Chapter 8
Chapter 8
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Banquet
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The banquet had begun, and the dance music had changed for the fourth time.
Several people who knew Juliet Monad approached her, offering champagne, but Juliet shook her head and refused.
"I'm not feeling well."
Lennox watched the entire scene from a balcony a little distance away.
Perhaps because of what had happened at the temple during the day, curious glances toward Juliet showed no sign of stopping.
But her claim of not feeling well didn't seem like mere politeness—men who came one after another to ask her to dance could be seen returning empty-handed.
Juliet, who had been holding her spot without a care for the surrounding stares, showed interest in others only once.
Young ladies around Juliet's age had gathered in one corner of the banquet hall, bursting into giggles.
"Congratulations on your marriage!"
"You'll make a beautiful bride."
From their reactions, it seemed she was a bride-to-be on the eve of her wedding.
Juliet stared at the bashful bride-to-be with an inscrutable gaze.
Lennox Carlyle found himself wondering what on earth Juliet was thinking.
'Come to think of it.'
Lennox ruminated anew.
During the time he observed her, hardly anyone approached Juliet without reservation.
At best, it was flirtatious glances or mockery.
'So that's why she's standing there all alone?'
For some reason, he didn't like seeing her standing there lost and alone, like a child who had lost her mother.
He recalled how, before the banquet, Ellie Eden—the duke's secretary—and Kane, who was in charge of Juliet's escort, had desperately tried to defend Juliet Monad.
Jude had even made up some ridiculous excuse and outright asked if he couldn't let it slide just once, whatever her mistake had been.
"The lady's close maid up and got married not long ago, leaving her all mopey. Isn't that why she messed up?"
Lennox found it rather amusing that his sharp-tempered subordinates, who took after their employer, were scrambling to cover for her.
So he let them labor under their misconception.
Truth be told, he didn't seriously entertain the idea that Juliet had been fooling around with another man.
It wasn't out of trust in Juliet or his own pride—it simply wasn't something Juliet Monad would do.
So Lennox considered other possibilities.
That the one acting strangely wasn't Juliet Monad, but Lennox Carlyle himself.
The usual him wouldn't have bothered digging into his lover's comings and goings.
At this point, to stave off even more hassle, he should have cut ties cleanly.
Yet here he was, hesitating.
'Had he grown fond of her in the meantime?'
Fond.
In truth, their relationship should never have lasted in the first place.
He was the type to tire quickly, favoring light and fleeting affairs.
His habit was to sever them ruthlessly before emotions turned sticky.
Once he grew bored, it was over.
But at some point, Lennox had noticed a faint sense of unease.
In the northern ducal castle, in his bedroom, someone's presence had become... natural.
In the hazy light of dawn.
After a night of exertion, leaving the woman to sleep soundly in bed while he slipped out first—it had become routine.
Instinct told him it was dangerous to let it go on.
He became acutely aware of it three years prior, around the northern summer festival.
Following festival tradition, the woman offered him a neat handkerchief embroidered with the initial of his name and his house crest.
He frowned and made an impulsive decision on the spot.
'This is the end.'
At the same moment, part of him felt a quiet relief.
'Of course.'
It had simply taken a little longer, but Juliet Monad was no different from all the other women who had passed through his life.
She would present a gift made with such care, get hurt by the rejection, and inevitably cling for something more.
It had dragged on too long—it was time to end it.
But before he could even voice the breakup, the usually quiet woman spoke first.
"You hate things like this, don't you?"
As if she could see right through him.
While he fumbled for a response, she smiled as purely as summer flowers cradled in her arms.
"It's fine if you throw it away. Give it to anyone, I don't mind."
She said the noble ladies she'd met at the festival had nagged her relentlessly to make one, so she'd had no choice but to bring it.
It wasn't some embarrassed afterthought to soften a potential rejection.
She simply left those calm words and turned away without waiting for his reply.
She truly seemed to believe the gift she'd brought was destined for the trash.
Her utter nonchalance was so bizarre that he couldn't bring himself to discard the handkerchief.
Every time he looked at it, her pure smile came to mind, so he shoved it deep in a drawer and locked it away—but the thought of giving such a thing to anyone else was absurd.
Strangely enough, she sometimes acted as if she understood him better than he understood himself.
For someone barely into her twenties, Juliet's words and actions carried a worldly detachment beyond her years.
She didn't seem aware of it, but at times she treated him with the easy familiarity of someone who'd known him forever.
What baffled him most was that it didn't feel unpleasant.
Lennox Carlyle couldn't put a name to that vague emotion.
Too regrettable to sever, too ambiguous to embrace.
So he couldn't bring himself to let her go recklessly.
Today, I'll end it. Tomorrow. Next season. Such resolutions had stretched on for years.
Still, he didn't know what to call that feeling.
* * *
"I'm not feeling well, so dancing would be too much. Sorry."
Even polite refusals only worked a time or two.
But fortunately, the issue resolved before Juliet could commit any further offenses.
"Y-Your Grace!"
The man, who had been shooting her dirty looks while pretending to be drunk, went white as a sheet, like he'd seen a ghost.
No need to mention how he bolted with rigid, soldierly precision.
Juliet inwardly shrugged at the man who cleared out the idiots just by showing up.
Unfair? Sure, but what here wasn't?
He was the Duke of the North, a war hero, and a young, wealthy bachelor to boot.
'And I'm Juliet Monad.'
As if the wistful expression had never been there, Juliet flashed a brilliant smile at the black-haired man.
"Ah, Your Grace. There you are."
But the man didn't smile back.
She hadn't expected him to, but still.
His gaze remained icy, draining the color from her smile.
A complex look, tangled with all sorts of emotions.
With a face as cold as marble, the man said,
"Let's talk."