Chapter 50
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 50
Even so, sitting across from Cedric in the drawing room of the Kailas Mansion was a stiflingly tense affair.
Benedict spent over thirty minutes making polite inquiries about Cedric’s health before finally pivoting to his own "news" as a way to bring up other people.
“And Viscount Livingston—do you happen to know him?”
“I believe I’ve heard the name,” Cedric replied smoothly. “He’s made quite a fortune dabbling in architecture, hasn’t he?”
“Ah, so you do know him! His son apparently runs a logging company, and I hear he’s quite skilled.”
“Is that so.”
As Cedric showed no intention of bringing up the reclamation project himself, Benedict was forced to make the first move.
“...By the way, will the Alkines Reclamation Project require logging this time?”
After mentioning a logging company and then immediately pivoting to the reclamation project, one would expect any reasonable person to catch the hint. Cedric, however, merely gave a light nod.
Insolent brat. Shouldn't he be jumping at the chance now that his uncle has laid it out so clearly?
Benedict felt the urge to click his tongue in annoyance, but he held back.
“If a firm hasn't been decided yet, how about that company from the House of Livingston? Viscount Livingston is a very trustworthy man, and his son is said to have extensive knowledge in the field.”
“Well, I can't judge them based on words alone.”
“It's not just anyone; it's someone I, your uncle, am recommending. What more of a guarantee do you need?”
He was asking Cedric to sign a three-million-dirham contract based solely on his word. Cedric couldn't tell if his uncle was truly that naive, or if he simply thought Cedric was.
Probably the latter.
Cedric maintained a relaxed expression, speaking as if stating the obvious. “At the very least, tell them to submit a formal business proposal.”
“A business proposal? Why would that be necessary? The reclamation project is yours to plan; all they need to do is cut down trees.”
“Haha, Uncle, you always did have a sense of humor.” Cedric’s tone was light, as if playing along with a joke. “Do you have any idea how much detail goes into a proper proposal? What tools will they use? Where will they source their laborers? How will they transport the timber, and what will the final product be used for? These are just the things that come to mind immediately. A company with any real skill shouldn't be ignorant of such basic procedures.”
“W-well, that may be true. But I only meant... is there really a need to waste time?”
“The Alkines Reclamation Project isn't an urgent matter right now. Please convey my message to Viscount Livingston. He has a couple of months, so he should prepare a thorough business proposal before requesting an audience.”
At Cedric's indirect refusal, Benedict's face stiffened into an awkward mask.
“Alright, I will. Though I imagine Viscount Livingston will be quite disappointed.”
“Is there any reason for him to be? With your introduction, Uncle, I will certainly grant him an audience if he requests one. He should understand that such an invitation is a considerable privilege in itself.”
As Cedric spoke as if he were doing a great favor to save his uncle's face, Benedict had to grudgingly admit that the boy was not to be trifled with.
Acting cunning while pretending to know nothing—he's the spitting image of his father.
Benedict left the drawing room with a much grimmer expression than the one he’d arrived with. Cedric watched his retreating back, letting out a small chuckle only after the footsteps had faded away.
“There are people out there with less business sense than Harriet Listerwell.”
He already knew all about the heir of the House of Livingston. That family had plenty of capital and a solid reputation in architecture; the only reason the son's company was struggling was because it was so abysmal that even his father’s name couldn't save it.
As Cedric shook his head, his aide approached him.
“The logging contract was nearly settled with Wellburns, sir. Should I put that on hold?”
“No, there's no need. It's unlikely the House of Livingston will even bother to show up.”
The aide, Sir Austin, nodded and turned to leave, but then paused as if something had just occurred to him.
“The construction for the Seriol Street store is complete. Lady Listerwell reportedly gave her final confirmation yesterday.”
“She moves quickly.”
“She is both swift and precise. Frankly, at first, I thought she was just a young lady who knew nothing of the world, but...”
“She's not someone to be underestimated. Look at my uncle—someone who has managed a company for five years and still tries to get by on mere favors. Meanwhile, she presented a professional business proposal and a non-disclosure agreement before we even started.”
She had managed to balance the scales of a heavily skewed negotiation through sheer boldness and sincerity. How could he not be curious about the outcome?
“Sir Austin, please oversee this personally. Report any issues to me immediately.”
“Yes, understood.”
Cedric entrusted Harriet's affairs to his closest aide and rose from his seat.
*
Harriet's tea party took place in the gardens of the Fellon Estate on a late August afternoon, just as the sweltering summer heat had begun to break.
White awnings were draped around the gazebo, and beneath them, four tea tables adorned with fresh flowers and splendid refreshments were set. Originally, she had planned for three, but an additional table had been added as more guests than expected confirmed their attendance.
I thought I'd be lucky if even two or three showed up, but it seems everyone is quite curious.
The attendance of five members of Bella's Entourage was a surprising achievement. Harriet swept her gaze over them, hiding a smile; she had deliberately seated them apart from one another.
They, too, seemed embarrassed, pretending not to know each other while they hid behind their fans. However, the young ladies Harriet had met at Annabelle's tea party filled most of the seats, creating a warm and friendly atmosphere.
“Thank you all so much for coming today. This is my first time hosting, so please be understanding if there are any shortcomings.”
As Harriet offered her greetings, Annabelle and her friends led the group in a round of polite applause.
Even without their overt goodwill, conversation naturally flowed whenever young ladies of a similar age gathered. The party proceeded smoothly, bolstered by the fine tea and the exquisite three-tiered trays of refreshments.
Of course, they hadn't come just for the tea.
“By the way, Miss Harriet.”
Unable to endure the nudges from the surrounding girls any longer, Annabelle finally took the lead.
“Are you really not going to tell us?”
“Pardon? Tell you what?”
“Oh, come on, why are you playing coy? You promised to tell us how your skin improved so much the next time we met.”
“Ah, that?” Harriet clapped her hands together as if the realization had just struck her.
Instead of answering immediately, she gestured to the maids waiting in the distance. They brought over beautifully wrapped gifts, distributing them one by one to the guests.
“Actually, I intended to give these out when the party ended, but since you're so curious, I'll share them now. What I've just given you is the secret to my transformation.”
“What? What is this?”
With curious expressions, the young ladies unwrapped their gifts. Inside each was a bar of soap wrapped in parchment paper and a small glass bottle of toner.
“I believe my journey to the Saint Clarissa Convent was guided by Yawar’s hand. The hives and acne I suffered from for over seven years disappeared within three months of using the soap made at the convent.”
“Oh my, really?”
Harriet nodded emphatically.
“Of course, my diet changed significantly as well. I do believe that played a part. But without this soap and toner, a complete cure would likely have been impossible.”
Even as she spoke, the young ladies were already preoccupied, smelling the soap and testing its texture. However, some who were accustomed to luxury imports wore skeptical expressions.
“I’ve seen great results with Labonaz's facial cleanser,” one whispered. “I’m not sure if this could really be better than that...”
“Indeed,” another agreed. “I've tried Elinas and even Dubois products, but I never experienced a change as dramatic as Miss Harriet’s. And for a soap... it’s not even from a specialized cosmetics house.”
It was the reaction Harriet had anticipated. She nodded understandingly and picked up the bar of soap placed before her.
“When I first received this soap at the convent, I thought exactly the same thing. Still, I tried to keep an open mind, grateful that such provisions were available. After all, I hadn't been able to bring any of my own supplies with me.”
The soap, which Sophia had carefully hand-cut, was a simple cuboid shape, bearing only the stamped seal of the Saint Clarissa Convent in the center. It was undeniably cruder in appearance than the vibrantly colored, perfectly smooth soaps used by noblewomen.
“But I actually worked in the workshop where this soap is made,” Harriet continued. “So I can tell you with total confidence: this is practically a work of art.”
“What? Miss Harriet, you worked in a soap workshop?”
“Yes. The convent encourages labor as a form of spiritual discipline. While it isn't forced upon the nobility, I immersed myself in the work to calm my mind and reflect on my past.”
To the guests, that revelation was even more astonishing than the soap's supposed efficacy.