Chapter 11

“Shall I take it to Countess Livros now?”

Sebas Charlton, who had been sitting beside him and watching everything he did, asked the question.

Edric stared at his aide’s excessively bright eyes for a moment before rising from his seat.

“Prepare the carriage.”

“Are you going to deliver it yourself?”

“I must hide beneath the veil of darkness and follow my lady’s shadow.”

“…Pardon?”

Sebas Charlton tilted his head, plainly unable to understand what he meant. Meanwhile, his eyes were busy examining Edric from head to toe.

His gaze traveled past Edric’s broad shoulders, down his arms, where his shirt stretched taut over his forearms, then along his lean, hunting-hound waist and powerful thighs before returning to his gleaming golden hair.

Finally, Sebas Charlton fixed his eyes on Edric’s deep-set gaze and let out a soft breath.

That sigh was unmistakably one of admiration.

How can a man who is so thoroughly captivated by beauty understand so little about romance?

Feeling a little regretful, Edric replied, “If I go there myself, I’ll only make Gerard Rendel more suspicious.”

“So you’re telling me to deliver it instead?”

“Yes. I merely wish to ride through the streets at night in my carriage.”

Sebas Charlton pressed his lips together.

He rubbed his chin for a while, then smiled as though he finally understood.

“If you intend to drive aimlessly through the night, the ride must be comfortable. I’ll prepare the latest model of carriage, with springs fitted beneath the seats.”

Rowena paced for some time in front of a bookshelf packed with periodicals before selecting several newspapers.

“Found it.”

She spread the thin sheets of paper across her spacious walnut desk, one after another.

Narrowing her eyes, Rowena carefully examined the articles from several years earlier.

Baron Travil’s Long-Held Love Has Finally Borne Fruit.

The Beautiful Seed Planted by a Gardener Has Blossomed Upon the Baron’s Heart.

Four years ago, Camillia had entered the center of high society through marriage.

Before then, she had been known throughout Erisvale as a beautiful and lively woman. Unfortunately, she had lacked the one qualification that would have allowed everyone to admire her without reservation.

Status.

The moment Camillia became the mistress of a noble household, Erisvale was thrown into an uproar.

A favorable uproar, of course.

According to the article, Baron Travil had been in love with Camillia Sabrin for a very long time.

But the impoverished young woman had shone so brightly that he had never dared to approach her.

When a person embraces a great cause, however, courage is sure to follow.

On the eve of his departure for war, Baron Travil had sincerely proposed to the woman he loved, and Camillia had gladly accepted.

After spending a single night with his wife, the baron had mounted his warhorse with his head held high.

It had been a truly valiant departure.

For some time afterward, every newspaper had been filled with this beautiful love story.

From what Rowena had witnessed at the time, the story had certainly seemed true.

But how thoroughly that supposed truth had been woven from lies.

Camillia had not loved the baron.

She loved Gerard.

…You really are a remarkable actress, Camillia.

After murmuring those words, Rowena began leafing through Camillia’s personal newsletter.

Camillia enjoyed printing her thoughts and opinions for everyone to read.

Thanks to that habit, she had recently given an interview containing the following declaration:

I do not believe my husband is dead. I will wait ten years, twenty years—however long it takes for him to return to my side. Even if longing for him turns my heart to stone, I will become stone without hesitation.

The final sentence was a quotation from a poem by Rodems.

To quote a love poem she had shared with her lover in an interview about how much she missed her husband—

Was that not astonishingly shameless?

In any case, Rowena had little difficulty discerning the true meaning behind Camillia’s interview.

Camillia had publicly declared that she did not want her husband to be officially pronounced dead.

It was the same position held by the Dowager Baroness Travil.

But surely not out of respect for her mother-in-law.

It must be because of the inheritance.

Once his death was officially registered, the inheritance proceedings would begin immediately.

That was something Camillia would have to prevent at all costs.

Baron Travil had not named Camillia as his heir.

Noblemen who joined the war for the sake of honor generally served in the safety of the rear before returning home. The baron had probably never considered the possibility that he might die.

Perhaps, deep down, he had not wanted to leave his fortune to a wife he had been married to for only a day.

Camillia had confided her anxieties to Rowena at the time, which was why Rowena remembered the circumstances of the Travil family so clearly.

If inheritance proceedings began, some or all of the estate would pass to the baron’s younger brother.

Could that be why she poisoned the dowager baroness? To leave her as helpless as a plant so she would be unable to make the final decision?

Rowena’s face went pale at the plausible theory that had suddenly occurred to her.

How vicious.

It was difficult to believe that a person could be so wicked, but Camillia truly was capable of such evil.

Then I have to stop her.

“I would be grateful if you could send a maid from Livros. Talking so pleasantly with you has even given me the courage to consider attending social gatherings again.”

Fortunately, the Dowager Baroness Travil had not misunderstood Rowena’s kindness.

Rowena immediately summoned the maid she trusted most.

“Louisa.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“I’d like you to attend to the Dowager Baroness Travil while she’s ill.”

“Understood.”

As always, Louisa readily accepted the request rather than asking why.

“Yes, my lady. Shall I start tomorrow?”

“Would you? I’ll make sure you receive additional pay. And as for how long… let’s make it a fortnight for now. If you find the work too difficult, please tell me immediately. I’ll relieve you of the duty at once.”

Just as she finished speaking, the rosy glow of sunset spread across the window like a veil.

Louisa gazed for a moment at Rowena, who was bathed in that enchanting light, then bowed deeply.

“Thank you for your consideration, my lady.”

Rowena added another instruction, this time in a more confidential tone.

“And if Camillia personally brings the dowager baroness any tea, secretly collect some of it in a bottle and bring it to me.”

Sebas Charlton, aide to the Marquis of Windervane, turned his eyes away from the sunset.

The drawing room door had just opened, and Countess Livros had entered.

At once, the false gentleman seated opposite him—Gerard Ebonwell—sprang to his feet.

His posture was impeccably respectful, as though the behavior had become second nature.

Even that insolent bastard’s manner of speaking suddenly turned courteous.

“Rowena, the Marquis of Windervane has sent someone.”

In truth, the marquis referred to that pale fellow as Gerard Rendel, but whatever name he used, the bastard was an Ebonwell.

He had acquired the title of count through marriage and, with it, the right to append a distinguished noble surname to his own name.

Calling that a rise in status would be an understatement. The bastard practically had good fortune strike him like lightning.

Sebas Charlton could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

That half-baked gentleman had won the lady’s hand instead of the Marquis of Windervane.

The more he thought about it, the more absurd it seemed.

While Sebas Charlton was privately scoffing, Countess Livros approached.

“It’s a pleasure to see you, Sir Charlton.”

“The pleasure is mine.”

Once everyone was seated, a servant approached and tilted a teapot over their cups.

As the cups filled, Sebas Charlton stole a few glances at Countess Livros.

She had an elegant appearance, just as he remembered.

Her black hair softly framed her long neck, rounded shoulders, and exquisitely graceful curves.

Her face, too, was pale and round, like freshly kneaded dough.

Yet her features were sharply defined, arranged in perfect symmetry without the slightest irregularity.

Above all, however, there was one thing that drew the eye.

Her eyes.

Those jewel-like, pale violet eyes that the marquis was forever stealing glances at reminded Sebas Charlton of a deep, tranquil pond.

They shimmered like sunlight dancing on the surface of water, captivating anyone who looked into them.

He had never had an opportunity to examine her closely before, but now that he could see her at such a short distance, he realized that the countess possessed a delicate, exquisite beauty.

No matter how I look at it, His Lordship has an extraordinary eye for beauty.

How did he recognize a gem like this?

While Sebas Charlton silently admired his master’s discerning taste, the countess asked gently, “So, you’ve brought an invitation?”

“Ah, yes. Here it is.”

He quickly presented the invitation, then took the opportunity to emphasize its importance.

“Our marquis will be hosting a magnificent banquet. As you and your husband are his most important guests, he sent me to deliver your invitation personally.”

Countess Livros opened the invitation and offered a brief observation.

“The paper smells of roses.”

Ah, His Lordship put so much effort into preparing that invitation. Isn’t her reaction a little too restrained?

Sebas Charlton was just swallowing a sigh of sympathy for his master when—

Countess Livros suddenly gave a faint, girlish smile.

Her shy smile was like a fresh flower bud bursting into bloom, and Sebas Charlton felt a peculiar sense of satisfaction.

I suppose all I need to tell him is that she smiled.

“It’s quite fashionable these days,” he said.

“This rose fragrance?”

“Yes.”

Sebas Charlton smiled back at her.

Gerard Ebonwell promptly scowled.

He had seemed displeased for some time now.

Of course he had.

Men generally either admired the marquis fervently or felt quietly uncomfortable around him, and that wretched fellow clearly belonged to the latter group.

So Sebas Charlton promptly dangled a little bait.

“Mr. George Miller has also agreed to attend the banquet.”