Building a Harem in a Noble House-Chapter 73: Fun Wine Facts with Isobel Greaves

The sun hung low over the endless stretch of the sea, casting that warm, golden light that turned the waves into shimmering ribbons of gold and blue. I trudged along the small beach, my boots sinking into the soft sand with each step. The air was thick with salt and the faint, earthy scent of the vineyard that climbed the hillside behind me. It was one of those moments where the almost otherworldly allure of this place faded into something more... real. Just me, the beach... and the need to shake off the day’s awkwardness. Only Isobel’s family could turn me back into an awkward fucking child...

Up ahead, maybe fifty yards off, I spotted a set of beach chairs facing the water. Isobel was there, legs crossed, her posture relaxed but her gaze distant, lost in the horizon. As I approached, I noticed a small wooden table between the chairs, set with a couple of wine glasses, and a small platter of cubed cheeses and meats arranged neatly on a silver platter. I smiled to myself, appreciating her subtle, elegant beauty despite her apparent bad mood. The timing may have been awful, but hey! She looked good! I approached without a word at first, the sand muffling my steps, and eased into the empty chair opposite her.

"Hey," I started, tone soft.

She nodded at me as her fingers traced the rim of her glass, and, for a long moment, we sat in complete silence. The sea rolled in, wave after wave, each one breaking with a soft roar that drowned out the distant abundance of the estate. I reached for my own glass, taking a tentative sip as Isobel finally broke the silence.

"Like it?"

"I do," I shrugged. "Better than the stuff they serve at the tavern."

"That’s good. You see, everything starts with the soil. The vines here are rooted in a unique volcanic blend: ash from Rushelan volcanoes mixed with clay and limestone. It’s mineral-rich and holds onto nutrients, but drains fast enough to prevent root rot. Grapes thrive on a bit of hardship, you see. Too much water, and the vines get complacent, producing watery fruit without depth. Stress them just right, though, and the berries concentrate their flavors."

I nodded, popping a cube of cheese into my mouth. It was sharp, pairing nicely with the wine’s boldness.

"Take this Cabernet Sauvignon, for instance. They harvested the grapes for it rather late, letting the sugars accumulate, likely while monitoring for overripeness. If they’d picked too early, you’d have gotten astringent notes. Any later, and it may as well have been a jam grape. Cultivation’s meticulous, love. Pruning in the dormant winter months shapes the canopy, ensuring even sunlight exposure. Spring is when you train the shoots along wires, balancing leaf growth to shade the fruit without blocking airflow. And it’s important not to forget about potential fungal growth. A few sprays of sulfur should keep things healthy, though."

She continued as I took another sip of the wine. It was pretty good.

"You also can’t forget about cluster thinning mid-season. That’s when you remove weaker bunches so that the vines can focus energy on the best grapes. It’s labor-intensive, but vitally important. Overcrowded clusters lead to uneven ripening and diluted quality. And the terroir? It’s everything. The sea breeze here moderates temperatures, prevents scorching, but it also brings salt that toughens the skins. I hear they’re even experimenting with rootstocks, which is good. Hybrids resistant to phylloxera would sell for tens of thousands by the cutting! But that means nothing if they aren’t fermented properly."

I leaned back, the chair creaking under me, and speared a piece of meat with a toothpick. It was alright at best. I preferred the cheese. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

"Assuming you are fermenting properly, that moves us to the next part: Aging. Oak barrels are the safest bet. Eshilan Oak is ideal for white wines, and Rushelan Post Oak for anything you want to have more body."

Believe it or not, she wasn’t even close to done. She continued to drone like that, talking in excruciating detail about things like pest management, irrigation control, and even the role of lunar cycles with regards to planting! By the time she circled back to fermentation, I’d finished my glass and was almost done with the meat and cheese plate.

"Isobel, this has been enlightening. Truly. I love hearing you talk about things you’re passionate about. It’s very beautiful, and I’m grateful that you feel so comfortable around me." I paused, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. "But why the hell are you telling me all of this? If your goal was to outdo Savrah’s brief lesson on winemaking, I think you’ve done it.

She stared at her glass, swirling it slowly, the liquid catching the fading light. Her fingers tightened as she smiled at her reflection in the drink, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Because I’ve learned something, Lloyd. I’ve learned how to manipulate this information. If I distill the essences of a collection of grapes and concentrate the alkaloids from the unripe berries, I could make my own toxic brew. If that doesn’t work, though, I could forage the estate’s wild edges for belladonna or something of equal efficacy. Mix it into a cordial, sweeten to mask the bitterness, and done. My own posioned verjuice. One swig, and I’m gone. Lights out, no mess. Free to join my ancestors."

I sighed, holding in a weak laugh despite the "severity" of the situation. I had a feeling, but that little comment confirmed the root of Isobel’s sour mood instantly: that "interrogation" with her mother.

I leaned forward, the table’s edge digging into my arms. "If it makes you feel any better, I found it just as nerve-wracking as you did." I paused. "Also, your mother wanted me to tell you that she was sorry for scaring you off. If you want my opinion, I think she was too excited to have you back and accidentally let things get a bit too out of control."