The Gwendolyn Family Lunch

Eleanor clung to Alger's arm, his steady presence guiding her through the ornate hallways of the Gwendolyn estate. The rhythm of their steps echoed softly off the polished marble floors, a quiet prelude to the scene waiting beyond the grand dining room doors.

The butler, standing with impeccable posture, announced their arrival with a voice that reverberated through the gilded corridors.

"Second Young Master Alger and Lady Eleanor have arrived."

The double doors swung open, revealing the grand dining hall bathed in soft afternoon light.

Inside the grand dining hall stood a sturdy, luxuriously carved dining table, perfectly sized—neither too big nor too small. It was adorned with an array of elegantly presented dishes, their steam still rising and filling the air with delightful aromas. Surrounding the table were five classic-style dining chairs, each equipped with soft mini-red cushions that added comfort and charm to the setting.

At the head of the table sat the Marquess, a glass of wine gently held in his hand. Beside him, the Marchioness sat gracefully, her demeanor sweet and expectant, as if awaiting someone's arrival. Both of their gazes instinctively shifted toward the entrance of the dining room.

The Marchioness's eyes immediately found them. Her composed expression faltered for a heartbeat, revealing a mix of worry and relief. But as her gaze lingered on Eleanor's hand wrapped around Alger's arm, a radiant smile bloomed across her face.

"My dears!" the Marchioness exclaimed, rising slightly from her chair. "Come, sit. You mustn't strain yourself, ginger."

Eleanor offered a small smile, her lips curving just enough to show appreciation, while her eyes flicked to the head maid near the kitchen entrance. The middle-aged woman was whispering to a kitchen servant, her eyes sharp and assessing as they darted toward Eleanor.

Of course, Eleanor thought dryly. She must've told Mother everything.

She now understood why her mother had initially seemed worried. The head maid had already reported the awkward silence between Eleanor and Alger in her chamber earlier, especially when Alger had suspiciously ordered everyone out without exception as if he intended to bully his weak, injured little sister.

Who would have thought that Alger actually cared quite a bit about his sister, despite his indifferent demeanor?

Were Alger and Eleanor really not close? Eleanor wondered to herself.

She stole a glance at Alger, who still stood beside her, his sharp blue eyes observing her every move without missing a beat.

Was the Marchioness worried that her second son might do something to her little daughter?

Alger remained silent, his arm steady beneath Eleanor's grip. As they approached the table, he smoothly pulled out a chair for her without so much as a word.

His movements were precise, practiced—yet there was an undeniable gentleness in the way he helped her sit.

Eleanor sat carefully, feigning the stiffness of someone still recovering from a head injury. She murmured a soft "thank you" and he simply nodded, his indifferent facade unwavering.

The Marchioness's gaze flicked to her daughter, then to Alger. "How thoughtful of you, Alger," she said warmly. "It's good to see you looking after your sister."

Alger shrugged, finally speaking in his usual flat tone. "She'd trip over her own feet if I didn't."

Eleanor shot him a sideways glare. She fought the urge to let her frown deepen at Alger's response.

I take back what I said about him being kind! He's actually quite a cruel older brother!

"I'm injured, not clumsy," she muttered under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

"...!"

Eleanor's annoyance at Alger's indifferent behavior instantly faded as the mouthwatering aroma of freshly grilled steak wafted from the plate set before her.

Whoaa...!

Her face lit up with genuine delight. It had been far too long since she'd last seen a proper meat dish. Ever since waking up in this world as Eleanor Gwendolyn, she'd been stuck eating bland, flavorless meals fit for a sick person—none of which had been remotely satisfying.

Finally! Eleanor felt so happy.

Goodbye, mushy, tasteless, unpleasant porridge—I'm never eating you again!

The Marchioness, ever the attentive mother, wasted no time. She rose slightly from her chair, her elegant fingers reaching out to the plate of steak that had been set before Eleanor.

"You're still recovering, my ginger. You must eat something light."

"...?!"

Before Eleanor could so much as lift her fork, the plate was whisked away and replaced with a bowl of steaming soup and another bland-looking porridge.

"..."

Eleanor's face fell.

The disappointment was impossible to mask. Her lips, usually pressed in a polite line, pouted slightly as she stared down at the bland, pale meal. The rich aroma of the steak still lingered in the air, tantalizingly out of reach.

The Marchioness, noticing her daughter's expression, let out a soft laugh—a warm, melodic sound that filled the grand dining room.

Several servants stationed discreetly in the corners of the dining room, giving the family privacy during their long-awaited meal together, glanced curiously toward the source of the Marchioness's sudden, warm laughter. It had been a long time since any of them—especially the head maid—had seen the Marchioness laugh so freely.

She patted the Marquess on the shoulder, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Look at her, dear," she whispered, though her voice carried easily in the otherwise silent dining room.

"Our ginger has become quite expressive lately."

"Ahem. That pout suits you less than I expected, little ginger." Alger chimed in.

The Marquess chuckled, his stern face softening as he followed his wife's gaze.

Without a word, he reached for the steak, cutting it into tiny, delicate pieces that looked more suited for a toddler than a young lady of noble birth.

He placed the plate between Eleanor's soup and porridge, his eyes filled with the same overprotective affection that had both comforted and exasperated Eleanor since her accident.

"There," he said with a faint smile. "Just be careful."

Eleanor fought the urge to roll her eyes.

It's my head that's injured, not my teeth, she thought, but instead, she sighed quietly and picked up her fork.

The first bite of the tender, perfectly seasoned steak melted in her mouth, and despite herself, a small, satisfied smile crept onto her lips.

Alright, maybe being babied has its perks.

Eleanor gulped, pretending to focus on her food.

The warmth in their voices, the casual teasing—it felt… nice. Familiar in a way that tugged at something deep inside her.

Gathering with family and sharing a meal like this reminded her of the times she spent with her younger brother in her original world. Dinner had been the only opportunity for them to talk, as her days were consumed by long hours of work.

She glanced at Alger, who was watching her carefully, his expression unreadable.

"..."

After noticing the way his eyes frequently flicked toward her, filled with a mix of care and concern, Eleanor finally concluded—silently and with certainty—that Alger Gwendolyn, the second older brother of the body she now inhabited, was not an unexpected variable who would become hostile or interfere with her plans.

Aside from his slightly overprotective tendencies, she was confident that Alger was an ally, someone who would prove helpful to her in the future.

As the meal continued, the dining hall settled into a comfortable quiet, the only sounds were the clinking of silverware, the occasional sound of water being poured into crystal glasses, and the soft rustle of servants moving in the background.

Eleanor's gaze drifted across the table, observing her family.

The Marquess and Marchioness ate with the composed grace expected of high nobility, while Alger, ever the stoic, chewed methodically, his sharp eyes occasionally flicking toward Eleanor as if to ensure she wasn't overexerting herself.

Her eyes landed on the empty chair at the head of the table, positioned beside the Marquess. The chair belonged to Eiser Gwendolyn, the family's eldest son.

Her jaw tightened.

Eiser.

Just thinking his name sent a ripple of irritation through her.

The future Marquess. The Crown Prince's close friend.

She recalled the young boy with fiery red hair and crimson eyes—a perfect reflection of the Marquess Gwendolyn in his youth, as depicted in the grand family portrait that adorned the opulent hallway of the Gwendolyn estate.

She stabbed at a piece of steak with perhaps more force than necessary. Alger, ever observant, reached over with infuriating calm and redirected her fork to the porridge instead.

"Don't stab your food like it's your enemy," he murmured, his tone flat but his intent clear.

Eleanor huffed, glaring at him. "Maybe it is."

Alger raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You'll choke if you keep eating like that."

The Marchioness, catching their exchange, smiled warmly. "It's been a while since we've all eaten together like this. Alger, be gentle with your sister."

"I am gentle," Alger replied, his voice as indifferent as ever, but his eyes softened slightly when they met Eleanor's.

Eleanor sighed, finally conceding to his silent care. She chewed her food more slowly, her earlier irritation fading. The warmth of the room, the quiet presence of her family—it grounded her, even if just for a moment.

But her thoughts were far from settled.

Right, she mused.

I shouldn't be worrying about Alger. He's just the overprotective, grumpy older brother type. What I should be worried about is Eiser Gwendolyn.

Her eyes flicked once more to the empty chair, her mind already spiraling into the complications his return would bring.

As if reading her thoughts, the Marquess spoke, his voice breaking the calm.

"Eiser sent word from the neighboring kingdom," he said, setting down his fork. "He and the Crown Prince will return later than expected."

Eleanor's heart skipped a beat. She forced a neutral expression, but inside, her mind raced.