Chapter 6 – Chester (Part 11)

“…….”

“So indifferent that you don’t even care about the well-being of your only blood relative.”

“My mother is someone who can manage well on her own. I know she’s doing well even without asking.”

“How do you know that?”

Jared was holding back his anger. Even without frowning or twisting his lips, she could tell. The flicker in his calm eyes. The tremor in his low voice.

“How do you understand someone’s situation without even asking?”

So Evelyn knew what he was talking about now.

She didn’t respond. She just looked at the man’s face across the table. Inside her closed lips, countless words stirred. Words that were already too old, yet still not dead.

Words that were too late to bring up now.

“If you intend to blame me for what happened then,”

“How could I possibly dare to do that?”

Jared’s words ended with a laugh. A bitter laugh.

“How could someone as shameless and cowardly as I am dare to blame you?”

Yet, his eyes held clear reproach, and Evelyn had to do her best to pretend not to see it. At this point, blaming and resenting each other would be useless. It would be as futile and dreadful as kissing a decayed corpse.

So Evelyn no longer met his eyes.

“…You shouldn’t have invited me here.”

He should not have invited Evelyn Dale. Whether it was the mansion or the tea room, she should not have been brought anywhere close to him. Evelyn truly believed that.

We are not in a position to sit facing each other like this. We can’t even treat each other with the courtesy reserved for strangers. It would have been best if we had never crossed paths again. That would have been the best for both of us.

“I agree.”

Jared replied in a calm voice. He wavered for a moment but soon regained his composure. That brought Evelyn a strange sense of comfort.

“I’m regretting it as well.”

And with that, the conversation came to a complete halt.

The man and woman sitting across from each other fell silent, each looking in a different direction. The tea had gone completely cold, and the cake and cookies had lost their purpose. Now, all that was left for them was to leave this place. This elegant and sunny tea room, as white as a swan’s nest.

*

If Bryant were to describe the atmosphere at tonight’s dinner table in one word, it would be “discord.”

The two people dining with him rarely showed any harmony, but today it was even more pronounced. From the moment Evelyn entered the dining hall, the Duke slightly hardened his expression. Her polite thanks for the invitation received only a brief reply, which was the entirety of their conversation throughout the nearly hour-long dinner.

Evelyn was just as suspicious. She made no effort to hide her discomfort and her desire to leave as soon as possible. It was evident that she forced herself to eat the main pheasant dish. Bryant could understand that much. People with weak stomachs often can’t eat meat after seeing the animal before it’s plucked. So what put him on edge wasn’t her lack of appetite but her cold demeanor.

Of course, he didn’t like seeing them smile at each other, but their awkward avoidance was even more unsettling. Hatred is tougher than affection, making it harder to sever. The more dangerous thing is that hatred is an emotion rooted in affection. That’s what troubled Bryant. Their mutual rejection and conflict seemed ready to burst something hidden beneath the surface.

If that were to erupt, could he withstand it? Wouldn’t he be swept away too easily? Like a leaf falling into a swift current. Without even a chance to resist, very lightly.

Bryant couldn’t stop thinking about it. That’s why he couldn’t stop closely observing the atmosphere between the two. All his nerves were focused there, to the point of getting a headache, and he couldn’t even sleep properly at night. During the past four days of staying in this residence, he had become accustomed to tossing and turning for a long time before falling asleep at dawn.

That was why he did something he normally would never do.

‘I’m well aware of how dangerous horseback riding can be.’

While provoking each other’s pride in a battle of wills is common among men, knowingly stirring up a competitive spirit was, by his standards, clearly crossing a line. When the horse became unruly, he too felt a chill in his chest. It was fortunate that the Duke handled it well and avoided an accident.

It was one of the most impressive scenes Bryant had seen in recent years. The Duke maintained excellent balance on the rampaging horse. His quick decision to discard the gun and hug the horse’s neck was commendable. He was fundamentally skilled in handling horses and adept at riding. Considering how jittery everyone around him was just seeing him in the saddle, he could easily imagine how stifling it must have been for the Duke.

That’s probably why he wanted to marry quickly and have children.

‘Let’s settle the score next time.’

Bryant knew. Today’s competition was clearly his loss. A complete defeat.

“Thank you for today. I enjoyed it.”

He looked up at the Duke’s words. He was watching the man’s hands pour whiskey into two glasses. Long, pale fingers. The hands that had aimed and shot swiftly and accurately at targets.

“It was quite an adventure. Even after returning, the excitement didn’t subside for a while.”

“I’m glad you avoided an accident despite the danger.”

“The joy of success grows when you take risks.”

The Duke smiled as he replied. They had just entered the smoking room after dinner. They sat across from each other in armchairs with a low table between them. The chairs, covered in buffalo leather, were large.

“I had forgotten for a long time, but Mr. Clifton, you reminded me.”

The Duke said as he set down the bottle. He opened a cigarette case and offered it to his guest. Bryant picked up a light brown cigarette and replied.

“I don’t think I did anything, but I’m glad if I was of help.”

“It was a great help.”

Their eyes met. 

He’s unusually kind today. 

Bryant thought as he gazed steadily into his eyes. The smoking room, illuminated with soft lighting, was lined with red damask fabric. The Duke’s black hair and green eyes seemed more vivid because of it.

The Duke lit a lighter and raised the flame. Bryant leaned forward with the cigarette in his mouth. The man’s fingers were right in front of him. 

Why does she come to mind when I see that?

Bryant knew the reason, of course.

And so, once more, he became displeased.

Thinking of Evelyn every time he saw Jared Glenn was, in itself, humiliating for Bryant. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that he regarded him as a rival. A rival? To him, rivals were subjects of pity and ridicule, not someone to be wary of. Not someone to be constantly reminded of, compared to, and pressured by.

Even a few hours ago, he had sat alone in the drawing room, lost in all sorts of thoughts. Imagining where the woman who hadn’t come down for tea might be, who she might be with, and what she might be doing. In truth, he still couldn’t shake off those thoughts. The lingering traces of imagination born from a sense of defeat.

“Mr. Clifton.”

So when the Duke spoke directly, Bryant wasn’t very surprised.

“I want to become a patron of Miss Evelyn Dale.”

The Duke’s demeanor was extremely businesslike. Both his expression and tone were like that. Yet, Bryant could clearly see it. The image of a man holding a hunting rifle, aiming at a target.

“I’m curious about what you think, Mr. Clifton.”

“May I ask why you’re curious about my thoughts?”

“It seems like you’re effectively acting as her patron.”

The Duke pronounced “patron” very precisely. Bryant smiled as he replied.

“I’m grateful you see it that way, but Miss Dale is not an author who needs patronage. I’m merely a publisher responsible for acquiring her publishing rights.”

“I see. Then I don’t need to consider your position.”

“If she agrees, my position is irrelevant. However, if you truly wish to be a patron, Your Grace, I think it would be better to find talented and diligent authors who haven’t yet found their luck.”

“Thank you for the advice, but I want to be Miss Dale’s patron.”

“Is there any need to sponsor an already successful author?”

“I’m also aware that creation can’t guarantee the next. Financial support would be beneficial in many ways.”

“That’s kind of you, but Your Grace, if you knew how much Miss Dale’s first work’s royalties are, you might retract that statement.”

“It would be her fourth work.”

The conversation, which had been flowing continuously, suddenly stopped. Bryant waited for the other to speak, his mouth closed. It was too late to hide his surprise. A faint smile lingered on the Duke’s lips.

“The Blooming Mansion is Miss Dale’s fourth work.”