Chapter 6 – Chester (Part 3)

Could he have noticed? 

Evelyn thought as she tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed.

But could he really have? It was just a common preference, wasn’t it? That serenade was such a famous piece, and yellow roses were flowers found everywhere, weren’t they? 

To link Evelyn and the Duke of Windberg with just those few coincidences seems like an excessive leap.

No matter how much she thought about it, it seemed like an unreasonable assumption. Bryant was intuitive, but he was also rational and systematic. So Evelyn had to shake her head in the end. There was no way he could have discovered their past.

Unless the Duke himself had told him.

But why would Jared do such a thing? It’s a story that doesn’t benefit his honor at all. Evelyn couldn’t imagine Jared telling that story to someone he wasn’t even close to, especially to a relative of the Empress.

Jared. As she thought of him, she sighed again.

“Haa…”

She was almost certain that he was wary of Bryant. Evelyn knew quite a bit about the man named Jared Glenn. He had a habit of being more polite to those he didn’t like. He believed that the best way to hide hostility was through courtesy and smiles.

But why?

Evelyn had never considered the possibility that he might still be single. She had assumed there was naturally a wife and children in Windberg. Therefore, the worst scenario she could imagine was that he would use their past as leverage to seduce or blackmail her into becoming his mistress.

But upon arriving here, she thought it might not be the case. And that thought made Evelyn even more anxious. 

Could he really be single? 

Now that she thought about it, there had been no mention of a Duchess. She could easily find out by asking the staff, but she was reluctant. She feared that if she asked such a thing, it might reach Jared’s ears.

Evelyn was afraid. Afraid that he might want something else. More than the possibility of being humiliated using their past, she feared the realization of that scenario.

Before coming to Chester, she had resolved herself firmly. She had reassured herself not to be afraid. She had decided that whatever his intentions, she wouldn’t get caught up in them, and she would return whatever she received. If he humiliated her, she would humiliate him back. If he criticized her, she would return even harsher criticism. But if what he wanted wasn’t humiliation or criticism, how should she respond?

What if he wanted something she couldn’t return?

“That doesn’t make sense…”

Evelyn muttered while curled up in bed. Then she bitterly mocked herself. 

How could that be? Could that man have been waiting for me, remaining single all this time? 

You’re still dreaming, Evelyn Dale. What a truly foolish woman you are.

The Duke must have other motives. There must be some intention behind creating this entire situation. Some circumstance that her imagination couldn’t reach, that she couldn’t even sense now.

Evelyn, who had been going around in circles, eventually returned to the starting point. She reflected on Bryant’s words, actions, and expressions. 

Could he have possibly noticed? Please, anything but that.

‘They’re your favorite flowers.’

What could he be thinking now? Was he already lying comfortably in bed, asleep? 

Hopefully, he was. Hopefully, he was not suspecting anything, not wary, and could fully enjoy the Duke’s hospitality and the interesting journey before returning home.

Please let it be so.

Evelyn earnestly hoped while curled up in her insomnia.

*

The two departed for the Artist Village the next morning. As the Duke had announced, the attendant Willis drove the car. The stern man seemed to have glued his lips shut today as well, but Bryant didn’t mind. Even if the other side had approached with friendly conversation, it wouldn’t have been welcome. The Duke’s eyes and ears should gain nothing today.

Thus, silence prevailed in the car. Bryant read a manuscript of a novel under consideration for publication, and Evelyn read a poetry book. The thin, lightweight poetry book was a new release from the publishing house, a gift from him. Beatrice Saltwell was the most popular female poet in the Kingdom of Ritten, and when asked for her impression, Evelyn described it as “a gentle blade.” It was a compliment that pleased him.

The Artist Village was about 30 minutes away from the manor. Compared to the city center, it was certainly quieter, but it wasn’t entirely underdeveloped. There was a small town center with shops, and carriages were frequently seen on the streets. However, it was indeed a small town for encountering cutting-edge culture, so every person’s gaze focused on the car as it passed by.

After passing the town center and driving a bit further, a rather pastoral landscape unfolded. A place where low mountain ranges and green meadows intersected. The Artist Village was located there.

“Welcome, Mr. Clifton. Miss Dale. I am Josh Bering, the manager here.”

The manager was a middle-aged man who appeared somewhat timid. Perhaps nervous about welcoming important guests, he was tightly clutching a handkerchief in one hand. He glanced at the car in front of him and the eagle emblem engraved on it with an admiring look, then said,

“His Grace the Duke has informed us in advance. You’re from the publishing house, correct?”

“Yes.”

With that brief answer, the manager cautiously observed. It seemed he hadn’t received a full explanation about the two guests. However, Bryant didn’t hand over a business card or introduce himself.

“Yes, very well. Guests from the publishing house are always welcome. Shall we proceed inside? It would be better to walk from here to have a look around.”

“Let’s do that.”

He nodded lightly and looked at Evelyn as if seeking agreement. After exchanging glances and smiles, he turned to Willis. The Duke’s attendant was standing closely behind the lady.

“Wait here. There’s no need to accompany us.”

“His Grace instructed me to attend without any gaps.”

“It seems you’ve already brought us here without any gaps. It won’t take long.”

“But—”

“Mr. Bering.”

Bryant lightly interrupted the other man’s words and looked at the manager.

“How long will the prepared schedule take?”

“Ah, that depends on how long you wish to stay, but overall, it shouldn’t take more than an hour to look around.”

“Then we’ll see you in an hour.”

He turned back to meet the attendant’s eyes. The Duke’s eyes and ears looked a bit troubled. The black hair and pale forehead, features common among northerners, were somewhat displeasing. Perhaps that was why his tone had been somewhat commanding.

“Wait here.”

Bryant continued to stare at the man even after speaking. Until Willis, with a stern face, hesitated and then lowered his gaze, signaling submission. Only then did he offer his arm to Evelyn.

“Shall we go?”

He looked at the woman gazing up at him and gave her the same gentle smile as always.

The Artist Village was separated from the outside by a sturdy brick wall. On a plot about three or four times the size of the estate, buildings in the style of townhouses were erected, and several large facilities were visible. The manager pointed to them, explaining that they were the cafeteria, the management office, and the auditorium.

“The Artist Village was established four years ago by the former Duke. Although there was an unfortunate accident just as the development project was starting, fortunately, His Grace continued his brother’s will. He built these excellent facilities and provides ample support every year.”

Manager Bering seemed to be quite passionate about the project he was involved in. Once the initial tension eased and the guests showed an attentive attitude, he began to proudly talk about various things, even mentioning plans to expand support to painters and musicians soon, not just writers.

He then pointed to a bronze statue that had appeared in front of them.

“This is Lord Herald, the founder.”

The three of them stopped in front of the bust of the man placed on a pedestal. It was located in the middle of the intersection, drawing attention, but the statue itself was not very large. Bryant, facing the face of a man of his own age, lowered his gaze. A rectangular bronze plaque was engraved with the name and birth and death years.

Herald El Windberg (1855-1885)

He was a handsome man. Despite the solemn expression befitting a noble statue, he was handsome. The shape of his angular jaw and eyes resembled those of his younger brother. 

Did this man also have black hair and green eyes? If so, they would have looked remarkably similar.

While looking at the statue with such thoughts, Bryant turned his gaze to the woman beside him. Evelyn was silently gazing at the face of the former Duke. Her lips were closed calmly, with no expression. Yet Bryant felt as if he knew what she was thinking, so he diverted the group’s attention by pointing to the auditorium building in the distance.

“Does that lead into the forest?”

“Ah, yes, it does. There’s a stream and a path leading to the mountains, so the scenery is nice. Many writers use it as a walking trail.”

“That sounds wonderful. What do you think, Miss Dale?”

“It sounds nice. I’m curious too.

“Let’s go after the tour is over. I can’t even remember the last time I strolled through a forest.”

“Same here. That’s a good idea, Mr. Clifton.”

The woman spoke with a smile directed at him. Bryant nodded with a satisfied expression, then looked at the manager as if urging him to the next destination.