3.
After seating Benedict, Cedric naturally took the head seat and signaled the butler with a sharp nod.
At that, the waiting servants began placing delectable dishes onto the long table, and the atmosphere in the banquet hall turned convivial.
Cedric waited for the wine to be poured into everyone’s glasses before he broke the silence.
“I thank you all once again for attending my father’s funeral and for your presence here. Though the head of the family has changed unexpectedly, the House of Kaylas wishes to maintain a solid relationship with all of you moving forward. That is, provided no untoward incidents occur.”
At the playfully added condition, a ripple of nervous chuckles passed through the room. However, the smile on Cedric’s lips faded quickly as he recalled his father.
“My father was thoughtful, faithful, and meticulous, never missing a single detail. While they say there is no such thing as perfection in human affairs, I believe my father came as close as possible. And compared to him, I am merely a fledgling who still has much to learn.”
He had genuinely respected and loved his father—a staunch knight, a faithful head of the family, and a man who had wanted to give everything to his son.
But the world did not always bend to Cedric’s will. There were those who had ignored and deceived Rowan—who was excessively frugal with his words—without him even knowing.
Cedric’s eyes, settled in a deep, wine-red hue, swept over those seated around the table one by one.
There were toxic weeds growing here that needed to be uprooted, but rushing would only ruin the work. He had to keep these enemies at ease until the Reaper’s scythe pierced their throats.
“So, I will navigate these difficult times with an attitude of learning, asking for your guidance. Please do not blame me too much even if I appear a bit foolish.”
Light laughter rose once more.
For now, this was sufficient. A fledgling who lost his father on the battlefield and, thanks to that sacrifice, had not only survived but gained the heavy title of a war hero—just that much would suffice.
‘It is better if no one knows yet what is hidden behind this fledgling’s back.’
Cedric grinned, raised his glass high, and spoke.
“Let’s have a toast. To the eternal covenant.”
“To the covenant!”
The retainers, shouting in one voice, tilted their glasses and moistened their throats with the fragrant wine.
Had they known the liquor was a substitute for someone’s blood and tears, they would not have drunk it with such joy.
* * *
The sound of birds greeting the morning drifted through the garden. The flower buds were just beginning to unfurl, and the grass, unable to shake off the morning dew, sparkled in the sunlight.
Harriet looked around the garden of the Listerwell estate. Every spot filled with memories caught her eye.
‘I’m coming back in a year, so why does it feel like the end?’
Her heart felt hollow, and her feet wouldn’t move. Sensing her hesitation, John spoke sharply.
“There is no gain in dragging your feet. If you want to get yourself some lunch, you should leave now. Terry! Are you not ready yet!”
Afraid that Harriet might insist on staying, he hurried her departure.
“Here, this is the admission permit for St. Clarissa’s Convent. Keep it safe. I heard the chef packed some breakfast for you earlier. Don’t show your face around here unnecessarily; just finish it inside the carriage.”
“Yes….”
“Don’t take your uncle’s words the wrong way. Isn’t it all for your own sake? People don’t have kind words for a young lady traveling alone.”
“Yes….”
Thinking he had done enough, John no longer tried to soothe his niece. The coachman loaded Harriet’s luggage into the carriage.
The suitcase she had chosen while wary of John’s gaze held enough for a year, yet it was smaller than a bag for a fifteen-day trip—even though she had picked the largest one available.
All she had packed were one or two sets of outing clothes, casual wear, and pajamas, with a few extra layers of thick underwear upon hearing the convent’s winters were harsh.
‘I brought all the jewelry I had, just in case…. Is that unnecessary?’
It was only a handful, but having something of value provided a sliver of inner comfort.
Once she added the frame containing her family photo, her mother’s rosary, and two extra pairs of shoes, the bag was packed tight, leaving no room for cosmetics or books.
As she looked at the suitcase anxiously, John urged her again.
“Don’t dally and depart at once!”
“Yes. Then… I will see you in a year.”
Harriet took heavy steps and climbed into the carriage. She failed to notice that John did not respond to her final greeting.
* * *
“Mother Superior. Miss Harriet Listerwell, who applied for admission the other day, is scheduled to arrive this morning.”
At Agnes’s report, Mother Catherine let out a long sigh and set her glasses down on the desk.
Her withered hands were full of wrinkles, but the knuckles of the fingers that kept rolling her rosary were firm.
“Did she say she was staying for a year?”
“Yes. It is quite a long period for a young lady coming for ‘repentance.’”
Agnes hesitated for a moment before adding, “Though it’s not exactly a ‘blessing,’ the donation that came in for her living expenses was very generous.”
At those words, the wrinkles on Mother Catherine’s forehead deepened.
“If the convent’s operation weren’t so difficult, I would have been able to refuse such an unwelcome visit.”
“S-still, I believe it is God’s will that our convent has become a place to wash away the sins of young ladies. Thanks to that, we can help those in need and embrace abandoned daughters.”
Agnes, young and faithful, tried to interpret the situation through a hopeful lens.
St. Clarissa’s Convent was located relatively close to the capital of Genoa. It had become the perfect sanctuary for young ladies who had caused trouble to hide away under the guise of repentance.
“If the Holy See understood our situation, we wouldn’t have to hear the derogatory term ‘place of exile.’”
Mother Catherine clicked her tongue and stood up.
Every time they acted as an image-laundering facility for high-society scandals, she couldn’t help but resent the Holy See. Why was the budget for female convents halved, excused by low donations or the expectation of subsidiary income?
‘How much could they possibly earn from making soap…’
It was a ridiculous affair. While male convents focused on scripture transcription or religious art, female convents were forced into manual labor unrelated to faith.
St. Clarissa’s had a farm of olive trees and herb bushes, but the nuns were exhausted by the labor.
‘Where would the sisters who labor all day find the time to memorize scriptures or the physical strength to study theology? And yet, they demand we perform as well as the male monks.’
Every time she thought about it, a surge of anger welled up. Whenever she voiced such complaints, she was met with reprimands questioning her faith.
“The Holy See and other convents all have their own circumstances. Have you truly prayed to Yawar for a method?”
Having been marked in such a way, St. Clarissa’s was provided with the most insufficient operating funds of all. It was blatant pressure to give up, but Mother Catherine could not turn away the girls who relied on her.
In such a situation, it was impossible to refuse the donation that came with a ‘troublemaker.’
“What kind of trouble did Miss Harriet Listerwell cause?”
When she asked in a tone of half-resignation, Agnes answered with a troubled face.
“They say she is a famous scandal maker in Genoa’s high society.”
“Another love affair, then.”
“And it seems she even seduced men by impersonating her own cousin. They say the cousin is the greatest beauty in high society.”
“Hah….”
Mother Catherine let out a hollow laugh.
It seemed excessive to send someone into exile for a whole year for that. Even those caught in scandalous affairs with their fiancés’ friends usually only stayed for three or four months.
“I don’t think that’s everything.”
“The decisive incident was separate. It is said that at the victory banquet, the young lady stole a brooch from Duke Kaylas and wore it as if she had received it herself. That provoked the Duke’s anger.”
At those words, Mother Catherine’s eyes widened.