4.
Aston looked at Bella with intense curiosity.
At that, the expressions of the Viscount and Viscountess Listerwell mirrored Aston’s own.
When they had first heard the plan to “pin a brooch from a man that girl could never even dream of onto Harriet’s dress,” they hadn’t asked for the specifics, trusting Bella to handle it. But the situation shifted entirely once they realized the target was Duke Kaylas.
“Indeed. I am quite curious myself, Bella.”
“Pfft!”
Bella burst into laughter, as if reliving a delightful memory.
“Actually, I had originally intended to pin a brooch belonging to the eldest son of the House of Count Cheslow on her. Mr. Lambert had stolen it for me for this very occasion.”
Even if it had only been the House of Count Cheslow, Harriet would have faced public ruin. After all, the owner of the brooch, James Cheslow, was the long-time fiancé of Daphne Laurel, a beauty famous within the social circle.
“But then, an even greater stroke of luck fell into my lap! I had only approached the Duke of Kaylas to try and catch his eye.”
Bella had been circling Cedric, weaving through the throngs of people scrambling for a single handshake with the banquet’s guest of honor.
*Honestly, can’t these people read the room and step aside? Why must they block the way?*
Just as she was nursing her frustration while glaring at the backs of the elderly nobles—who showed no intention of yielding their spots—an acquaintance of Cedric called out to him from behind.
He twisted his body in the crowded space, and at that moment, Bella saw something sparkling fall from his chest.
Cedric, mid-turn, and even the people standing before him were too preoccupied with identifying the man who had called out to notice the object hit the floor.
“It was a bit tricky to retrieve without being seen, but I pretended my heel had injured my foot and snatched it up.”
“Wow, truly the great Bella Listerwell!”
“Don’t be cheeky to your sister, Aston.”
Bella wrinkled her nose and scolded him, though she didn’t seem offended in the slightest.
“When the lights in the banquet hall went out, I quickly went over to Harriet, pinned the brooch on her, and waited nearby, pretending I knew nothing.”
“Was it also you who went and told the Duke of Kaylas?”
“Who else? I was the only one who knew that girl was in possession of his brooch.”
Bella’s expression stiffened slightly as she recalled that moment.
“I heard you lost a brooch. I apologize, but would you mind telling me what kind of brooch it was?”
When Bella had approached Cedric, he hadn’t offered a single smile, even while looking at her youthful beauty—a visage that would normally have charmed any man.
However, desperate to recover the piece, he had dutifully described its appearance.
“It is a 50-carat emerald-cut ruby brooch. The design features diamonds surrounding the ruby.”
Of course, she had known exactly what it was. Although the style was far from her taste, the gem itself was so brilliant that her heart had raced.
Bella had feigned bewilderment. “Um… my cousin was showing off a brooch she received earlier, and it sounded quite similar to the one you described. Of course, it might not be your brooch, but…”
“And yet, why are you suspicious of your cousin, my lady?”
“Oh, well, it’s not so much suspicion as it is…”
As she stammered, pretending to find the answer difficult, Caroline, standing nearby, kindly explained on her behalf.
She detailed how Harriet was a notorious Scandal Maker, known for chasing any man who showed interest in Bella, writing love letters, and throwing herself at them.
Therefore, no man would ever confess his feelings to such a girl, and even if one did, he certainly wouldn’t openly pin his own brooch on her.
“And the rest is common knowledge.”
Bella had felt dizzy upon hearing the brooch was an heirloom of the late Duke, but as expected, Cedric did not blow the matter out of proportion.
“If we tell them we sent Harriet to the convent, Duke Kaylas will be secretly pleased. It shows we are taking the initiative to repent, even when he told us it was fine.”
“If it goes that way, I could ask for nothing more.”
“Even if it doesn’t, it’s not a major loss. We aren’t tied to the House of Kaylas anyway. Plus, we’ve gained a reason to speak to the Duke.”
Bella wore a confident smile.
Getting rid of Harriet was a success in itself, and since she had also managed to forge a connection with Cedric, this ordeal was not a loss at all.
At that moment, Aston interjected, throwing a wrench into the conversation.
“You’re my sister, but do you really think the House of Kaylas would want to form an alliance with us? Mother, Father, don’t get your hopes up too high.”
But Bella’s thoughts were different.
“What’s wrong with it? The late Duke of Kaylas was also the second son of a Viscount. Such a man caught the eye of a Princess and became a Duke; my situation is better than that.”
“She is right. In any case, the one who will decide the marriage proposal will be the Duke’s mother, and the Duchess of Kaylas is someone who loves romantic things.”
Miriam took her daughter’s side, swelling with hope.
For this harmonious family, the plight of the House of Kaylas—having lost its head—or the circumstances of Harriet being unjustly cast away to a convent, were not matters of consideration.
***
“Cedric! No, should I call you Your Grace, the Duke, now?”
“You must do so once we are inside, but for now, ‘Cedric’ is sufficient, Uncle.”
Cedric greeted Viscount Benedict Kingsley, his uncle who had come to visit the ducal estate, with appropriate courtesy.
Today was the day he had invited his relatives and vassals to a banquet. Everyone had gathered, excluding those who had declined, and the last to arrive was Viscount Kingsley.
When he led him to open the doors of the banquet hall, everyone seated rose. It was an act for Cedric, but as Benedict, who had entered with him, nodded, it became as if they were paying their respects to him instead.
It was not that Benedict was unaware that the atmosphere had turned subtle. On the contrary, he had acted this way precisely because he wanted everyone to be conscious of him.
“I am grateful for your help in the meantime. It is a relief that Rowan Kaylas is dead, but it bothers me that the whelp Cedric survived.”
“He is just a brat who knows nothing of the world. What is there to fear?”
“I am fine. But if he discovers our relationship, do you think he will let a Viscount be?”
Marquess Pascal, despite having benefited greatly from the information Benedict had provided, looked down on him beneath his breath. He treated him like a coward incapable of handling his own nephew.
That scratched at Benedict’s pride.
*If I only had that boy Cedric in my grasp, even Marquess Pascal or Count Hayward would be cowering before me.*
To achieve that, he first had to sweet-talk Cedric.
He patted his nephew’s shoulder as if to encourage him, leading him to his seat.
“It must be exhausting to face such major events one after another, no?”
He then scrutinized Cedric’s face from all angles and asked with a look of concern.
“You seem a bit gaunt; are you eating well?”
His hand remained resting on Cedric’s back.
“Of course I am.”
“Yes, yes! Leading a ducal house is difficult if you have a weak body. I understand your grief over losing your father, but it is precisely because of such times that you must pull yourself together.”
“You are correct.”
The term “weak” was completely unsuited for Cedric Kaylas, a man hailed as a war hero, but Cedric obediently agreed.
Satisfied, Benedict patted his nephew’s shoulder once more and nodded.
“If you ever have any difficulties, contact me at any time. Rowan and I looked exactly alike, so you might as well consider me your father from now on.”
“Haha, I would have to hear the opinions of my aunt and my mother on that.”
When Cedric laughed, the others in the banquet hall followed with light laughter.
It was true that the twins, Benedict and Rowan, had been born with nearly identical faces, but now, having reached their mid-fifties, their appearances and demeanors were so distinct that anyone could tell them apart.
Benedict, who had become the Viscount Kingsley through the luck of being born five minutes earlier, was usually smiling, silver-tongued, and quick to act. One might describe his appearance as a businessman in polite terms, or a merchant in a more disrespectful way.
The late Rowan had been taciturn, a man of singular focus, rigid, and loyal—a sturdy knight. He rarely laughed, and because he was a man of deep thought, he spoke so little that those around him felt frustrated.
Therefore, no matter how much they looked alike, there was no way Benedict could ever be regarded like Rowan.
“Time is running short. Everyone has arrived, so let us serve the meal.”