Chapter 41
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 41
Catherine shook her head once more.
But Harriet, her expression brightening, reached out and took Catherine’s hand.
"Of course, there’s no way to know for certain if this venture will succeed or fail. But I can guarantee the quality of the convent’s products, and the scrutiny currently following me will inevitably translate into popularity for them. You wouldn't believe how much interest people have in me right now."
When Catherine still hesitated, Harriet squeezed her hand tighter.
"Reverend Mother. I didn't plan this business just to fund the convent’s operations."
"Then for what?"
"There are many nuns and young girls here who have no desire to take the vows. But with no other path available to them, they are forced into a life of clergy. I believe this could be a way to open up a different future for them."
At those words, Catherine and Agnes looked as if they had been struck by a sudden bolt of clarity. It wasn't a feeling of betrayal, but a profound realization.
The idea that a problem they had grown too accustomed to—and thus forgotten—could be solved in such a way finally swayed Catherine’s heart.
"If the soap truly sells as well as you say, Sister..."
"The workshops could operate independently. If a portion of the profits goes toward the convent and the rest toward the workers' wages, then even the girls who don't wish to follow the path of the clergy can build lives of their own."
Catherine wrung her weathered hands, lost in thought.
There was no flaw in Harriet’s plan.
If the business succeeded, the convent would have more funds to operate, and their poverty relief efforts and educational programs for abandoned girls would gain much-needed momentum. Consistent income was, after all, the lifeblood of any charity.
But there was one very significant hurdle.
"But to launch a business on such a scale requires capital. How do you intend to secure the funds?"
Harriet took a deep breath. From this point on, it wasn't a matter of planning, but of sheer will.
"I’ll seek out investors. I only came here first to obtain your permission, Reverend Mother."
"Will that... even be possible? Our convent isn't exactly famous..."
"I’ll secure the investment somehow. In return..." She clasped her hands together tightly, her voice pleading. "Please grant me an exclusive contract."
*
All the way back to Genoa, having secured Catherine’s promise, Harriet pondered potential investors.
I spoke boldly to the Reverend Mother, but finding investors won't be easy.
Thanks to Trisha’s influence, her re-entry into high society had been a success, but public trust in her was still at rock bottom. While a few ladies had reacted positively at Annabelle’s tea party, if she were to suddenly ask them for money, there was a high chance the nascent relationships she was building would be severed instantly.
Is there no one suitable?
She had mentally cycled through everyone she knew by the time she reached the Genoa City Gate—even her uncle.
Harriet planned to prioritize visiting a few noblewomen Trisha had introduced her to. They were women who seemed genuinely interested in the soap and toner, and more importantly, they had deep pockets.
Everyone is curious about the secret to my improved skin, and I have the answer. With my current notoriety, someone is bound to recognize the business potential.
If all else failed, she intended to take out a bank loan. While she wouldn't be able to borrow a large sum initially, she could start small and expand as the business grew.
As she finalized her plans and passed through the city gate, a large cargo carriage rushed up from behind, clearing the passage procedures ahead of everyone else. The fact that no one raised an objection, combined with the prominent family crest emblazoned on the side, suggested it held priority passage privileges.
Harriet watched the rear of the carriage with a mix of envy and curiosity. She leaned out her window and asked a merchant waiting nearby.
"Excuse me, do you happen to know which family that carriage belongs to?"
The merchant, startled by the sudden question, scrutinized Harriet from head to toe before answering gruffly.
"You look like a noble lady, yet you don't recognize that crest?"
"Well... I’ve been away in the countryside for a long convalescence."
"Ah, I see... That was a carriage from the Kailas family—the logistics arm of the Duchy. Given the speed, it must have been carrying goods for an Imperial project."
In that instant, Harriet realized she had completely overlooked Cedric Kailas as a potential investor.
Why didn't I think of him?
Aside from his immense wealth, he had a connection to Saint Clarissa Convent. Hadn't he visited during Holy Festival Week last year and made a substantial donation?
Beyond the business potential, the justification of helping the convent would appeal to him!
Of course, he was someone she preferred to avoid. His haughty gaze and cryptic manner of speaking naturally provoked her wariness.
And he seems to dislike me, anyway.
He had sent her a muffler and a hat, briefly making her wonder if he felt sorry for her. But recalling their encounter at the Vanderbilt party, it was clear he harbored feelings closer to disapproval.
Still, since the business the convent was now pursuing had technically started with his donation, emphasizing that connection might earn her some sympathy.
And he’s not the type to go gossiping that I proposed a business deal to him. It’s probably best to approach Duke Kailas first.
Pride was a luxury she had to discard. To secure his investment, she was even willing to bow her head and apologize for their previous encounter. It wasn't groveling; it was a 'tactical retreat.'
Her motivation surged... only to quickly dampen.
But would the Duke even grant me an audience?
She might be a noble, but she had no real standing. Moreover, recalling the conditions he’d attached to his previous financial support, he seemed extremely reluctant to have his name associated with Harriet Listerwell.
If I submit a formal request, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance his aide will reject it.
A heavy sigh escaped her.
"Haa... Still, what’s the worst that could happen? Nothing ventured, nothing gained."
She had to try. Harriet decided to prepare the business proposal she would present to her investors as meticulously as possible.
*
"That concludes today’s report."
Roxana organized the documents after the final agenda item was confirmed.
Her employer and patron, Trisha, capped her pen, let out a small sigh, and rose from her seat.
"I’ve prepared some warm tea, Madam."
"Thank you, Roxy."
Thanks to Roxana, who always anticipated her needs, Trisha felt no fear, even as she stood alone as the pillar of this household.
Seated at the tea table, Trisha remained still as Roxana draped a lap blanket over her. Despite the sweltering weather, the older woman didn't sweat at all.
"Harriet seems to be plotting something. Have you heard anything?"
At Trisha’s question, Roxana frowned slightly and remained silent for a long moment. Then, she took a sip of a cold drink and, as if having made up her mind, began to speak.
"Madam, how far do you intend to look after Lady Harriet?"
"Why? Do you also think she’ll stab me in the back?"
"I know your judgment of character is excellent, Madam. But regarding Lady Harriet... well, it seems you are heavily influenced by past connections. While one shouldn't fully trust her reputation, can it truly be ignored?"
Trisha chuckled at Roxana, who was echoing the same concerns John had raised.
"Perhaps. But there’s no reason not to help her, is there? A wealthy old woman is entitled to push someone forward simply because she feels like it."
At those words, Roxana’s cheeks flushed.
"Indeed... it is rather hypocritical of me, who has received such grace, to speak this way about Lady Harriet."
Roxana was one of the people Trisha had 'pushed forward on a whim.'
Harriet, at least, was Trisha’s great-niece, but Roxana was the daughter of the late Oster’s sixth cousin—practically a stranger. Her mother, fed up with her husband’s debauchery, had run away years ago, and her father had squandered their meager fortune on alcohol, gambling, and drugs.
Roxana, who had grown up neglected, was nonetheless an exceptionally bright child.
"I heard the Fellon family is the main branch of our house! I am Roxana Valbenus, from a distant collateral line! Count, please help me!"
It was when she was fifteen that Roxana, drenched in rain and sweat, had clung to the wrought-iron gates of the Fellon Estate and screamed for salvation.