34.
* * *
Gerald awoke from a dream that felt like a return to his childhood.
“Neigh—”
The horses hitched to the carriage let out long, pained cries before collapsing one by one, frothing at the mouth.
They had covered a ten-day journey in six, driving through the night. The Mandlesong made by Imsi was undeniably effective; wearing it eased the agonizing sting in his eyes, allowing him to catch glimpses of sleep now and then.
“We have arrived.”
Olive’s weary voice drifted in from outside the carriage. Focusing on the sounds beyond, Gerald could hear whispers coming from the Count Adria residence.
“The Duke is here already. Damn it. Why the hell is a blind man coming all the way here?”
“Honey, someone might hear you.”
“Who would hear? Damn it. My brother and sister-in-law, that…”
“Shh. I told you to lower your voice.”
“Who do you think is listening to what we say in our own room?”
Gerald discarded the ribbon that had been covering his eyes onto the carriage floor and stepped out, leaning on his cane. With his eyes closed and his hand gripping the wood, he looked every bit the perfect blind man.
“This way.”
Gerald followed the sound of Olive’s footsteps. The soldiers guarding the mansion stood with tense expressions, hastily bowing their heads as they opened the main gate. Moments later, Gerald and Olive stepped into the residence. Morro, the butler of the Count Adria household, rushed out, panting, and bowed deeply.
“Du—Duke, Your Grace. Welcome.”
Gerald stood still, his expression indifferent. Ignoring the butler’s greeting, Olive scanned the surroundings before stepping forward, demanding in a stern voice, “We clearly sent a letter stating we would arrive a day in advance. Where are the young ladies and the young master of the Count’s family?”
Butler Morro wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, his words faltering. “Th—that is…”
Olive pressed him with a sharp glare. “Why can you not answer immediately?”
“That, because we never received the letter…”
“Welcome, Duke, Your Grace. You have made such a difficult journey despite your eyes being uncomfortable. You really needn’t have bothered.”
Olive shifted his gaze to the source of the voice. A handsome man with blonde hair and clear, sapphire-blue eyes was slowly descending the stairs. It was Baronet Kylon. A woman in a black dress adorned with gaudy jewels—hardly appropriate for mourning attire—followed quietly behind him.
“If you had let us know in advance, we could have at least prepared a welcoming ceremony. My apologies.”
“We most certainly sent a letter a day ago. It seems no one received it.” Olive offered his signature, mocking smile. “Butler, did you receive a letter? If so, why didn’t you report it to me?”
Kylon pressed Morro, who was cowering behind him. “I, I apologize. I did not receive it either.” Butler Morro sweated like a flooded river as he hurriedly made excuses.
“My, my. It seems they did not receive it.”
“Honey. You should introduce me as well.” The woman standing beside Kylon tugged lightly at his sleeve.
“Ah, this is my fiancée.”
“Greetings. It is an honor to meet you, Your Grace. I am Jelmia Roze.” Jelmia shot a sultry, playful glance at the Duke.
Olive, looking as if he found the sight absurd, completely ignored her and turned back to Kylon. “Where are the Count’s daughters and the young master?”
At Olive’s question, Kylon’s expression stiffened briefly before he quickly broke into a radiant smile. “The children are so overcome with grief that they simply refuse to come out.”
“Even so, since the Duke has arrived, they ought to offer their greetings.”
“Indeed, indeed. I shall scold them severely. These days, children simply don’t listen unless you give them a stern talking-to. Hahaha.”
It was then.
*Thump.* As the cane struck the marble floor, the stone cracked with a sharp, piercing sound.
“Ugh!”
Butler Morro, who had been watching from the back, felt his legs give out and slumped to the floor. Kylon and Jelmia also stared at the Duke with faces turned ghostly white. The Duke, his eyes still closed, curled his red lips into a cold, derisive sneer.
“Noisy. Like a mayfly.”
“W—what kind of insolence is this? We are in mourning!” Kylon raised his voice as if to shake off his fear, but he could not hide the trembling in his eyes.
“To the room.” The Duke ignored Kylon as if he were nothing more than a barking dog and commanded Olive.
“Yes.”
Butler Morro gathered his strength and stood on his shaking legs. “I, I shall guide you.”
Soon, the two men disappeared, following Butler Morro. Jelmia, casting a glance at the cracked floor, quickly feigned a sorrowful expression and leaned against Kylon’s chest.
“Oh my. The Duke is truly too much. To treat you with such disdain just because you are only a Baronet.”
Kylon, glaring at the empty hallway where the two had vanished, ground his teeth. He ran a hand roughly through his blonde hair as his anger boiled over. “I’ll show him if he treats me like this once I become a Count.”
“Once you become a Count, Honey, how could the Duke ever look down on you?”
Soothed by Jelmia’s honeyed words, Kylon’s anger subsided as he pulled her into a tight embrace. “Jelmia, I’ll make you a Countess soon. Just one day, only one day is all I need to wait.”
“Yes. I’ll be waiting. Honey, you are busy, aren’t you? Please, hurry along.” Jelmia whispered in a seductive voice, gently pushing against his chest to slip naturally from his embrace.
“Right. I am busy. Damn it, I didn’t think the Duke would show up before I could find that brat. See you later.”
“Yes, Honey.”
Watching Kylon climb the stairs with heavy, aggressive footsteps, Jelmia let out a silent scoff. A mere puppet with far too much greed. That was exactly why he was so easy to use.
Left alone in the lobby, Jelmia walked lightly toward the spot where the Duke had struck the floor. “I didn’t expect the Duke to actually come. It seems he cared for his sister more than I thought. Ho ho ho.”
Jelmia hummed a tune. Her crimson eyes remained fixed on the cracked floor, brimming with amusement.
* * *
Meanwhile, having reached the third floor, Kylon took a key from his pocket. If the Duke had arrived, it would look suspicious if he didn’t show him his niece and nephew.
“Damn Vines.”
He was sick and tired of the bloodline of the Vines family. The sister-in-law, who had meddled in his affairs at every turn, had ruined everything by hiding the youngest, Perido, until the very moment of her death. If only his brother and the youngest nephew had died together, the title of Count—which had been rightfully his—would have naturally returned to him.
If only his brother, who had been weak since childhood, had died young. If only his sister-in-law, who had only given birth to daughters, hadn’t produced a son. If only his brother hadn’t tossed the baronetcy—a rank even the knights looked down upon—at him. He wouldn’t have had to eliminate his brother and sister-in-law with his own hands.
Kylon glared into empty space with eyes filled with rage. It was all their fault.
Kylon inserted the key into the heavily locked door and turned it. As he swung the door wide and entered, the three sisters jumped to their feet. He eyed his nieces gathered in the room with an unpleasant expression, one by one.
The eldest, Dia, with her glistening black hair, dark green eyes like lush leaves, and pink lips, looked up at him with indifferent eyes. Beside her, the second sister, Garnet, possessed deep blonde hair like molten gold and cat-like eyes that slanted upward, giving her a haughty appearance. She glared at him with venomous eyes. In contrast, the third sister, Rubiana—with her soft, sweet-looking light blonde hair and pale green eyes—was small and fragile, hiding behind Garnet with fearful eyes.
Because they had inherited only the most beautiful traits of their gorgeous parents, the sisters were, one and all, dazzlingly beautiful. Garnet and Rubiana were still young—fifteen and nine respectively—but Kylon was eager to send them off to rich nobles as soon as possible.