Eileen did all possible for him.
She prepared an anti-inflammatory remedy based on juniper with the addition of a strong painkiller.
"My medicine won't be able to cure her, but, I hope, it will at least slightly ease her sufferings..." Having checked the preparations she already took, she understood they were closer to narcotic analgesics.
Apparently, the illness was progressing, and one or two tablets were no longer enough.
If the patient took such doses, her life had already long been hanging by a thread.
The count must have understood this, therefore he was happy that her condition had at least slightly improved.
He promised to come once a month, but, apparently, was very confused when, having arrived at the inn, he found no one.
*‘What to do?’* He came earlier than the appointed term, and now everything came out so.
She didn't know if it was possible to reveal that it was she who was that apothecary.
If it became known that the Grand Duchess traded medicines in a squalid inn, she might be mocked.
Eileen squeezed her lips and looked at Michele.
She stood with crossed arms and from above scanned Count Domenico.
*‘By the way, Count Domenico is the new chairman of the Senate, is it not so?’* This morning she’d read about him in the newspaper.
As a neutral figure, he should have acted as mediator between the imperial family and the aristocracy.
*‘If he learns my secret, it could become a problem...’*
While Eileen hesitated, Count Domenico anxiously asked: "You don't know where the apothecary who worked here went?"
Michele indifferently answered: "No notion."
"A-ah..." Count Domenico's face instantly darkened.
His pupils trembled.
Having seen his gaze full of despair, she acted instinctively.
Eileen, until then half-hidden behind Michele, took a step forward and said: "It's me, your grace."
"What?" He didn't recognize her by voice, therefore she covered half of her face with her palm.
Then the count widely opened his eyes and pointed at her.
"E-e-e-e?.."
He forgot about decencies and poked a finger at her until Michele slapped his hand.
A clap rang out, and the count's hand lowered.
Eileen was still covering her face, only slightly having spread her fingers to glance at him.
The count still looked stunned, but, fortunately, didn't seem offended or irritated.
Relievedly having lowered her hand, she slightly bent her knees, intending to bow, but Michele immediately stopped her.
Coldly having stared at Count Domenico, she smirked and turned to Eileen.
"Mistress, you shouldn't just bow like that."
"Oh, forgive me." Having realized that now she was a Duchess, Eileen embarrassedly apologized.
Then Michele immediately sank to the level of her eyes and softly calmed her: "What are you saying?
You have nothing to apologize for.
You anyway today don't feel quite well.
Maybe just drive him away?"
"Wait!" Not having given Eileen an answer, Count Domenico clutched her.
He immediately took off his hat and bowed to her.
"I beg forgiveness for my tactlessness."
While she was meditating of what his tactlessness consisted, Count Domenico glanced at her with mixed feelings.
Eileen, following his reaction, cautiously spoke: "I have no medicines.
After all we agreed on another date, I haven't prepared anything yet...
Have you already run out?"
"No-no.
I turned out in these parts on business and wanted to stop in to express gratitude and bring a gift." In Count Domenico's hand was a paper bag from a famous capital bakery.
He murmured embarrassedly: "Your grace... you saved me...
Even now you help me out.
Although you could just hide your past."
He suddenly lowered his head.
It looks like he was overwhelmed by complex meditations.
Eileen didn't understand his hints and helplessly shifted her gaze between him and Michele.
The latter sharply snatched the bag with pastries from the count.
"Mistress, maybe we’ll eat this at home?" She immediately untied the bag as if it were the main thing.
The count, deprived of the treat, for some time more simply stood, having lowered his head.
Finally he raised his gaze.
His eyes burned with resolution.
Count Domenico smirked, as if having exhaled something important.
"Must become a dog."
Eileen didn't believe her ears and asked again: "A dog?.."
"Yes.
I think being the dog of her grace—is not so bad.
Perhaps, it will even be fun."
Eileen, who definitely hadn't suggested Count Domenico "become a dog," was in full confusion.
She questioningly looked at Michele, but she only shrugged without a shadow of emotion.
Maybe it's a new fashion in the capital?
While she was pondering, in the distance a black army car appeared.
It smoothly stopped at the inn, and from it a man in uniform came out.
Cesare, having stretched long legs, stepped on the ground, noticed Count Domenico and raised a brow.
Having understood the situation, he smirked and glanced at Eileen.
He hugged her and asked: "Waited for the husband?"