Chapter 242: Cardamom and "Meeting the Parents"

The restaurant wasn't large. With only seven or eight tables, the decor was clean and elegant.

A few neoclassical oil paintings hung on the walls under soft lighting.

The waiter clearly recognized Isabella, leading her to a window table tucked in the very back.

"Associate Professor, we've kept your usual spot open for you."

The four of them sat down.

Isabella ordered with practiced ease, not even glancing at the menu.

"The usual three, plus a bowl of today's special soup."

Richard looked around the establishment.

The other diners all looked like refined, educated people.

Two elderly men sat at the next table, discussing something in low voices over a spread-out manuscript.

A table further down, a middle-aged man in glasses ate alone with a book open in front of him.

Rather than a simple restaurant, the place felt more like a gathering spot for scholars to meet and discuss their research.

The food arrived quickly and tasted quite good.

Isabella was obviously a regular. She ate comfortably, the usual icy mask on her face thawing by a few degrees.

"Richard." She set down her knife and fork after a few bites.

"The owner of this restaurant is an old acquaintance of my mentor. He used to bring me here all the time back in the day.

After he passed away, I started coming alone."

Richard listened quietly.

Sophia and Clara also fell silent.

Isabella looked at Richard.

"That empirical text you wrote today, cutting from 'veil attenuation' to the 'return' trigger...

It was highly innovative. Reading it reminded me of something my mentor always used to say."

"What did he say?"

"He said that every generation of scholars should see just a little bit more than the last."

Isabella shook her head.

"It has nothing to do with who is smarter or who isn't. You live in an era where the veil is thinning.

What you see are things that can only be seen in your generation."

Richard recalled the argument that had prompted him to put pen to paper.

His predecessors wrote that "future generations need not worry" because the veil was still thick in their era.

But they hadn't lived to see the day the veil grew thin.

What his aunt was saying aligned perfectly with his own thoughts.

"Aunt."

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

Isabella gave him a look.

That cold face finally relaxed completely, revealing the faintest hint of a smile.

"What's there to thank me for? Eat up, your food is getting cold."

Sophia finally couldn't hold back.

"Mentor, you're talking so much today."

"...Am I?" Isabella looked slightly embarrassed.

"That's because something good happened today," Clara suddenly chimed in.

"What good thing?" Sophia asked.

Clara shot a glance at Richard.

Isabella's hand paused on her fork.

She neither admitted nor denied it, simply lowering her head to take a sip of soup.

...

Upon returning to the Ashford Residence, Richard received an unexpected letter.

It was from Grey.

The letter was brief, inviting Richard for a small weekend get-together at her family's residence in the Imperial Capital.

On Saturday morning, Richard followed the address on the letter to Grey's house.

It was a three-story house with a small front garden and wrought-iron gates. A sedan was parked inside.

Standing at the entrance, he looked it over and felt the residence lacked the imposing grandeur of Ashford House.

The Ashfords were a centuries-old established family, after all. From the porch columns to the family crest adorning the doors, every detail exuded the deep heritage of the old nobility.

Grey's residence in the Imperial Capital looked relatively new, falling short in terms of sheer presence.

A maid answered the door.

"Mr. Williams?"

"That's me."

"The miss is waiting for you in the living room."

The living room was elegantly furnished, equipped entirely with modern appliances.

A very faint scent of spices floated in the air.

Richard breathed in to identify the notes.

Cardamom, along with a hint of cinnamon and clove—all spices imported from the East.

The pastries Grey used to bring him often tasted of cardamom.

He had guessed back then that her family was in the spice trade.

Smelling the aroma filling this room confirmed it.

Grey walked out from the other side of the living room.

She wasn't wearing her school uniform today, having changed into a light-colored dress.

Richard could tell at a glance that something was a bit off about her today.

Her steps dragged as she walked over.

"...You're here."

"Yeah, your place isn't easy to find."

"It is a bit out of the way." The girl shifted her gaze elsewhere.

"My mom says the west side of the city is quiet and good for studying."

The two stood in the living room, momentarily lost for words.

It was never like this at school.

Back at Greenwood, Grey had always spoken her mind to him without an ounce of shyness.

But today, in her own home, she seemed like a completely different person.

She stood there, twisting her skirt with her fingers, unsure of what to say for a long moment.

"Um..." Grey finally spoke again. "Have a seat first, I'll go pour some tea."

"Don't trouble yourself, the maid earlier..."

"I'll pour it myself."

Grey turned and fled toward the pantry as if making an escape.

Richard sat on the sofa, shaking his head as he watched her flustered retreat.

The usually calm old-money heiress was in a rare state of panic.

Before Grey could return with the tea, footsteps sounded from the other side of the living room.

A middle-aged noblewoman walked in.

Richard immediately stood up.

The woman wore proper, elegant loungewear, her hair combed meticulously, radiating a graceful and dignified air.

Richard guessed her identity.

"You must be Richard." The woman smiled at him.

"Hello, Madam. I am Richard Williams."

"Please sit, don't be so formal."

The woman sat opposite him.

"Grey mentioned you often when she was in Briston."

"...Did she?" Richard was slightly surprised.

"She did." Her eyes swept over Richard, sizing him up.

"She said your Latin is excellent, that you took second place in the Cicero Cup, and that an article you wrote made the front page of the Northern Literary Review."

"You flatter me, Madam."

At that moment, Grey returned with the tea.

Seeing her mother sitting there, she stopped in her tracks.

"Mom, why are you..."

"I'm just here to see your little guest."

The woman took the tea from Grey's hands and passed a cup to Richard.

"Grey, go to the kitchen and check on how the pastries are baking."

"But..."

"Go on."

Grey looked at Richard, then at her mother, and finally headed to the kitchen.

Only Richard and Grey's mother remained in the living room.

Richard felt an inexplicable wave of apprehension—why did this feel so much like 'meeting the parents'?

Sure enough, as soon as Grey left, the woman opened up the conversation.

"Richard, I hear your mother was a daughter of the Ashford family?"

Here it comes.

"Yes, my mother, Margaret, was indeed born into the Ashford family."

"Ashford..." The woman paused, her teacup halfway to her lips.

"Was her father Lord Gerard, or is she from a branch family?"

"Lord Gerard is my maternal grandfather."

Richard could see it clearly.

The weight the name 'Ashford' held in the woman's mind was heavier than second place in the Cicero Cup and the headlining article in the Northern Literary Review combined.

Even if Ashford House was a "fading beacon," a starving camel was still bigger than a horse.

A family with a Major Adept at the helm remained a resounding name in the Imperial Capital's high society.

"Then the one teaching at Imperial University is your aunt?"

Her tone grew a few degrees warmer.

"Yes, she's an associate professor in the Department of Classics."

Richard could hear it—she was checking off his value, item by item.

Family background, blood relations, personal achievements, academic prospects. With every box checked, the satisfaction on the woman's face grew.

"Richard, do you plan to pursue an academic career in the future?"

"Yes, I want to test into the Department of Classics at Imperial University."

"Scholarly pursuits are good. Stable, respectable." She took a sip of tea, then shifted the conversation.

"Our family is in business."

"The spice business, I assume." Richard met her gaze. "I smelled cardamom the moment I walked in."

The woman smiled.

"You have a sharp nose. Importing spices from the Eastern Continent is a long journey.

The seas are rough, and there are many bandits and pirates. Bringing the cargo back safely requires more than just ships and men."

Richard picked up on the underlying meaning in her words.

"Madam, do you mean..."

"Reaching our current scale in this business has taken generations of effort, as well as connections that ordinary people can't provide."

The woman looked at him.

Richard understood.

Combined with some of Grey's previous hints, it seemed her family really did have roots in the mystical side.

"It seems you understand." The woman smiled.

"...I have a general idea." Richard nodded.

At that moment, Grey returned from the kitchen holding a Tin Box.

Seeing her mother still sitting there, her face instantly flushed red.

"Mom! Why are you still talking to Richard..."

"We're done talking." The woman stood up and nodded to Richard.

"Richard, I enjoyed our chat today. You are welcome to visit... often."

She deliberately emphasized the word "often" before gracefully taking her leave.

Only Richard and Grey were left in the living room.

Grey stood there, keeping her head down, too embarrassed to look at him.

"My mom... she didn't give you a hard time, did she?"

"No, your mother was very polite."

"She must have asked a bunch of random nonsense. Don't take it to heart."

"...It was fine."

Grey opened the Tin Box.

Inside was a row of freshly baked scones, still radiating heat.

The aroma of butter and fine sugar wafted out, mingled with a hint of cardamom.

"Last time, I said it was the last time in Briston. Now, it's the first time in the Imperial Capital."

"Want to try one?"

Richard picked one up and took a bite.

The buttery aroma melted in his mouth, the slight spice of the cardamom hiding perfectly beneath the sweetness.

"...It's delicious."

Grey's face finally returned to its usual smile.

"That's good. Looks like I've improved since Briston."

"Have you?"

"Yeah. I changed the recipe. The butter was specially shipped in from the countryside."

The two chatted for a while over the scones.

They talked about old classmates from Greenwood, the girls' school in the Imperial Capital, and their respective future plans.

As they chatted, Grey gradually relaxed.

When it was time to say goodbye, she shoved the box into Richard's hands.

"Take these back. If you can't finish them by yourself, share them with your aunt and the others."

"Thank you."

Their interaction fell back into its usual rhythm.

Reaching the door, Grey suddenly stopped.

"Richard, you have to do well on your exams. Once you get in, we'll still be able to see each other often in the Imperial Capital."

As she spoke, the girl shifted her gaze away.

"Yeah, I'll get in."

"Then... see you next time."

"See you next time."