Chapter 31.
“You’ve had a bit too much to drink, Sir Julian.”
A large shadow loomed between Harriet Listerwell and Julian.
Julian, who had been twisting his brows in irritation, looked rattled the moment he saw who it was.
“D-Duke Kaylas…!”
Judging by how he had accurately identified the man even in his state, it seemed he wasn’t as intoxicated as he had appeared.
As he and Harriet froze in unison, Cedric gazed at Julian and approached slowly.
“Is something the matter? Your voice sounds rather ill-suited for such a festive party.”
“N-n-no, not at all. Haha! It’s been so long, I must have gotten a little loud out of sheer delight.”
At the nonsensical excuse, Cedric glanced toward Harriet.
“Sheer delight, is it? I see you were acquainted.”
“Ah, w-well, rather than that… Haha!”
Julian’s eyes darted around as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. Suddenly, he waved his hand toward a distant spot, shouting, “Oh! Long time no see!” before sneaking backward.
“Someone I know is calling for me, so if you’ll excuse me…!”
With that, he vanished with hurried strides.
Harriet clicked her tongue as she watched the back of Julian, who had clearly fled.
To think that a man who had been so full of himself and threatening just moments ago would tuck his tail and run the moment someone with more power and a larger frame appeared.
She couldn’t decide if she should feel relieved that she had avoided a nasty situation, or bitter about her own position—so easily targeted as a victim.
Just then, feeling a gaze upon her, she turned her head to find Cedric staring right at her.
“They say a person changes after visiting St. Clarissa’s Convent, and it seems that rumor was true. I hardly recognize you.”
She didn’t know exactly what he meant by ‘changed,’ but perhaps due to the way he looked down at her, it didn’t feel like a compliment.
It might have meant, ‘Do you think you’ve changed just because your new guardian bought you some decent clothes?’
*In the eyes of a noble Duke, I must look like a pathetic, base life. But you know what? I don’t like you either.*
Harriet barely restrained the corners of her lips from curling into a sneer.
“I’m not sure about others, but my life has changed enough to be entirely turned around. The grace of Yawar is truly boundless.”
“I hadn’t realized you were such a deeply religious person.”
“To be precise, perhaps you simply don’t know anything about me, Duke.”
Cedric let out a soft laugh at that. It didn’t seem like mockery, yet it wasn’t a bright, genuine laugh either.
“That appears to be the case. Your actions are unexpected at every turn.”
It was an ambiguous choice of words—she still couldn’t tell if it was an insult or a compliment.
*But given how unpleasant I feel, it’s probably closer to an insult.*
Harriet didn’t want to talk to Cedric any longer. He was the subject of her final scandal; if she were to become entangled with him again at her very first social outing since returning, she felt sure she would unnecessarily become a target for trouble.
“Regardless, thank you for your help. I wouldn’t want to stain your noble name, so it would be best for me to disappear from your sight now. Have a pleasant evening.”
Harriet gathered her skirts, gave a slight curtsey, and walked away without looking back.
Neither of them noticed that Julian was watching the scene from afar with wide, astonished eyes.
Left alone, Cedric leaned his body against the terrace railing.
“You know, Harriet Listerwell? She’s become a completely different person. Well, she’s still just as brazen, but perhaps even more shameless than before?”
Having arrived late to the party, he had overheard a young lady nearby saying this with a look of utter exhaustion. The reason his interest had been piqued was clearly because of the name ‘Harriet Listerwell.’
*So she’s out of the convent. I heard she was returning to Genoa, but I didn’t expect her to dive straight into high society.*
He had intended to leave it at that.
However, as he scanned the room to see who was attending, his gaze fell upon a man with a penchant for swindling. The man was busy explaining something to a woman in a green dress.
*Greg Lambert? Looks like he’s hunting for victims to drag into his family’s business.*
Greg used hyperbole to suck investment money out of naive rural nobles or wealthy, clueless matrons.
Of course, if the Lambert family business were successful, it wouldn’t be a swindle but a genuine high-return investment opportunity, but the problem was that the odds of that happening were slim.
Still, that was the Lambert family’s own way of doing business, and the responsibility for an investment always lay with the person who made the decision. Therefore, all he could do was pray that the woman in the green dress would make a wise choice.
*Though, it looks like she’s about to fall for it.*
Seeing her nod diligently and ask questions in response to Greg’s claims, it seemed she was already halfway convinced by his boasting.
It wasn’t his business anyway, so he decided to greet some acquaintances who had just approached him.
He exchanged pleasantries, asked after their recent affairs, and shared information thinly veiled as casual conversation while sipping champagne.
“Marquess Pascal didn’t make it today, I see.”
The first thing he checked was the status of Marquess Pascal, who had tried so hard—and at one point succeeded—in cutting off supply lines during the war.
“Count Hayward came instead. I probed him, and he said the Marquess couldn’t make it due to his chronic gout.”
“They say the pain of gout is like being sliced by blades; could it be the price for opposing the late Duke?”
At that, Cedric chuckled dryly.
“Indeed. I have no intention of going easy on him just because of a little gout, so what should I do?”
Rowan had suffered greatly and eventually lost his life on the battlefield due to the man’s relentless sabotage and acts bordering on treason. Why should he feel pity for a human lying comfortably at home and whining about pain?
*In any case, I only need to keep an eye on Count Hayward today.*
Since he already had people tailing him, he figured there wouldn’t be much to do at this party.
One might think he would be content to relax and leave, but Cedric loathed such times. Pointless, empty chatter was incredibly boring.
Unable to help himself, he glanced at his watch and was inwardly surprised.
*Only five minutes have passed?*
To think he had to endure until midnight like this—a sigh escaped him automatically.
While he kept his mouth shut, pretending to sip his champagne, his acquaintances began to gossip among themselves.
“Oh, right! I saw that young lady earlier. Harriet Listerwell. The Countess Felon brought her, you know?”
It was Harriet Listerwell again. Not the talk of the beauties who were the flowers of society, but the back-alley rumors of a scandal maker who had once been cast out of Genoa.
At this rate, wasn’t she the most popular person in society?
Then again, gossiping was far more entertaining than praising others, so it wasn’t exactly hard to understand.
“They say the Countess Felon is her new guardian.”
“What? That’s strange. With that Countess’s personality, I can’t imagine her taking in a grandniece who does nothing but stir up scandals.”
It was true. Trisha Felon was not someone who would take a troublemaker into her home out of mere pity or a trivial past connection.
“I have never touched a business that ends in failure.”
To be so confident meant her assessment of Harriet Listerwell must be vastly different from everyone else’s. But what on earth could she have seen in her that was ‘worth investing in’?
Cedric carefully recalled what he knew of Harriet.
*For a woman who supposedly chased after men, she was strangely haughty. She’s also the only woman who didn’t look away from my gaze first.*
The way she had asked him, ‘Why? Is it funny?’ in a challenging tone back then had been a fresh shock of its own.
Could it be that Trisha had discovered something in that boldness? And was that truly worth enduring the mockery of high society?
Meanwhile, the acquaintances’ conversation continued.
“She looked prettier. I don’t know what they did at the convent, but that mottled skin condition of hers is completely gone.”
“The dress she wore today suited her quite well, too. It was a green silk dress, and it must have been quite expensive. I suppose the Countess Felon…”
At the mention of a ‘green silk dress,’ Cedric’s gaze drifted toward where Greg Lambert had been earlier. Greg had been blathering on to a woman in an eye-catching green dress.
As he scanned the area quickly, he saw the hem of that very same green dress disappearing toward the terrace in the distance.
Cedric swirled his nearly empty champagne glass before handing it to a servant who was circulating to collect used glasses.
“Would you like another?” the servant asked.
Cedric looked toward the terrace one more time before shaking his head at the servant.
“I wish to check the vintage of the champagne. Where might I obtain a glass?”