Chapter 3 – The Man Named Bryant Clifton (Part 8)

As a staunch bachelor, Bryant Clifton always maintained relationships with clear terms. Whether short or long, the women he dated didn’t expect a proposal from him. Of course, whether they truly didn’t expect it was something Bryant couldn’t know, but at least outwardly, they didn’t show it, thanks to his strict demeanor.

Before starting a relationship, Bryant always made it clear that he had no intention of marrying. If, as the relationship progressed, the woman hinted at marriage, he would immediately end it. It would be painful for the woman, but there was nothing he could do. It was a voluntary relationship between mature adults, he had clearly stated his terms, and it was the woman who broke the mutual agreement.

“Miss Evelyn.”

Therefore, the only concern Bryant always had was whether this woman would adhere to the conditions. Would she not entangle them in a difficult situation with illusions of marriage? Would she not waste unnecessary nerves caught up in excessive emotions?

“You are quite pessimistic, aren’t you? Or should I say cynical?”

Evelyn Dale was a woman with a distinct self. Being meticulous and cautious, she would likely avoid getting hurt, and having a strong sense of pride, she wouldn’t do something like clinging to a man. She had a personality that hid her wounds to protect her self-esteem. Bryant knew quite a bit about such a personality.

“You defend your whims very logically. Consistency is a precious virtue.”

The man standing by the window turned around. He walked to the console and opened a drawer. Inside was a rectangular box decorated with wrapping paper and a ribbon. A fountain pen he had bought last month. A thing he had impulsively purchased after spotting her coming out of a store. Looking down at the box in the drawer, Bryant thought again.

Evelyn Dale was a business target. A popular author whose favor and goodwill he needed to win to promote and secure the rights to her next work. Therefore, it was best not to have a personal relationship with her. It was best to avoid anything that had the potential to become complicated.

However, forbidden desires are often more intense. The more you try to rein them in, the more they tend to rampage like a wild horse. For a mature man with reason, of course, it was possible to resist it. It wasn’t much different from moderating alcohol to avoid getting drunk. Resisting desire was purely a matter of will.

But does Bryant have the will to continue resisting?

That, precisely, was the problem.

*

The rain completely stopped around dawn. The townhouse staff started their day earlier than usual. After checking the kitchen and urging the maids, Mrs. Ropers headed to the second floor. She knocked lightly on the large, thick door of the master suite and then opened it right away. There was no response from inside, but it didn’t matter. She walked in without any hesitation.

“Good morning, Mr. Clifton.”

“Mrs. Ropers.”

Her employer, as always, was already standing in front of the mirror. He was dressed in clean clothes, tying the knot of a silk tie. His clean-shaven chin and well-groomed hair. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror, Mrs. Ropers approached him. She gently took the tie from him, untied the half-finished knot, and began to retie it. Bryant asked, entrusting his neck to her touch.

“The guests?”

“They are preparing in their respective rooms. Breakfast is set for 9 o’clock.”

She answered in her characteristic quiet tone, adjusting the length of the silk tie by pulling it to the right.

“This is a tie I haven’t seen before.”

“I bought it recently. It’s a pattern that’s in fashion these days.”

“It looks somewhat frivolous to me.”

“I thought it might make me look a bit younger.”

For a moment, Mrs. Ropers thought she had misheard. After mulling it over, she let out a short laugh in disbelief.

“Do I look old?”

“… Who would say such a thing?”

“A certain woman.”

Bryant answered nonchalantly, turning his face this way and that in the mirror. His lips faintly smiling.

“She said I seemed much older than her.”

“You must be seeing a much younger lady.”

She probed gently, but there was no answer. He just smiled. However, whether she was much younger or slightly younger, the fact that he was seeing a woman was welcome news.

“When will you invite her over?”

“Who?”

“The lady.”

“When I bring her over. Are you planning to report to Mother?”

“If I reported every lady you invited to the house, the Countess would have fainted long ago.”

“A nursemaid is indeed a loyal friend to a mother.”

“A loyal servant to the Young Master, I would say.”

“What are you saying?”

Bryant laughed, looking down at the woman holding his tie. 

An impeccably handsome face. Would he have had a wife if he were a more ordinary man?

Mrs. Ropers sighed audibly, as if for him to hear.

As a wet nurse, she had taken special care of this nobleman since he was a baby. The reason she had followed him when he left the Marquisate for Kingston was because of that. It was admirable that he had graduated from university and established himself with a publishing house, but she was worried that he showed no intention of marrying. If the nursemaid felt this way, how much more anxious must the Countess at the Marquisate be? Her thirty-two-year-old son was living as a bachelor in a foreign land.

“Speaking of which, a telegram came from Elgagrove.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“Why didn’t you inform me then?”

“I thought the wine at dinner might have been excessive, so I judged it better to tell you in the morning.”

Having finished tying the knot, she pulled a small envelope from inside her belt and handed it to him. Bryant opened the envelope and checked its contents on the spot. Mrs. Ropers tried to guess the content of the telegram by watching his expression.

“Is it from the Marquis?”

“It’s from Mother.”

His tone suggested it was obvious. With a strangely amused look, Bryant glanced over the telegram paper and then,

“She insists I must come for my nephew’s birthday next month.”

He muttered as if it were of little consequence and handed the telegram paper and envelope to her. Mrs. Ropers accepted them. It meant she could read them if curious, then dispose of them.

Even though the Countess had sent a telegram to emphasize it, Bryant would not be able to go. A business trip to Issen was scheduled for next month. Her employer often visited there. Most of the time, he returned within ten days, but sometimes, unexpectedly, his schedule extended, and he returned a few days late.

However, he had never left without setting a return date.

“Is the return date still undecided?”

“I don’t know.”

With an ambiguous answer, he turned his back. Mrs. Ropers took the morning coat hanging on the rack and helped him put it on. The coat fit perfectly over his broad shoulders.

“I’ll only know how long it will take once I get there.”

Muttering, Bryant glanced toward the clock. 8:50. If he wanted to be in the breakfast room before the guests arrived, it was time to head down. Mrs. Ropers picked up a bottle of cologne from the shelf and handed it to him, and he walked out of the room with the strong scent of cologne.

Left alone, Mrs. Ropers walked around the spacious master suite. She drew back the curtains covering the windows and secured them, then opened the windows. That’s when she noticed the ashtray on the windowsill. The pewter ashtray was piled high with cigarette butts. Her employer, like most gentlemen, smoked for social occasions but was by no means a habitual smoker.

What on earth did he smoke so much for in one night? 

Mrs. Ropers frowned and tilted her head, then went around the room, opening all the windows wide.