ESP 36

chapter 36

This time, Keith truly set out for Ebony.

If he rode at full speed from Undine Isle to Ebony, it would take about two hours. Though he hadn’t traveled this road in years, his body seemed to remember it, and so he and Dmitri arrived at Ebony sooner than expected.

The townsfolk who were working the fields or tending to their sheep widened their eyes as Lord Ebony rode past on horseback. He would have to send someone later to make sure everything had been peaceful in his absence, but for now, Keith was most concerned about whether Ebony Heights was doing well.

It was the estate he had fought to protect—even through a political marriage. His feelings toward it were full of both affection and duty.

When he finally reined in his horse before the gates of Ebony Heights, he gazed up at the familiar, tranquil house and felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. Just then, Mrs. Mercy, who had been out on an errand, caught sight of him and gasped.

“Oh, my lord! Butler!”

“…Mrs. Mercy.”

He called the housekeeper by name.

“Your negligent master has worried you, I’m afraid. I meant to return yesterday, but something came up and delayed me. There’s been no trouble here at Ebony Heights, I hope?”

“Oh, my lord.”

Even the unflappable Mrs. Mercy’s eyes turned slightly red at the corners.

“You needn’t worry about Ebony Heights, sir. Thanks to the butler’s care, everything has run smoothly without a single issue. …But heavens, how thin you’ve gotten! Please, come inside at once. I’ll summon everyone so they can greet you properly.”

“That’s not necessary…”

Keith tried to refuse, but Mrs. Mercy gave him a firm, dignified look that brooked no argument.

“My lord, no matter that you are master of this house—if you’ve been gone for a month, it’s only proper you show us your face. Otherwise, how are we to hold our heads high and say we serve a count of good standing from Dalmore?”

It was almost funny, given that every tiny expense—even a single spoonful of tea leaves—had been laid bare before the high nobles of Fanshaw. What “dignity” was there left to defend?

Still, Keith didn’t wish to trample on her pride—the pride of a housekeeper who had diligently supported the estate’s prosperity. So he said nothing more.

At her call, the servants and maids lined up in two neat rows in the front hall, greeting him with well-practiced courtesy.

“Welcome home, Lord Ebony!”

“You’ve all worked hard.”

Keith gave a brief reply and walked inside. As he stepped through the doorway, a strange sense of déjà vu came over him—this was exactly how the staff had greeted Briony when he had first brought her here.

…But Briony was no longer here.

Come to think of it, this was the first time he had returned to this house since their divorce had been finalized. The very morning she left Ebony Heights, The Queen’s Eye had arrived to seize him.

Perhaps that was why the house he’d lived in all his life now felt strangely unfamiliar. He and Briony had never even shared a room, yet the furniture and bedding of his own chamber felt like someone else’s possessions.

At least his study remained unchanged, so after eating an early lunch Mrs. Mercy had insisted on preparing, Keith locked himself away in there.

There was a great deal of work piled up.

First, he went through the ledgers and documents Dmitri had organized, then instructed both the butler and housekeeper to select three or four trustworthy servants—those who could keep their mouths shut.

It was not unusual among noble households, after all, for servants to be divided when a couple divorced. Sending a few to Vernon would not raise any eyebrows.

Next, he turned to the letters addressed to him. There were donation requests from various institutions, promotional letters from Fanshaw’s theaters and art galleries, and even a letter from his Aunt Lucinda—all neatly stacked in a tray.

But his hand froze when he came upon one envelope in particular—sealed with the royal crest of the Algonquin monarchy.

He immediately summoned the butler.

“You called, my lord?”

“When did this letter arrive?”

“It wasn’t here until the day before yesterday, sir. Shall I open it for you?”

Keith stared at the envelope for a long while. If it hadn’t been there until the day before yesterday, that meant it had arrived after the trial.

Under Dmitri’s curious gaze, he slowly broke the seal. Inside was a stiff card—about twice the size of a business card.

“…What does it say, my lord?” Dmitri asked, his tone wary.

“It’s an invitation.”

Keith flipped the card over and showed it to him.

“March 15th, a royal banquet at the palace,” Dmitri read. “That’s the spring season ball, isn’t it?”

The royal palace held four grand balls each year—one for every season—to which all nobles of the realm were invited.

Keith shook his head.

“The Spring Ball is in April. …This must be a special banquet hosted by Her Majesty the Queen.”

‘In recognition of your service, I shall host a banquet soon,’

—that was what the Queen had said in court two days ago.

This invitation was clearly for that banquet.

One of the reasons Queen Leopoldine was revered among the nobles was her efficiency and decisiveness. She never spoke empty words; what she promised, she carried out without delay. Social events were no exception.

The Algonquin royal family was wealthy, and any banquet hosted by the Queen was renowned throughout the kingdom as a dazzling, extravagant affair—one every noble longed to attend at least once.

Dmitri glanced at him carefully.

“Will you attend, my lord? If you intend to reply, I’ll bring writing paper.”

Keith rubbed the edge of the card thoughtfully. Under normal circumstances, he would have declined without a moment’s hesitation. But nearly all the nobles who had attended the trial would surely be at this ball.

Unpleasant as it might be, perhaps it was necessary to appear—to show that the Count of Dalmore and the house of Ebony would not be shaken by such baseless accusations.

And with over two hundred nobles and their families expected, even the Queen herself would have to behave cautiously in such a public setting.

“…I’ll go.”

“You’ll attend?” Dmitri sounded surprised.

“Most of those who were at the trial will be there. It’s best they see that I’m perfectly fine—and if there are any rumors about Ebony, this might put them to rest.”

Just thinking of the curious stares that had been cast toward the former Count and Countess of Dalmore in court made Keith’s mood sour. He didn’t care what was said about him—but he couldn’t allow Briony to become the centerpiece of gossip yet again.

“Understood, my lord. Shall you write the reply yourself?”

Keith handed the card to the butler.

“Handle it appropriately. And see if there’s anything suitable for me to wear.”

The day after Keith’s sudden return to Undine Isle, Lucinda arrived—having packed her belongings from Ebony at once.

“A young lady living alone invites rumors,” she declared matter-of-factly.

Along with her came her coachman, the cook Dmitri had hired, two servants from Ebony Heights, and two newly employed maids for general work. Suddenly, the once-quiet Undine Isle was filled with life.

Still, the two maids were locals who went home each evening, while the two male servants stayed in the old caretaker’s quarters. Thus, only five people actually resided in the grand house: Briony, Lucinda, Myrtle, the cook, and the coachman.

Myrtle had been terrified of the old lady after their first encounter, but she soon realized Lucinda wasn’t mean-spirited—just a lady of strict manners.

Since Briony had grown up without a mother, she had a soft spot for kindly older women.

And perhaps because Lucinda blamed Keith for the divorce, she treated Briony even more tenderly than she had during the wedding.

“My dear, now that I look at you, your eyes are truly captivating. Once you learn to open them properly, you’ll have every gentleman in Algonquin at your feet.”

“My eyes are always open—except when I’m asleep,” Briony replied dryly.

“And witty, too! …What on earth was Keith thinking?”

Lucinda caught herself and quickly covered her mouth.

“My apologies, dear. I only heard the news suddenly myself. I was at the hot springs for rest when Count Winslow sent me a letter.”

“…You mean Lord Dimsdale?”

“Yes, that man—my husband. Who else would it be? I have only two daughters, both married far away, so I rarely see them.”

Briony couldn’t quite tell if the count and countess always referred to each other so formally or if Lady Dimsdale did so simply out of age and habit. The thought of calling Keith “Count Dalmore” herself felt awkward.

…Though there’s no need to anymore, I suppose.