“Whew.”

Ryan sat down on the sofa, drying the remaining moisture from his hair with a towel.

With the party only two days away, Blissbury hadn’t seen a quiet moment from morning until night.

The garden was in its final stages of preparation, and the sound of snipping scissors had been nonstop since dawn. In front of the manor, pre-ordered ingredients were arriving ceaselessly.

On top of that, the ordered alcohol arrived this afternoon.

The reason he was washing off sweat now was because of the alcohol delivery.

Just how much did everyone plan to drink? There were fifteen barrels of beer unloaded from the wagon.

The barrels looked twice as large as those he’d seen in the capital, and all the men in Blissbury had gathered to carry them down to the cellar.

Of course, Ryan couldn’t be left out.

Even the laborers naturally looked for Ryan when heavy lifting was needed.

Hauling barrels and moving wine crates between the first floor and the cellar, Ryan was soon drenched in sweat.

Mrs. Parker opened one of the beer barrels especially for the workers and poured cold drinks into pewter mugs.

The mugs, chilled in water drawn from the deep well, quickly cooled the lukewarm beer. Thanks to that, the men who drank it in one gulp let out exclamations of delight.

Those who finished their beer in one go begged Mrs. Parker for another mug.

They drank heartily and chatted about how beer was always better for easy drinking than wine.

“Let’s drink our fill at this year’s party.”

“The beer tastes great again this year, so everyone will be excited.”

“Who’ll be the liveliest this year, I wonder?”

At the dinner party the night before the event, wine was the main drink, but at the party itself, everyone started with wine and soon switched to beer mugs.

Just listening to the workers, Ryan could picture the atmosphere of the summer party.

It would start with everyone dancing gracefully and elegantly. But as time passed, the elegant music would speed up, and the dances would become more lively and quick-footed.

As the party grew more boisterous and laughter rang out, the glasses in their hands would change from glass to cool pewter mugs, and everyone would keep drinking beer while stamping their feet, ready for the next dance.

He’d probably have to join in as well. The people of Blissbury wouldn’t let their new manager just stand by.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t dance. In fact, his dancing skills were quite good.

He was confident in anything physical, and dancing was something he’d learned for undercover missions.

Ryan imagined himself mingling with the crowd, dancing at the party.

He’d attended all kinds of parties in the capital. Most were dignified dinner parties, but there were plenty where dancing was required.

But he’d never danced at those events. Unless it was for an assignment or by order, he had no reason to participate.

Above all, he’d never once thought he wanted to dance.

After drying off, he hung his towel over the chair and began humming quietly.

It was the melody of the dance music the band, who had just arrived today, had been practicing all day.

His humming grew clearer, and Ryan’s fingers lightly tapped his thigh.

The dance steps he’d learned came vividly to mind. Step. Step. Step. Turn.

Soon, he was imagining himself dancing. The music sped up, and so did his movements.

At these parties, partners changed constantly. But at the end of the last song, you always faced the partner you started with.

Unlike the fleeting touch with previous partners, with the final partner you held both hands and drew closer.

As the music in his imagination finally ended—

“……!”

Ryan flinched in surprise. The partner smiling at him with a flushed face, catching her breath, was Eloise.

“Haa……”

He let out a long sigh and rubbed his face with both hands.

He wasn’t a fool.

So he quickly realized what his imagination meant.

“…… Eloise Surberton.”

Ryan spoke the name of the woman he’d just been dancing with in his mind.

And the feelings he’d experienced became even clearer.

When he first heard that name here, he felt nothing.

No, that was a lie. He’d been annoyed when he heard the name of the woman who’d shouted at him, thinking he was a vagrant.

But even that feeling faded quickly; he didn’t bother holding onto it. He thought he wouldn’t see her again anyway.

But now, months later?

Ryan clenched and unclenched his hands for no reason. Just saying her name made his palm tingle, and his nape grew hot, making it impossible to stay still.

He ran his hand through his damp hair.

Even though the night was deep and his work was done, his mind was restless, as if nothing had been finished.

Unable to settle down, he got up and paced the room, his gaze landing on the bundle of letters Mr. Palmer had left earlier.

He sighed with relief and sat at his desk.

He needed something—anything—to distract himself.

Most of the letters were addressed to “the new manager of Blissbury.”

The contents varied: summer greetings from shops in Camborne, letters from wealthy tenants managing Blissbury’s lands, invitations to gatherings in nearby cities, requests for donations, and so on.

Among those letters was one addressed to “Sergeant Ryan Thornton” from “Sergeant Stanley.”

The moment he saw it, Ryan sat up straight and looked around.

The night in Blissbury was quiet, with everyone asleep, but he checked for any sign of movement several times before finally drawing the curtains and sitting back down to examine the letter.

Sergeant Stanley was the name used by Baron Stanford during missions.

Moreover, the postmark was not from the capital, but from another city near the capital.

He could have just sent it under the name Baron Stanford, but he’d gone out of his way to use an alias and send it from elsewhere.

Ryan carefully opened the letter.

His eyes raced over the contents. After a moment, he let out a sigh of relief and put the letter down.

Thankfully, it wasn’t a summons.

Oddly, that alone made him feel at ease. Not long ago, all he’d thought about was returning to the capital before autumn.

Ryan looked at the letter again.

It began with a brief greeting, then scolded him for his silence and laziness since arriving in Blissbury, and in the middle explained why the letter had been sent in this way.

“……Lately, I’ve been feeling strange. Like I’m being followed. A few days ago, I even noticed a carriage trailing me on my way to work. Of course, things like this are routine for us, but… somehow, my gut tells me this surveillance isn’t aimed at me, but at someone else. Yes, somehow I feel like they’re looking for you.”

‘Looking for me.’

Ryan wondered who might be searching for him.

The first people who came to mind were, of course, members of the disciplinary committee.

They were obsessed with undermining his achievements.

People thought even the enemy didn’t hate Ryan as much as those committee members did.

They always followed him, looking for any flaw.

As proof, during a string of summons from the disciplinary committee, Ryan had once been dragged by Richard to a backstreet pub in the capital.

The next day, the newspaper ran a story claiming he’d been seen visiting women of ill repute in the back alleys.

Richard stormed into the newspaper office, raging and invoking his family name, so the paper printed an apology the following day.

But while Ryan’s story was splashed across the front page, the apology was tucked away in a tiny corner.

Still, it was something. Even if they were estranged, someday the earl would accept him back, so his complaint was taken seriously.

Those people would be desperate to know where Ryan had disappeared for months without a trace.

Ryan considered who else it could be.

Newspapers or magazines might look for him for a story, but if it were them, they’d just bother Baron Stanford directly rather than follow him around like this.

‘Then…’

Ryan rubbed his brow.

There were those who held a grudge against him.

The enemy nation, Gilia, recently defeated in the war.