The way wealthy people thought was sometimes, no, very often incomprehensible. Even if someone liked to meddle in others’ affairs, still. This was the first crazy man she’d encountered who would put out his own money for such a thing. No, what grudge did he have against her exactly. His handsome face and decent body…… well, if he wasn’t going to use them for her benefit, they were utterly useless. Though they might be good for eye candy.

“Liv, you should just stop here—”

“It’s not like my books only exist here.”

“Of course there are plenty of books. But it’s clear there’s no one who would fulfill such requests. If I had known it was that kind of letter, I wouldn’t have accepted it in the first place.”

Olivia had nothing to say. That was exactly why she had chosen this place from the beginning.

“Who exactly is that person?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters.”

“Someone you’d better endure no matter how frustrated and wronged you feel.”

“So who exactly is he?”

***

It was peaceful days like before. Richard, who had folded the morning paper and placed it on his lap, was even humming while hooking his finger through the teacup handle. If he had known that such a simple solution would be this effective, he wouldn’t have worried so deeply.

He had sent people to Little Fortune several times recently, but there seemed to be no more incidents like before. Since there would be no Vivian Bennett books coming into that place for the time being, it would probably remain peaceful like this for a while. It would be wonderful if that woman came to her senses in the meantime, but that would be too much to hope for. For Vivian Bennett to mature so quickly—she was strange. Very much so.

“Is there some good news?”

“Hmm?”

Iris, who had entered the study at some point, was looking at Richard’s face and smiling. He hadn’t even heard her come in, but his younger sister, who had already positioned herself in front of his desk, looked back and forth between the newspaper on his lap and his face, then pursed her lips.

“The newspaper only has news that makes you frown.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Her hesitant face and uncertain gestures made her intentions obvious. Richard, who knew enough about Iris Dalton even if he didn’t know about Vivian Bennett, leaned back with his clasped hands resting on his stomach. As he settled into a relaxed posture and looked up, there was somehow an unpleasantly amused expression on his face, though he still had no idea about the background of it.

Richard, who felt a bit uncomfortable because there was something bothersome that he couldn’t identify, waited silently for an answer while maintaining eye contact with Iris. In any case, Iris wouldn’t be able to resist speaking.

“I’ve been finding this more interesting than newspapers lately.”

Iris placed a weekly magazine she had been hiding behind her back in front of him. It was one that Iris often read regularly, and it was a weekly magazine that didn’t seem particularly special. Judging by the date, it seemed to be today’s latest issue. Richard asked without taking his eyes off the weekly magazine.

“What do you want me to see?”

It was a signal to get to the point without wasting time. Iris, as if she had been waiting for exactly those words, immediately unfolded the page she had been keeping folded and pointed with her finger. The tip of her slender finger was pointing to a corner where a short serialized story was published.

“It’s a story that’s been getting quite a bit of word-of-mouth in London lately—do you know about it?”

“It’s definitely not something you’re writing. Why? Should I know about it?”

“If you’re one of the characters, wouldn’t that be the case?”

“What?”

His thick, dark eyebrows rippled like waves. Only then did Richard, who had taken the magazine in his hand, quickly scan through the text. At the end, it wasn’t too difficult to discover a name that had become quite familiar recently.

“How exactly do you know Vivian Bennett?”

“……Know what know.”

“Then why did you take my book to read that time?”

He thought he had put it back well without being noticed. Iris, who had caught the dismay in his eyes, chuckled as if it was nothing.

“Did you forget what I do? To write detective novels, the author must be half detective too. Well, even without such grand reasons, it was too obvious not to notice.”

“So—how exactly do ‘I’ appear in here?”

“Well. What do you think?”

“I’m not in the mood for games, Iris.”

“Really? That’s a shame. I’m in a bit of that mood.”

Iris, who had settled into the sofa across from him, giggled softly. Richard, feeling tension enter his clenched jaw, squeezed his eyes shut and opened them. The headache he had believed was gone was rushing back all at once.

“Iris Carol Dalton.”

At the name called with emphasis, Iris, who had lifted her back slightly from her seat, began counting on her fingers one by one starting with her left thumb.

“A rake who approaches wealthy women using his decent looks as a weapon? A scoundrel who has nothing but that shell, so the more you know him the more of a loss it is? An idiot who seems to have nothing left but to kick away his chance at true love with his own feet and die old and alone as a bachelor? Which description do youlike?”

He knew she was a strange woman, but he didn’t know she would be this strange. That was the mistake. Richard couldn’t even bring himself to read the text placed in front of him right now. He would read it someday, but he was certain that moment was not now.

In the midst of all this, seeing that descriptions like ‘decent looks’ and ‘nothing but that shell’ kept appearing, it seemed the face she had seen up close that day was quite to her taste? He should have realized it when she didn’t hesitate to say things like ‘what a waste of lips’ and asking if she could touch them.

Richard was trying to suppress his anger while having such uncharacteristic thoughts.

“Fine, let’s say all that’s good, but why exactly do you think that’s me?”

“Today was a bit special, I think? There was an illustration that had never been there before. And it was a portrait, which didn’t fit. But who it resembled……”

An illustration? There wasn’t one like that. Iris, who had been deliberately drawing out the suspense, gestured toward the desk with her eyes, making a motion to turn to the back page. And there was a small portrait of a man presumed to be a character. A portrait that even he had to admit looked very much like himself.

“That drawing, and the descriptions of appearance that have come out so far. Most of all, if that character’s name is ‘Richard Dickson’…… wouldn’t it be a suspicion that anyone who knows you would have at least once?”

Writers do that kind of thing quite often, you know. Using people around them in their works. Even I do that, don’t I? Recently I finally started writing a story with ‘Ernest York’ as the protagonist. The stories that Iris excitedly rattled off no longer entered Richard’s head.

How many people who knew him were reading this weekly magazine was also just a thought that briefly crossed his mind and disappeared. Even if not London, he had certainly turned himself upside down—he hadn’t expected that day he worried to come so quickly, but he couldn’t dwell on such sentiments for long.

There was only one thing important to him now. Giving this woman a sharp and effective warning so she could no longer do such ridiculous things. Only that was a meaningful problem for Richard Dickson, no, Richard Dalton.

***

“Don’t forget. Tonight.”

“Don’t worry, Aunt. Even if I die on the way and become a ghost, I won’t miss it.”

“Fix that sarcastic way of speaking firmly within this season too.”

“How could there be any question.”

Richard left the drawing room, pretending not to notice the Marchioness’s sharp gaze. It had truly been an eternity-like teatime.

Richard Dalton seemed destined to suffer until the much-talked-about ‘Last Lover’ reached its grand finale—and perhaps for a long time after that. In truth, this incident was merely an episode that people who had known him for a long time could laugh off.

They were only interested in what, where, and how he had offended the unknown author, but when it moved to people who had been in awkward relationships with him, the problem took on a completely different aspect. Moreover, when he learned that the unseemly content of the novel had become known even to Marchioness Avery through them—it was truly a horrible time he never wanted to experience twice.

The influence of ‘Vivian Bennett’ was tremendous, enough to force his aunt, who had vouched for Richard Dalton’s character more than anyone, to persistently pry into her nephew’s private life. Sitting face to face for about two hours listening to the Marchioness’s reproach that all this was because he remained unmarried at this age, suspicions would sometimes creep up that perhaps all of this was actually a collaboration between Marchioness Avery and Vivian Bennett.

It wasn’t difficult to predict since his aunt had been watching for opportunities ever since his younger sister, who had long been his shield, found a match, but he never expected to feel so much like a cow being dragged to the slaughterhouse.