“Lord Crimsworth. You shouldn’t go that way.”

Seth tried to stop him. But Jeremy had nothing to fear.

The first uniformed police officer to reach the second floor came face to face with him. Since he didn’t shrink back at all, the police officer flinched instead.

The officer quickly regained his composure.

“Go downstairs. Don’t try to escape.”

The narrow staircase was already in chaos. Club employees, police, and masked men trying to escape were all entangled in a brawl. Seth took the lead, pushing them aside to clear a path.

Somewhere, glass shattered and women screamed with affected terror.

He should have gone to the opera theater instead.

A man who appeared to be the police commander stopped him in the lobby while giving instructions to his subordinates.

“You there, remove your mask! I’m arresting you for criminal activity.”

Jeremy walked straight up to the man. Seth pushed aside the police officers who tried to block their way with his broad shoulders.

Jeremy whispered in the commander’s ear,

“I am under the protection of the silver moon and the golden star.”

It was a code phrase indicating that he worked for the Lester royal family.

The man’s expression changed strangely.

“……I apologize. Please proceed.”

As he and Seth walked proudly toward the entrance, a black-haired young man passed by them. Despite his neat appearance, his eyes were sharp.

“Thank you for your hard work. I’m Detective Boris Curson from Bathgate City.”

They heard the young man introducing himself to the police officers.

Bathgate was quite far from Whittingham.

“I came to request cooperation in investigating someone who frequented this place……”

Detective Curson’s voice was soon drowned out by the street noise.

Was there another death among the club’s customers?

Come to think of it, Cameron had mentioned something about Whitepole at Merryweather recently. Something about a young nobleman with large gambling debts being murdered. Perhaps he was from Bathgate. To travel all the way from that backwater to here, he must have been quite the degenerate.

Seth urged him.

“I had the carriage wait at the end of the street. Let’s get out of this damned place quickly.”

“Seth.”

“Yes……?”

Jeremy pointed to the middle of the road.

“Jump in there.”

Seth had been taken in by the Lovedale family during his boyhood and had served loyally for nearly ten years. He genuinely respected this young master whose nature was impossible to determine—whether crooked or straightforward—but sometimes when receiving such orders, he didn’t know what to do.

“Why should I do that?”

Jeremy was watching a carriage that had just passed in front of them.

Seth realized it was a Lovedale carriage.

* * *

The carriage suddenly shook violently and stopped. The jolt caused Bronwynner, who was kneeling on the floor, to hit her head hard against the door.

“Are you all right, Miss Pemberton?”

After asking this, Count Farraway shouted at the driver.

“There are three ladies in here, be careful!”

Just then, someone knocked on the window.

Bronwynner instinctively pulled back the curtain and almost cried out in surprise. A masked man was peering in from outside.

But seeing the golden hair not fully concealed by the mask and the eyes shining through it, she quickly recognized who it was.

As soon as she unlocked the latch, the door flew open.

“Why are three ladies riding through Whitepole?”

“Jeremy!”

The count exclaimed.

Jeremy’s eyes narrowed as he saw Bronwynner still sitting on the carriage floor. Next, he discovered his sister lying on the seat.

“Maude……?”

Bronwynner answered for her.

“Maude isn’t feeling well.”

Upon hearing this, he immediately pulled Count Farraway out.

“You take another carriage with Seth.”

“What? What on earth were you doing here—”

Though the count was nearly as tall, he was practically thrown onto the street, unable to properly resist the sudden action.

Bang!

Jeremy closed the carriage door.

Then he irritably tore off his mask. His golden hair, gleaming even in the darkness, fell across his forehead.

The carriage immediately began to move.

“Miss Pemberton. Are you going to keep sitting there like a maid?”

Lady Windell, intimidated by his demeanor, pressed herself against the carriage wall.

“……Sit over here, Miss Pemberton.”

Bronwynner had no choice but to squeeze into the narrow space between the countess and Jeremy. Although the interior of the Lovedale carriage was spacious, it was impossible for two women in dresses and a robust man like Jeremy to sit comfortably on one seat.

She curled up small, linking arms with the countess to avoid touching him. Even so, she couldn’t prevent her legs from touching his.

Maude, who had regained consciousness, murmured weakly.

“Jeremy.”

He silently reached out and took his sister’s hand. Only after seeing Maude close her eyes again in relief did he let go.

Even after that, his eyes lingered on the girl’s face for a long time. By now, Maude had returned to normal except for being slightly pale, with her breathing and color restored.

He said quietly,

“……You need to explain what happened, Miss Pemberton.”

* * *

The Lovedale townhouse was, of course, located in the most expensive district of Whittingham. Bronwynner noticed this from the wide roads and the generous spacing between neighboring mansions, which prevented a clear view of them.

As soon as they arrived, Jeremy called for a doctor.

Only after the breathless doctor had left his diagnosis—”The patient has had quite a shock but is now calm, and a good night’s sleep will make her fine by morning”—along with sleeping medicine, did Jeremy face Bronwynner.

Lady Windell fidgeted anxiously.

“Lord Crimsworth, it’s not Miss Pemberton’s fault. Miss Pemberton handled the emergency admirably. Even in front of His Highness the Crown Prince—”

“His Highness was there?”

“Yes…… when he saw Maude was in trouble, he tried to help us. That’s why he sent an attendant with us.”

The attendant had confirmed their safe arrival at the townhouse and promptly returned.

Jeremy said,

“I see. Would you mind leaving us for a moment?”

“But……”

The countess hesitated. She meant that a man and woman shouldn’t be left alone at such an hour.

Bronwynner thought he was suppressing his irritation.

He pointed to the balcony beyond the glass doors.

“Miss Pemberton. Shall we step outside for a moment? Would that be acceptable, Lady Havilland?”

The countess reluctantly nodded.

The air on the balcony was chilly, and beyond the railing lay a desolate garden, completely dug up in preparation for spring. Bronwynner didn’t have the courage to look at him. She could feel his anger.

But his voice was utterly calm.

“Miss Howard, what do you think your duty is?”

When he called her “Miss Howard,” he was her employer.

“To be Lord Crimsworth’s…… employee.”

“Then keep to that duty. Don’t encourage Maude.”

She raised her head.

“I’ve never encouraged Lady Maude to—”

Of course, he didn’t even pretend to listen.

“Derek tells me the performance schedule suddenly changed. Maude must have known this in advance and talked to you about the theater because she wanted to see that play.”

He seemed to have heard the whole story from Count Farraway, who arrived later. Bronwynner realized it was impossible to shield Maude. And clearly, she bore some responsibility for not leaving immediately when she learned the play had inappropriate content.

She apologized honestly.

“I’m sorry. I was shortsighted.”

Instead of accepting her apology, he asked again,

“What happened with His Highness the Crown Prince?”

There wasn’t much to call an “incident.” Her conversation with Prince Reginald had lasted less than five minutes.

“He followed us and was concerned about Lady Maude’s condition.”

“And?”

“I told him that Lady Maude hadn’t simply fainted but seemed to be having a panic attack.”

For some unknown reason, that answer seemed to irritate him again. This man was quite accomplished at being sarcastic without changing his voice or tone at all.

“I should have told you to boast about intelligence just slightly higher than a field cow, Miss Howard. You should have fainted in front of the crown prince instead. Then Reginald would have handled everything.”

There was some truth to his harsh words. It might have been more fitting for Bronwynner Pemberton, seventh daughter of Viscount Pemberton. If it had been the crown prince, it wouldn’t be strange for him to have the kingdom’s best medical staff on hand, and if Bronwynner hadn’t intervened, they would have taken care of Maude.

But at that moment, she had acted as governess Bronwynner Harcourt.

“Lady Maude’s recovery was the top priority in that situation.”

“Why couldn’t you use that clever brain before entering the theater?”

He sneered.

“Or did you not want to miss the chance to see a free play on someone else’s money? Don’t worry about missing out—every day at Whitman School will be dramatic enough.”

Clearly, she had wanted to go to the theater. Even sensing that stimulating scenes would appear, she hadn’t immediately gotten up because part of her had expected it.

Wanting to take Maude’s side was similar. Until she was seventeen and attended the Bathgate City festival, Bronwynner had never seen a proper performance. She had enjoyed it so much that she had given up her vacation for three months afterward, begging Baroness Bingham to take her to two more performances.

Even if she saw her younger self in Maude’s sparkling eyes, this man would never understand.

“……If the ticket price bothers you so much, why did you let us go? Lady Maude would have given up with just one word from you, Lord Crimsworth.”

“The Lovedale family doesn’t pay for tickets. We occupy those seats. And it seems you’re trying to paint me as a petty person.”

He glanced at Lady Windell through the glass door. The countess was watching them with a face full of concern. “Should I have refused my ward’s provincial request to visit the Whittingham Opera House? Whether you or your hat sits there, the money spent is the same.”

Bronwynner kept quiet.

Perhaps, perhaps he was right. The Duke of Lovedale couldn’t refuse his ward’s request without losing face, so he had to accept it. Whether Miss Pemberton or her hat occupied the opera house box seat made no difference to the cost coming from his pocket, but neither Miss Pemberton nor her hat paid him.