Briny's reply was so quiet that Jenkins was sure no one but him could have caught it, not even soone standing directly behind her.
"Ah, I see... So it's you."
The author himself hardly knew how to describe his feelings at that mont:
"Then... who is Hathaway's partner?"
Hearing this, the golden-haired girl looked up again, her expression difficult to decipher:
"Hathaway's partner, of course... is you."
"Ah... so that's how it is..."
Jenkins was truly at a loss for words. His partner was Briny, yet Hathaway's partner was... him. He never knew such an arrangent was even possible.
"So, your partner is Hathaway?"
Jenkins asked again.
"Yes, that's exactly it."
The golden-haired girl gave a slight nod and suddenly leaned forward, as if to get closer to Jenkins, but was pulled back by Hathaway, who had appeared from behind her at so unknown mont:
"Steady yourself, Briny. If you aren't stable, both you and Jenkins could get hurt."
The girl warned.
Once Briny and Hathaway had collected their jewelry, they sent Jenkins back into the shop to handle his own affairs. He was still undecided on a design for his piece, and the old artisan imdiately suggested he consult his friends for their opinions.
"You're absolutely right!"
Realization dawned on Jenkins.
"Of course. I've seen this sort of thing plenty of tis."
The old artisan nodded, running a hand over Jenkins's uncut stone before asking again:
"Are you certain you want to ask for two people's opinions before you decide?"
He stressed the words "two people"—a well-intentioned warning for Jenkins, which he unfortunately failed to notice.
"Of course. The more opinions, the better. That will help make the best decision."
Jenkins stated this with conviction, prompting a rather strange look from the old artisan.
Even with an introduction from Papa Oliver, the jeweler couldn't speed up the process of working the raw stone. But Torian promised to have the work finished within two weeks and gave Jenkins a slip stamped with his seal to serve as a receipt.
It was nearly eleven when they left the shop, and the two young won invited Jenkins to join them for lunch. As it happened, he had no other plans, so he readily accepted.
During lunch, Briny ntioned a rumor she'd heard from her father: the royal family was considering elevating Jenkins to the rank of viscount in recognition of his imnse contribution to the kingdom during the Fabry Fraud.
"Oh, I've heard."
Jenkins's reaction was remarkably nonchalant. While he hadn't received any official word from the Church, Miss Stuart had already told him about it a week prior.
They dined at a rather upscale restaurant, a fact made clear by the prices on the nu. Comndably, the establishnt even provided special seats for guests' pets: small baskets set on tall wooden legs, lined with cozy blankets, and surrounded by a miniature wooden railing to keep the animals from leaping onto the dining table.
Jenkins was quite taken with the invention and decided he would get one for his own kitchen. That way, Chocolate would no longer have to eat on the dinner table.
Snap!
Just as the three of them were in the middle of a pleasant conversation, a strange noise erupted from beneath Chocolate. The special pet seat suddenly collapsed from the bottom up. Had the cat not leaped nimbly onto the table, it would have surely taken a nasty fall.
The commotion quickly drew the attention of the restaurant manager. He blad the incident on a structural defect in the chair, bowed apologetically to the trio, and insisted their al would be complintary.
By the ti they had relocated to a corner table, Jenkins had completely abandoned the idea of buying such a device. Chocolate, anwhile, was once again permitted to dine curled up beside Jenkins's arm.
It had been nearly a month since the release of Jenkins's second book, and the conversation sohow drifted to the topic.
Briny's enthusiasm for the book was as fervent as ever. Once the subject was broached, she dominated the conversation. It was obvious she had read "The Tale of Ice and Snow" multiple tis; her analysis of its details was sharper even than that of Jenkins, the author—or, rather, the half-author.
"I suppose it's been a success. The postman on the St. George Avenue route recently complained to about the sheer volu of mail he has to deliver to my address each day."
"And are you still tossing all that fan mail straight into the fireplace?"
Hathaway inquired softly.
"Pretty much. I glance at each one, but the volu is just overwhelming."
At this, Jenkins couldn't help but press a hand to his forehead:
"I simply don't have the ti to manage it all, let alone write back to every single person."
Chocolate disliked the letters as well. Soone was always spritzing the envelopes with strange perfus, and the cat's sensitive nose found the scents repulsive.
In fact, the only perfu Chocolate seed to tolerate was the one Jenkins had created himself. Unfortunately, after his investnt in the mining business, the author considered himself wealthy enough. He was a man of simple needs, and so his plans to manufacture the perfu had been shelved indefinitely.
He knew what he wanted from life and had no desire to excessively chase worldly wealth. While money could certainly help with his self-improvent, it was all too easy to lose sight of one's true goals.
"I've heard that so people even send handkerchiefs or... other articles of clothing with their letters."
Briny asked, her interest piqued.
"Yes, they do."
The topic clearly irritated Jenkins. He was a man who valued cleanliness, and he couldn't help but imagine that a lady's personal garnts might not be entirely pristine. He was even wary of burning them in the fireplace for fear of fouling the air in his ho.
It wasn't that he failed to grasp the implication of such gifts. But in this backward and less-than-sanitary age, who knew what strange diseases their owners might carry? The very thought made him feel sick, and suddenly even the white salad dressing on his plate looked nauseating.
Sensing his master's distress, the cat extended a paw, attempting to pilfer the small steak from Jenkins's plate. But Jenkins's hand was quicker, and he gently pinned the paw in place.
"Why don't you hire a secretary? I an, if you're not willing to have a valet or a butler, a secretary seems like a reasonable compromise. With your current social standing and personal wealth, you really ought to present yourself as a mber of the upper-middle class."
This was Briny's opinion, and while it sounded perfectly reasonable, Jenkins would never allow a stranger into his life. He would guard his secrets jealously, and anyone who might pry into them would be... eliminated.
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