Chapter 20
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 20
Harriet was the first to break the silence.
Cedric scrutinized her attire—clothing so threadbare it was unbecoming of a noblewoman—and only spoke just as Harriet’s patience was beginning to fray.
“I’ve heard the news.”
“What news?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.
Cedric, perhaps deeming a direct answer unnecessary, moved on to an entirely different subject.
“It was not my intention, but I feel a certain measure of responsibility for this matter. Therefore, if Lady Listerwell wishes to enter the clergy, I intend to sponsor your seminary tuition and living expenses.”
“What?”
“Or, if you wish to live as a commoner, I will provide an equivalent sum as a settlement fund.”
Harriet stared blankly at Cedric, utterly blindsided by the unexpected offer. He didn't appear to be mocking or sneering at her, but the offer was so surreal she had to ask again.
“Are you serious?”
“Does anyone joke about such matters?”
“Yes,” Harriet replied. My uncle did.
She barely managed to swallow the words rising in her throat, watching Cedric’s expression flicker with slight bewilderment. However, he quickly regained his composure.
“It is no joke. However, there is a condition.”
Just as I thought. Yet, the condition he proposed could barely be called one.
“You are not to mention my name elsewhere. That includes the commotion from the day we last met.”
“Ah.” Harriet, who had been nodding blankly, let out a small, hollow laugh. “Is that what you’re afraid of? That I might spread rumors of my resentment toward the Duke?”
Even with Cedric sitting before her, his brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, she wasn't afraid in the slightest. Considering she would eventually have to return to Genoa, it would have been wise to hold her tongue, but having only recently learned the truth about her parents' deaths, she felt she had nothing left to lose.
“I truly appreciate the offer, but I must decline. Oh! And please, don’t worry about me slandering your name. I won’t utter a single word about the Duke.”
“...Does the condition displease you?”
“It wasn’t pleasant, no. But that’s not the only reason for my refusal.” The smile vanished from Harriet’s lips. “I won’t become a nun. For whose benefit would I do that? I’m going back, and I will...!”
She clenched her fist. She stopped herself before she could carelessly utter the word revenge. She couldn't trust the man sitting across from her.
As she gritted her teeth to suppress the surge of anger, Cedric spoke again. “Even if you return to Genoa, you will need funds to settle there.”
“I’ll manage somehow with what I have.”
“Lady Listerwell.” He sighed. “In your current situation, clinging to your pride is hardly a wise choice.”
At those words, Harriet’s eyes flashed.
“I’ve lived my entire life without pride, and look where it got me. Now that I’m finally trying to reclaim a shred of it, what? Do you find it amusing?”
Cedric stared at Harriet for a long time, his face rigid. Harriet met his gaze without flinching. Ultimately, it was Cedric who looked away first.
“I had no intention of wounding your self-respect, Lady Listerwell. If that is truly your wish, then there is nothing more to be done.”
He rose from his seat, as if his business at Saint Clarissa Convent was concluded.
*
After Cedric left, Harriet returned to her room and pulled her blanket over her head. It wasn't to cry; she was simply freezing.
Someone had given her a pair of used arm warmers, which barely kept her hands from going numb, but she still lacked proper winter gear.
If only he’d brought a muffler or gloves, I would have gratefully accepted them, Harriet grumbled, pulling the blanket tighter around her.
She had spoken boldly in front of the Duke, but her situation was dire. Even a man who despised her had come to offer charity; what else could that mean?
It means the rumors are true: Harriet Listerwell is a lost cause.
She quickly resolved to write a letter asking "that person" for guardianship.
I met her once when I was a child... I wonder if she’ll even remember me?
The person Harriet had spent days deliberating over was Countess Trisha Fellon. She was an "iron lady" who single-handedly presided over the Fellon family, and she was Harriet’s great-aunt.
Perhaps due to her husband’s poor health, or the Fellon family’s history of scarce heirs, the couple had never had children. Her husband had passed away over ten years ago.
In the past, the title would have immediately passed to the closest male relative upon a husband’s death. Recently, however, there had been rare cases where a widow inherited the authority of the Family Head. In such instances, the wife could rule until a proper heir was chosen. Trisha was one of those rare cases.
Since she has no family other than herself, Great-aunt Trisha is the only person I need to win over.
Wasn't that much easier than convincing an entire clan? There was one problem, however: the woman was famously eccentric.
Rumor had it that ever since losing her husband, her personality had grown increasingly sharp and arrogant. She wouldn't hesitate to turn away guests who had traveled leagues to see her if they displeased her, acting on caprice and openly rebuking anyone she chose.
She might burn the letter the moment she sees my name.
Nevertheless, Harriet decided to contact her first because of a fleeting memory from the distant past.
“Hello? I am Harriet of Listerwell. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Great-aunt.”
“My goodness, Arthur, you naughty thing! To think you’ve kept such an adorable child hidden all this time! Her eyes sparkle; she must be a very clever girl.”
The Trisha she had met back then had welcomed her far more kindly than expected. In truth, that was the extent of her memories of the woman, but she had no choice but to cling to that small hope.
Harriet, still wrapped in her blanket, got out of bed and sat at the table. Her stationery and pen lay ready from the night before. She rubbed her frozen hands together to warm them, then picked up the pen. Making the decision had been the hard part; writing the letter was easy.
Dearest... Great-aunt... Trisha.
Harriet tried her best to write neatly. She couldn't afford to be dismissed over something as trivial as poor handwriting.
Considering Trisha was in her mid-sixties, Harriet wrote a greeting expressing concern for her health and added a small anecdote to jog her memory of their past meeting. However, fearing that a lengthy preamble might make her seem like a swindler, she quickly got to the point.
“...My reputation is in tatters within Genoa’s high society, so a wise woman like yourself has likely already guessed the reason for this letter.
I will be direct. Great-aunt, would you be willing to become my guardian? A period of about two years would suffice...”
She also promised she would never be a burden. All she needed was a place to eat and sleep, and the legal standing to re-enter society; Trisha wouldn't have to lift a finger.
Of course, even that much could be seen as audacious.
If a grandniece whose reputation has plummeted due to a scandal suddenly sends a letter like this, most people would be dumbfounded.
Or perhaps they might feel pity. Either way, a reply would come quickly.
If Great-aunt Trisha refuses, I’ll try my paternal uncles, Jeremia and Daniel. If they refuse too, I’ll write to my mother’s relatives.
Her paternal uncles were likely to refuse out of fear of her Uncle John, and her mother’s relatives were so distant it would be awkward. She knew the odds, but she had no choice but to hope.
I just have to hope someone soft-hearted will extend a hand, even reluctantly.
Recalling relatives whose names she barely knew, the desperation of her situation hit her once again. For a moment, she wondered if she should have accepted Cedric’s offer instead of asserting her pride, but Harriet shook her head.
If I take that money, I’ll never be able to hold my head high in front of him.
From now on, she refused to bow her head to anyone. Remembering the consequences of yielding to her uncle—the man who had offered her a dowry only to ruin her—she had every reason to feel this way.
It’ll work out. If everyone refuses... then I’ll go in person and beg.
Harriet folded the letter, tucked it into an envelope, and steeled herself for the possibility of waiting for days on a stranger's doorstep. Tomorrow, coincidentally, was the day the mail coach arrived.
*
The bustling, lively atmosphere of Holy Festival Week bled into the New Year.
During this time, people visited relatives and held small parties with acquaintances. It was also the busiest season for the post office, flooded with cards and letters of well-wishing.
Andre, the butler of the Fellon estate, was sorting through a bundle of letters brought by a postal employee. He separated those to be presented to his mistress from those he could handle himself.
“There are so many letters. Does Her Ladyship actually read all of them?” the maid asked as she cleaned nearby.