Chapter 184
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 184
“My Lady?”
“I thought it might be difficult for you to eat alone, Sir Gabriel…”
I swallowed the words I’d been about to say—that I would feed him myself. He probably understood without me having to spell it out. Unable to meet his gaze, I looked away.
The meal took twice as long as usual. This was partly because Gabriel’s movements were still clumsy, and partly because every time he awkwardly managed a spoonful of soup, I was hit with a fresh wave of embarrassment over what I had almost done.
Still, eating slowly was probably good for digestion. I drank some tea to cleanse my palate, and its calming effect seemed to soothe my racing heart.
Unlike me, Gabriel looked incredibly serene. He seemed completely unfazed by my offer to feed him. Why am I the only one embarrassed? Just as I was starting to feel a little disappointed, I noticed the tips of his ears were flushed red.
“It’s because you keep staring at me, My Lady,” Gabriel offered as an excuse.
So he was embarrassed by my intense gaze. Had I really been staring that hard? In any case, it was a relief I wasn’t the only one feeling self-conscious.
“You’re going to see Count Rohanson?”
“Yes. It seems my invitation was sent to the Count. On my way back, I plan to stop by Misha’s boutique as well.”
“The boutique?”
“Yes. Didn’t you say it would be best to pay Misha a visit?”
I explained my plan to visit the Count first, then the boutique, promising to return safely without getting hurt or caught up in anything dangerous.
Gabriel looked like he wanted to come along, but I couldn't take someone who was supposed to be in prison out with me. Besides, Bishop Marik was undoubtedly keeping a close watch on Count Rohanson.
Whatever her intentions, she was clearly using the Count as bait. That had to be why she’d sent the invitation to him instead of Duke Hosaquin, despite knowing I was staying at the Duke's estate.
“Please, return safely.” Gabriel stared at me for a long moment, as if choosing his words carefully. When he finally spoke, his voice was a quiet plea. “If you were to get hurt, My Lady, I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”
* * *
We decided that only Pudding and I would go to see Count Rohanson. Canna puffed out her cheeks and clung to me, complaining about why she had to stay behind when she wasn’t even injured.
I was leaving her behind because it might be dangerous, but I couldn’t tell her that. If I did, she would surely throw a fit, demanding to know why she was being excluded from the danger when she wanted to help. Instead, I used the excuse that I was worried about leaving Gabriel alone and asked Canna to keep a close eye on him.
Canna nodded solemnly, as if a monumental mission had been bestowed upon her.
“I’ll make sure Sir Gabriel doesn’t get a single scratch. So you must absolutely not get hurt either, My Lady.”
How could I get hurt with Pudding by my side? Besides, my body was… well, sturdier than most. There was no need to worry.
Canna hugged me tightly. Pudding, who had been cradled in my arms, was squished between us like a deflated balloon and began to thrash in protest. After getting smacked by Pudding, Canna finally let go, though her face was still filled with reluctance.
“If you come back hurt, My Lady, I will inflict the exact same wound on myself.”
…What on earth was that? A friendship wound? It wasn’t like a friendship tattoo… Wasn’t that a bit much? Then again, our Canna did have a slightly—just a tiny bit—fanatical side to her.
Canna had never gone back on her word. From now on, I had to treat my body as if it were hers. I resolved once again that I absolutely could not get hurt.
Once we slipped past the Duke’s servants and stepped outside, a carriage was waiting in a quiet corner.
The Duke had prepared it the moment he heard I was going to see the Count. He’d also given me a tip on Count Rohanson’s whereabouts. Apparently, he’d put a tail on the Count long ago. He must have truly detested his son-in-law.
He knew the Count's every move. While I was grateful, I couldn't help but ask why he was going to such lengths.
“Since when have you been keeping watch on Count Rohanson?”
“Since before that foolish funeral of yours was even held.”
I was already a thorn in his side, and the news that I'd returned from the dead couldn't have helped matters. I could almost understand why the Duke had thrown a wine glass at me during our first meeting. Of course, that didn’t excuse violence, nor did it mean I deserved it—I just understood where he was coming from.
The coachman was one of the Duke’s men. I even recognized his face, which meant he was likely one of the Duke's trusted aides.
I quietly boarded the carriage, and it began to move at once. Our destination was Viscount Hwikel's private residence.
The Count was currently freeloading there. Yes, that very same Viscount Hwikel—Bishop Marik’s lackey, the one who had approached the Count, gifted him a dagger, and framed me as a suspect in the Crown Prince's assassination.
The Duke had cursed up a storm while telling me this. Listening to his harsh profanity, I realized that the Duke still held a slightly higher opinion of me than of the Count. If Count Rohanson ever showed his face in front of the Duke, he wouldn't just get a wine glass thrown at him; he'd probably be pelted with a bomb of rotting, melted cheese.
Pudding, lying on my lap, began to doze off. Getting drowsy during a carriage ride must be a universal rule. He must have stayed up all night helping Gabriel, so it was only natural that he was exhausted.
“Lady Rohanson, we will be arriving shortly.”
Pudding’s eyes snapped open. I gently stroked him, whispering for him to sleep a little more. It was a brief, comforting moment.
Just as the coachman said, the carriage came to a halt less than ten minutes later. Viscount Hwikel's private residence was located right in the heart of the capital. It would have been difficult to acquire such prime real estate with the status of a mere viscount; he must have received a hefty sum from Bishop Marik.
After telling the coachman to head back first, I stepped out. Seeing the carriage stop before the gate, a servant rushed out and blocked my path.
“Who might you be?”
“I’ve come to see my father. Would you let me in?”
“Your father?”
Viscount Hwikel was unmarried and childless. Flustered, the servant repeated my words. Then, as a thought seemed to strike him, he began scrutinizing my face, probably looking for any resemblance to the Viscount. He wouldn’t find any. Suddenly, his eyes widened in realization.
“A-Are you… Lady Rohanson?”
“Yes.”
“If you’ve come to see Count Rohanson, I will guide you inside immediately.”
The servant ushered me into the mansion without delay.
I was glad it wasn’t a hassle, but his attitude told me everything I needed to know about the Count's standing here. Normally, nobles scheduled appointments in advance, observing strict etiquette even among family. Yet this servant offered to guide me in right away without even notifying the Count. His eagerness suggested he actively disliked the Count. Well, who could possibly like that man? I’ll give Amaranth a pass, since she was blinded by love and easily deceived.
“Is it alright not to announce my visit to Viscount Hwikel?”
“Ah, the Viscount is currently out. However, he instructed us beforehand to receive any guests looking for Count Rohanson with the utmost sincerity.”
As expected, this was Bishop Marik's scheme. But I had assumed Viscount Hwikel would be here.
“Viscount Hwikel is truly a considerate man, taking such good care of the Count.”
Considerate, my foot. He stabbed the Count in the back. The servant clearly knew very little. Considering he was just a hired hand, that was only natural.
He continued to heap praise on the Viscount. To be fair, the Viscount did have an excellent public image: a sociable, well-connected, and gentlemanly noble who was friendly toward the Temple and donated generously. But while it was customary to praise the master of the house, this servant’s worship was getting out of hand. I couldn't listen to it anymore.
“Indeed. Viscount Hwikel is a very kind man.”
“Isn’t he?”
“My father had nowhere to go after I set fire to our estate. It’s a true relief that the Viscount took him in.”
The servant’s face turned pale, and he finally snapped his mouth shut. He’d realized who he was talking to. Now that it was quiet, my ears could finally rest. I should have done that sooner.
“There’s… there’s no way anyone would believe such wild rumors.”
“Is that so? Thank you for your trust.”
The servant shrank back, trying his best not to offend me. Despite his words, his sudden shift in attitude suggested that other, more sinister rumors had crossed his mind.
An idea struck me. If I questioned him now, while he was thoroughly intimidated, he would likely be very cooperative.
“Viscount Hwikel is indeed a wonderful man, just as you said. I'd like to repay his kindness someday, so let me ask: when did my father start staying with him?”
“It hasn't been long. About two weeks ago…”
“Has anyone else come to see my father since then?”
“Ah, no. There was… one guest who visited.”
“A guest? Who?”
Who could it be? Someone sent by Bishop Marik? When the servant hesitated, I simply stared at him. His loyalty to the Viscount seemed quite strong. Was he hesitating because answering would feel like a betrayal?
I contorted my face into a look of deep concern.
“Lately, many pests have been clinging to my father. I want to know who approached him while I wasn't around.”
“Well, that is…”
“Ah, of course, I didn’t mean Viscount Hwikel was a pest. But if you don’t answer honestly, I might misunderstand and think the Viscount introduced my father to some bad company.”
“A p-pest! The Viscount is not that kind of person!”
“Then tell me who came to see my father.”
Indignant at my slight against the Viscount, the servant blurted out the guest's name in frustration.
“D-Dame Musetta, who was the guard of His Highness the Crown Prince…”
He stammered, his caution understandable given that it concerned the Crown Prince's assassination—the very incident I was a suspect in.
“Dame Musetta stopped by?”
“Y-yes. She said she had something to investigate with Count Rohanson.”
Suddenly, Jeremia’s letter came to mind. She had mentioned that Musetta, who was guarding Tenebrae, had taken some time off after swapping shifts. I had suspected Bishop Marik had given her a task, and it seemed she’d used that time to seek out the Count and win him over. It was now clear that Bishop Marik had made her move.
“Please wait here while I fetch Count Rohanson.”
After guiding me to the drawing room, the servant instructed a nearby maid to bring the Count. The maid served me tea, and I waited while sipping it.
I waited as patiently as I could, but even after emptying three teacups, there was still no sign of him. I tapped my fingers on the table.
“Where is my father?”
“I-If you could please wait just a little longer…” the maid bowed deeply, trembling as she begged for my patience.
It seemed Count Rohanson was putting on airs. Was he trying to stand me up, or just being petty? Or was he preparing some kind of trap? With him out of sight, all sorts of thoughts filled my head. My patience wore thin.
I tickled Pudding, who was dozing on my lap, to wake him. Then, I whispered softly so the maid wouldn’t hear.
“Pudding, could you go see what Count Rohanson is up to?”
If he was making me wait just to spite me, he was going to regret it.