Chapter 2
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 2
Oh, what a beautiful friendship.
Harriet gritted her teeth. This familiar farce was exhausting, ridiculous, and utterly nauseating.
I don’t care if he’s a doddering old man on his deathbed. If he’ll just take me away from this devil, I’ll marry anyone. Please, just propose to me.
Harriet prayed with every fiber of her being.
Though her prayer was fervent, she didn't actually harbor much hope. After all, God hadn't answered a single one of her pleas since she was twelve years old.
So, when a man who should have had no business with her approached, she was so flustered her throat went bone-dry.
And why wouldn't it?
“Lady Harriet Listerwell?”
“Yes? Yes! I… I am Harriet Listerwell…”
The man, who had asked for her name with an unreadable smile, made his intentions known.
“I believe I’d like my property back.”
He pointed at the brooch with long, elegant fingers, claiming ownership.
Oh, my God.
He was Duke Cedric Kailas—the guest of honor, a war hero, and the man everyone was here to see.
Why is he talking to me…?
Harriet’s face flushed with a sudden, desperate surge of hope.
But Cedric merely stared at her, his silence heavy. Harriet realized then that his eyes weren't smiling at all.
Something is wrong.
She knew something had gone sideways, but she couldn't pinpoint where or how. Or rather, so many things were amiss that she couldn't make sense of any of it.
It was clear Cedric hadn't pinned the brooch on her himself. Before the lights went out, he had been occupied with the Empress. Hadn't he just walked over from the imperial dais?
And he isn't the type to indulge in romantic whims.
Such was Cedric Kailas’s position. He had inherited the title at only twenty-five after his father, Rowan Kailas, perished in the Kifren War. As a staunch ally of the Imperial Family, he had a duty to maintain the Ducal House exactly as his predecessor had. His future wife would be someone carefully vetted, chosen only after meeting a thousand different conditions.
Then who pinned this on me? And where did this brooch even come from?
Was it a cruel prank?
Harriet’s lips felt parched as an instinctive sense of danger took hold. She couldn't just stand there staring at him; she had to resolve this, and quickly.
“I—I’ll give it back to you immediately.”
She reached for the brooch, but she was so flustered that her fingers fumbled, unable to work the clasp.
“What on earth? It doesn’t look like His Grace gave that to her.”
“Of course not! Why would the Duke give a brooch to her?”
“Don’t tell me she stole it? Did she actually have the nerve to wear it?”
“Who knows what goes through that girl's head? Typical Harriet Listerwell. She’s at it again.”
The venomous murmurs reached Harriet’s ears. Her back felt clammy with cold sweat.
Why won’t it come off!
The Duke of Kailas’s brooch, of all things—she had never even dreamed of touching such a thing. Why did she have to suffer this humiliation over an item she hadn't even wanted? She wanted to rip it off and hurl it away.
Perhaps that desperation showed on her face.
“Wait a moment. You might damage the piece. Allow me.”
Though the brooch was pinned to her bodice—a position that should have been awkward—Cedric stepped into her personal space as if the jewelry were his sole focus. Harriet held her breath, paralyzed by the tension.
He removed the brooch with effortless grace. He did it so easily that Harriet’s previous struggle looked like a deliberate act of coy hesitation.
“Th-thank you.”
Even as she said it, she didn't know what she was thanking him for. He didn't reply.
The ensuing silence was so unnerving that Harriet couldn't help but lift her head. She swallowed a gasp. Cedric’s face was inches from her own. His reddish-brown eyes were as beautiful as rubies, but the contempt and fury swirling within them left her no room to appreciate his handsome features.
“With whom should I discuss this matter, Lady Harriet?”
“W-what do you mean? I don’t quite…”
“Specifically, why my father’s memento was displayed on the bodice of a woman I’ve never met—and how you intend to answer for this insult.”
With every word that left Cedric’s lips, the temperature of the air seemed to plummet.
“To simply dismiss this as the prank of an immature Lady… the weight of this brooch is far too great for that.”
Harriet stood with her mouth agape, forgetting all decorum. The words were clearly in the Imperial tongue, yet she couldn't seem to process them.
“Your Grace! There must be some… m-misunderstanding!”
“Why do those who commit wrongs always hide behind that word? Do you truly think I’ll overlook this if you simply say that?”
His lips curved into a smooth smile, but the sight of it sent shivers down Harriet’s arms.
“No, it’s not like that! You’re truly mistaken! When the lights came back on, it was just… it was already pinned to my dress!”
Harriet protested with all her might, but Cedric’s expression didn't shift an inch. Instead, the surrounding guests began to hiss.
“She must have pinned it on herself.”
“No matter how much she craves attention, how could she use the Duke of Kailas’s brooch…!”
“She’s always been like that, hasn't she?”
The clicking of tongues, the scornful glares, the furrowed brows—she had endured these reactions countless times, but today, they felt particularly suffocating.
“It’s not true! I’m telling you, it’s not!”
As Harriet cried out, her uncle, Viscount John Listerwell, came rushing over, panting for breath.
“Your Grace!”
“Ah. The man in charge has arrived just in time.”
Harriet looked at her uncle with a desperate, pleading gaze.
Help me! Save me! I truly don’t know anything!
However, the words that spilled from John’s mouth were the last thing Harriet expected.
“My deepest apologies! It is my failing for not keeping my niece under a tighter leash.”
“So it seems.”
Cedric’s voice was perfectly calm, yet no one present failed to realize he was livid.
When one thought about it, it was obvious. This was a victory party for a war in which he had lost his father; it could hardly have been an enjoyable evening to begin with. To then lose his father’s memento in the middle of it was a tragedy.
But for Harriet Listerwell, the notorious "Scandal Maker" of high society, to brazenly wear that brooch as if the Duke harbored personal feelings for her? That was an outrage.
John was sweating profusely, bowing repeatedly. Then Bella appeared from the crowd, her expression a mask of frightened concern as she pleaded for leniency.
“Your Grace, please, have mercy on Harriet. She likely found the brooch by chance and wore it because she was desperate for a little attention. She’s never had anything of her own before…”
At those words, the color drained from Harriet’s face.
“Bella! You saw it too! I thought the person who pinned it on me had simply made a mistake…!”
Harriet tried to explain. She believed that Bella, her friend, would surely understand her innocence. But her attempt was cut short by a roar from John.
“Silence, Harriet! How dare you raise your voice in front of His Grace!”
John scolded her with a furious expression. He had every reason to be distraught; tonight’s banquet was supposed to be the stage for his son Aston’s debut. To incur the displeasure of the guest of honor at such an event meant this commotion was a disaster.
Harriet tried once more to defend herself, but tears burst forth before the words could follow. Her lips trembled uncontrollably. She knew how shameful it was to weep in such a setting, yet she couldn't stop.
“It’s truly not true! I… I… hic… I wouldn’t… huff… I wouldn't steal something belonging to His Grace!”
Her tearful voice was pathetic, but no one offered pity.
“She certainly lives up to her reputation. A true ‘Scandal Maker’.”
“A girl who isn’t even pretty, yet she’s always throwing herself at men.”
“Tsk-tsk. Poor Viscount Listerwell. What an embarrassment, all because of a niece he took in out of loyalty to his brother.”
Even in the middle of the bustling banquet hall, Harriet felt as though she were drowning in a profound, icy loneliness. No one was on her side. No one would listen to a single word she said.
She was used to situations where the more she protested, the more ridiculous she appeared, but because this was an Imperial Banquet, the despair felt absolute.
It’s so easy to make a fool out of someone.
The sorrow was so overwhelming that a hollow, broken laugh escaped her.
However, she wanted to make one thing clear to Cedric. She knew he wouldn't believe her, but she couldn't simply stammer and slink away. Harriet swallowed her tears, turned to the Duke, and spoke with sudden, sharp clarity.
“I did not steal your brooch, Your Grace. In fact, I never wanted it in the first place.”