Chapter 11

The gambling den tucked away at the end of a dingy alley was thick with grayish cigar smoke. Norman Cailon, a regular, stared at the disastrous hand of cards dealt to him and squeezed his eyes shut.

The chips that had once piled up in front of him were gone; he’d done nothing but hand them over, like some philanthropic benefactor.

Scowling, Norman shoved his last chip into the pot, stomped out of the card room, and collapsed onto a sofa. Snatching the glass from Baron Dave Wors, who sat opposite him, he knocked back the harsh liquor in a single gulp.

“From the look on your face, you lost quite a bit, Norman.”

“Just wait. I’ll win back more than I dropped.”

“Keep grabbing at losses like that and the Cailon line will drown in debt. What then?”

“Then I’ll fill the ‘Lady Cailon’ seat—marry a girl with a hefty dowry and pay it all off, won’t I?”

“Think any woman wants to wed a gambling addict?”

Gambling was the least of it. Norman spent his days drenched in drink and cigars, summoning prostitutes to the manor at all hours. He made no effort to hide his dissipation, so rumors of his behavior had spread quickly through society. People were already saying the Cailon house was doomed now that Norman had become its head.

Dave bit back the lecture on his tongue, shaking his head as he returned to the newspaper in his hands.

Spotting a familiar surname, Dave looked up as though remembering something.

“By the way, Norman—there’s a Cailon making waves in society right now, isn’t there?”

“In our house?”

Norman blinked, clearly hearing this for the first time.

“It says Cailon right here. Well, I suppose a fellow like you never keeps up with the social pages.”

Dave handed the sheet over; Norman snatched it and scanned the lines.

“Rosalie Cailon…?”

He mouthed the strange name a few times, rummaging through his memory—then recalled her soon enough: the child who’d survived when distant relatives died and left him the title. The very first visitors to his new manor had been Earl and Countess Kinson, pleading to become guardians of their granddaughter and asking him to sign away custody.

Since they’d come with a hefty sum, Norman had handed the child over without a second thought: fewer mouths to feed, money in his pocket, and the bothersome little package conveniently off his hands.

“That girl’s already debuted in society? Time really flies…”

“So you do remember her.”

“Would’ve been a real bother if I hadn’t passed her off. Expecting me to suddenly take in some barely-related orphan—ridiculous.”

“So then, you and Rosalie Cailon have no connection whatsoever?”

Norman shrugged it off like it was nothing. Dave exhaled through his nose, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“That’s a damn shame. Word is, Rosalie Cailon’s quite the beauty. If she’d been living under your roof, you could’ve married into a solid family and earned yourself some status in society. Sure, it might’ve cost you a dowry…”

At that, Norman, sprawled across the sofa, snapped his eyes wide open and stared at him.

“Still, she could’ve filled up your empty coffers and wine cellars. Oh, and by the way—Count Jonas wanted to know when you’re going to repay what you owe.”

“…”

“Hey, Norman. You listening?”

“I’m listening. I said I’m listening, didn’t I?”

Sitting upright with his back suddenly straight, Norman jiggled his leg so hard the table shook as he muttered to himself in thought.

“Since I’m the head of the family, I should be the one responsible for that girl. She’s a Cailon, after all.”

Then, as if reaching a conclusion, he stopped bouncing his leg and grinned, baring his teeth.

“I’ll be off first today, Dave.”

“Now that’s new. You usually stay till morning light. What’s gotten into you?”

Dave glanced at his watch, surprised—it wasn’t even midnight, and Norman was leaving the gambling den.

“Time I fulfilled my duties as Viscount Cailon. Tell Count Jonas he’ll get his money—with a little extra interest.”

Patting Dave on the shoulder a couple times, Norman added a half-hearted “You should head home too,” then made his way out.

Back at the estate, Norman headed straight to the storage shed packed with junk. Too stingy to hire proper staff, he’d only kept a minimum crew, so the neglected storage room was caked in dust.

“I’m sure I put it here…”

Ignoring the dust creeping up his nose, Norman rummaged through the clutter.

Only after a little over an hour did he finally find what he was looking for: a finely tempered sword and a small box of personal effects the temple had sent, claiming they belonged to the deceased Philip Cailon.

“Things like the keepsakes he had when he died weren’t all that important, so I shoved them straight into storage. The truly valuable things were already scattered all over the estate. But now, this is what I need most.”

When Norman opened the box and checked its contents, he burst into loud laughter that echoed through the shed.

***

“Who did you say just arrived?”

“He said his name is Norman Cailon, Madam Countess.”

The Countess of Kinson, who had been sharing tea in the drawing room with Rosalie while discussing an upcoming party, couldn’t hide her dismay at the unwelcome guest. The butler reported that Norman was now trying to force his way inside while the attendants were attempting to hold him back. Rosalie, who had been reading an invitation from Celetina, looked on with concern.

With a heavy sigh, the Countess of Kinson ordered that he be let in.

Not long after, Norman entered the drawing room. As he sat on the sofa, the strong scent of cigars stung their noses.

“It’s been a while, Countess Kinson.”

“Viscount Norman Cailon… To what do we owe this sudden visit, with no prior notice?”

“Judging by your reaction, it seems I’m the only one pleased to be here. I didn’t think I could wait for your letter any longer. I’m not the most patient man, you see.”

“Rosalie, dear, why don’t you go upstairs?”

said the Countess as she gently urged Rosalie away.

Norman felt a thrill as his eyes landed on Rosalie. Dave had said she was a beauty, and he was right. If the Kinsons had brought her along when they came pleading to take custody, he might never have agreed to their request.

“No, I think it’s best she stays. The reason I’m here today concerns Lady Rosalie Cailon.”

Norman quickly waved his hand to stop her from leaving, then pulled out a document from his coat and held it up.

“While reminiscing and strolling through the estate, I happened to find this. It seems Philip Cailon intended to form a union with the Duke of Vinzetten’s house.”

Rosalie, upon reading the document, could not hide her shock. It was a formal record of her arranged marriage to Kenneth, complete with the Cailon family seal.

Far from being a forgery cooked up by Norman, the document clearly attested to the truth.

“Surely, to proceed smoothly with this engagement, the current head of House Cailon—me—should be involved, don’t you think?

And naturally, the bride’s dowry should be significant, given it’s the Duke’s family we’re talking about…

So I’ve come today to offer my help to Lady Rosalie Cailon as the rightful head of the Cailons.”

“I refuse. I know nothing about any of this.”

Rosalie clenched both fists tightly and declared her refusal in a resolute voice.

Norman gave a friendly smile and, with a gentler tone than before—as if coaxing her—began to speak.

“That’s how arranged marriages usually go, Rosalie. It’s not about personal wishes, but the will of the family elders. And as the elder now, I truly hope this engagement goes through. Don’t you think Philip would’ve wanted that too?”

Norman’s suggestion that it might have been her father’s wish pierced sharply into Rosalie’s heart.

Indeed, if the prospective partner had been someone else, she might have obediently accepted the engagement.

But if it was Kenneth, that changed everything.

Marrying him would be no different than turning her back on her deceased family.

“I would rather die than marry the Duke of Vinzetten.”