Chapter 114

On the other hand, inviting him to his own residence was out of the question because of his mother. Ever since the passing of his maternal grandfather, Armand III, the Grand Duchess had come to loathe anything that originated from the East, rejecting even the slightest object from that region. There was no chance a woman like her would permit someone of eastern blood to set foot inside her home.

The letter must have been delivered…

What was worse was that even when he had attempted to arrange discreet meeting places and await a reply, the other party remained obstinately silent. Duke Fernand, having already made two similar attempts without receiving so much as a word in return, was growing deeply irritated.

It was all too clear that he was being avoided. Then again, with something to hide, the man likely had no courage to face him. But Duke Fernand needed to meet him. There was a matter between them that had to be resolved face-to-face.

How could they run into each other without raising suspicion? After much thought, he had chosen a location both of them frequented, the salon of Countess Bonatienne. The place was so popular that it had practically become the nexus of social connections. Duke Fernand sent word through a trusted person, specifying the time, and made his way there solely to meet him.

The meeting may have been one-sided, but it was a message from a member of the Imperial House. The idea that he would be stood up had not even occurred to Duke Fernand. But when more than two hours had passed since the appointed time, he could no longer contain his rising displeasure.

Of all days, the salon happened to be unusually quiet, with far too few people to provide a distraction. Aside from a few familiar faces, most were complete strangers, leaving him with little conversation and much time to dwell on his irritation. So idle was the gathering that they had brought out a gambling table and resorted to playing whist. The more Duke Fernand thought about it, the more pathetic he felt.

This round’s trump suit was spades. Perhaps encouraged by being on the same team as Young Miss Lanson, Sir Chufor, who had already racked up four points, laid down the ace of spades with great satisfaction when his turn came.

“This round is mine. That makes five points in total, so it is another win for our team!”

It was unfortunate for Sir Chufor, so brimming with enthusiasm, that Duke Fernand had no interest whatsoever in the outcome of the game. He had been playing absentmindedly, throwing down whatever card was in hand, and now placed his remaining card on the table before glancing toward the fireplace. The mantel clock resting above it showed the time: twenty past nine.

“Have you another engagement, Your Highness?”

Perhaps bothered by how often he kept checking the time, the Young Lady Freyr, whose poor gambling skills had contributed greatly to their team’s repeated losses, cautiously asked a question. Ever since she had been seated beside him as his partner, her cheeks had remained flushed, and throughout the game, she had spent more time stealing glances at him than looking at her cards.

Those wide, innocent brown eyes stirred a vague sense of familiarity. There was something nostalgic in her shy demeanor, which only darkened his mood further.

At any other time, he would have immediately realized that her gaze reminded him of Louise. In fact, it had been during a coincidentally similar game that he had first taken notice of the woman. But his foul mood made even such recollections feel too bothersome now.

What a nuisance.

Duke Fernand swept the cards in front of him toward the dealer and rose from his seat.

“I do not have any appointments, but I should be taking my leave.”

“Pardon?”

“It has been some time since I last went out. If I stay out too long, my mother will begin to worry.”

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He gently dissuaded the Countess from standing, then pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. The tender and considerate gesture brought a flush not only to Countess Bonatienne’s cheeks but also to those of Viscountess Farrel. After offering a polite nod to the others, Duke Fernand stepped out of the salon.

As he exited the room, a butler appeared as if from nowhere. It seemed he had been waiting in advance, for he followed the Duke with his hat and cane already in hand.

“How long until Countess Bonatienne’sconfinement?”

“There are still more than six months that remain, Your Highness.”

“Do you suppose she intends to remain in the capital until then?”

“Unless she finds someone to entrust the salon to, it is quite likely.”

“I see. A trying time, no doubt. See that you offer her all the assistance you can.”

It was unusually thoughtful of Duke Fernand to show such concern for the Countess Bonatienne’s well-being. The butler, though startled by the rare request, especially coming from a gentleman not of the household, gave no sign of it, as befitted a well-trained servant. He simply replied with a courteous affirmation of his duty.

“Your Highness.”

It was when they had made it halfway down the corridor, still in quiet conversation, that a voice suddenly called from behind. Surprised, Duke Fernand turned, not having realized someone was following.

“… Young Lady Freyr?”

Her pale cheeks were tinged with red, and she looked up at him with eyes as if pleading. Uncertain of her intentions, Duke Fernand met her gaze squarely.

“Is there something you wish to speak with me about?”

“Not exactly, Your Highness. I only… I only wish to offer you my condolences, if I may. Forgive me if I have overstepped.”

Countess Bonatienne once said that it is not beauty, but courage, that wins love. Once more, the image of Louise overlapped with hers. This time so vividly that Duke Fernand could no longer ignore it.She does resemble her.He suppressed the surge of emotion rising within him and responded gently.

“Condolences?”

“Yes… about Lady Dumont. The funeral was held outside the capital, so I could not attend, and I have not had the chance to speak with Your Highness since. I know it is a matter long past, but it has weighed on me that I never once offered you a word of consolation in your grief.”

She looked up at him, her wide eyes openly filled with concern. Everything about her, from the gentle brown eyes gazing up from below, her shy demeanor, her terrible luck at cards, even her misplaced, earnest courage, reminded him of Louise. Every little detail.

Watching her, he was suddenly reminded of his first encounter with Louise. When his team was short a player, it had been that quiet lady, always sitting as though lost in a dream, who had stepped forward without hesitation to fill the empty seat. She had not seemed the least bit skilled at gambling, so he had wondered why she was so eager to join, only to be utterly dumbfounded by how spectacularly terrible she was at it.

He learned later that it had been her very first time gambling. Blinded by the mere chance to sit beside him, she had taken a seat without knowing the rules properly. Even now, it was a curious thing to recall. How had someone as timid as her found such courage?

“You are a kind soul.”

Duke Fernand, unable to hide his bitterness stirred by the flood of beautiful memories, finally spoke.

“I did not share that story to hear such a thing.”

“Nor was I offering flattery. A gentle heart that cares for others is a virtue to be admired by all, yet it is one seldom found in high society. Kind people do not tend to last long here.”

Some did not remain, not just in high society, but in the world itself. At the unexpected compliment, Young Lady Freyr’s earlobes turned bright red. Bashfully, she lowered her gaze and listened to his praise.

“I hope you hold on to that heart of yours for a long time.”

Receiving his hat from the butler, he placed it on his head and offered his final farewell. As he rested his hand on the brim to bid goodbye, Young Lady Freyr reluctantly held her dress and returned the gesture with a curtsy. Though she clearly had more she wished to say, she did not dare stop the Duke’s retreating steps.

When he reached the entrance, the waiting servants promptly opened the doors. Just as he was handed his cane and about to step outside, he frowned at the sight of a figure appearing in the doorway.

“Oh, Duke Fernand. I was wondering what was happening with the doors opening on their own without a knock. Are you already on your way out?”

The man greeted him with a casual question. Having confirmed the brazen face before him, Duke Fernand spoke the man’s name through lips that twisted as if in a spasm.

“Count d’Estuaire.”

“I am now Duke of La Mer, Your Highness.”

“…Yes. Duke of La Mer. And what brings you here? It seems rather late to be visiting another’s home.”

When he openly sneered, the Duke of La Mer pulled a pocket watch from his vest pocket and checked the time with exaggerated flair. The watch he took out was an antique, crafted from platinum and intricately engraved with a pattern of climbing roses tangled around branch-like vines. Even at a glance, one could see the passage of time etched into it, a precious item that had likely cost a fortune when first crafted.

“Do you mean half past nine in the evening?”

By the clock, he was not late at all for visiting a salon. It was only by Duke Fernand’s arbitrary standards that the hour was deemed inappropriate. Duke Fernand, who had nothing to say, sharpened his teeth inwardly and glared at Duke La Mer’s handsome face.

“You have arrived later than usual, though. Where have you been?”

“I have just returned from attending Young Lord La Baille’s vigil. I thought the Countess still remaining in the salon might wish to hear the news, so I stopped by.”

To his surprise, Young Lady Freyr, who had not yet left, suddenly stepped in to take Duke Fernand’s side. She seemed to think she was helping him in some way, but upon hearing her voice, Duke Fernand came to his senses with a start.

He did indeed have business with the Duke of La Mer, but the matter was not something that should leak outside. Furrowing his brows discreetly, he grabbed Duke La Mer’s arm and stepped outside the entrance.

“Your Highness?”

“Did you stop by Young Lord La Baille’s vigil?”

“Yes.”

“I need to ask you something about it. Can you spare a moment?”

Such a situation had never been anticipated. One person was leaving the mansion while the other was about to enter, and they happened to meet like this. With no way to return to the salon, Duke Fernand had no excuse ready. Reluctantly, he made a rather flimsy excuse.

Though a pitiful pretext, it was a request from an imperial bloodline member, so no matter who the other was, ignoring it outright was impossible. A trace of difficulty briefly appeared on Duke La Mer’s slick face. He glanced unwillingly over Duke Fernand’s shoulder and then nodded lightly in response.

“If Your Highness insists, then I suppose I have no choice. Do as you please.”

Duke Fernand released the arm he had held and stepped outside. Once he climbed into the waiting carriage, Duke La Mer, having straightened his attire lightly, followed behind. Duke Fernand remained silent until the servants closed the door. Once inside the dark carriage, alone together, Duke Fernand struck Duke La Mer’s face sharply near the handle.

Smack!

Caught off guard, Duke La Mer groaned softly and hit his head against the carriage wall. The blow was fierce enough to spark fire in his eyes.

“Your Highness?”