HSYR 15

After pressing the maids relentlessly, Helena finally managed to change her clothes and twist her hair up.
She disliked everything about her appearance—the outfit, the way her hair was pinned—but there was no helping it. Teaching all of this to a bunch of ignorant country women would take ages, and right now, meeting the former head steward was far more urgent.

On her way to the stables, Helena ran into Sir Aaron, who looked as though he had just returned from somewhere.
Aaron Nix, Benjamin’s adjutant, was a handsome man with flamboyant blond hair, drooping eye corners that gave him a pleading look, and clear blue eyes. Compared to Benjamin, he was smaller in build and seemed less intimidating, and his gentle manner of speaking made him one of the few people she could actually converse with during that hellish journey.

Of course, that was only conversation—Helena didn’t trust this man either.
After all, Aaron was the very knight who had gleefully badmouthed her with Benjamin on the terrace of Count Winston’s estate.

Aaron beamed and called out to her.

“Well, if it isn’t the new Countess of Ishpern! Madam, did you rest well last night?”

At those words, Helena nearly threw up on the spot while walking. She shot Aaron a sharp look—the same one she’d used when staring at the socks hidden under the bed—and snapped back,

“What do you want?”

Seeing her expression, Aaron quickly changed how he addressed her.

“Lady Helena, where are you headed in such a hurry? There’s nothing this way but horses and horse dung.”

Helena looked at him with suddenly softened eyes and replied sweetly,

“I have no business with the Count, but I do need a horse. I’ve got somewhere to go.”

Aaron, who had just taken off his hat and was holding it, whistled, spun it once in the air, and put it back on his head.

“I just got back myself, but I can’t very well let a noble lady go alone. I’ll accompany you.”

Helena had been about to snap that she didn’t need ‘Horse Dung No. 2,’ but she changed her mind.
She didn’t know the terrain well, and the road was likely rough. Taking a knight along would be better than traveling alone.

She spoke primly,

“I’d refuse if it were anyone else, but since it’s you, Sir Aaron, I’ll grant special permission.”

“I’m honored.”

Aaron led her to the stables, brought out a gentle-looking mare, and fitted the saddle. Then, naturally, he offered his hand so she could step on it and mount the horse.

“Hm.”

Watching him mount his own horse with graceful ease, Helena spoke,

“Are all southern mercenaries as kind to women as you are, Sir Aaron? Or are you simply special?”

At her roundabout question about his origins, Aaron chuckled softly.

“I’m not from any remarkable family. I was raised mostly by my sisters. They always emphasized that no matter the situation, one should treat women well.”

“I see.”

Aaron continued in a cheerful tone.

“It’s something to be grateful for—having someone you want to treat kindly. Our family fell into ruin, but I wanted, at the very least, to help my sisters marry good men. That’s why I became a mercenary.”

It was a nicely wrapped explanation, but in the end, it meant he’d become a mercenary to earn dowries for his sisters.

Helena turned her head and let out a silent sigh.

“That cursed dowry…”

She looked back at Aaron and offered him a gentle smile.

“You’re truly a good man, Sir Aaron.”

“Thank you. But everything I’ve been able to do is thanks to His Excellency, the Count of Ishpern.”

Aaron cast her a meaningful look.

“You may feel uncomfortable right now, but you’ll soon come to see it too, Lady Helena—what a fine man he is.”

Helena gave Aaron a cold smile and muttered inwardly,

“Say ‘fine man’ one more time, and I’ll serve you a soup made from the socks under the bed for dinner.”

Turning her gaze forward, Helena snorted.

There was no way Benjamin Ishpern was a fine man.
He was the worst sort of person—someone who chose marriage for money. Worse, after charming her with that handsome face, he had turned around and badmouthed her with Sir Aaron here. And that wasn’t all. He was foolish enough to believe baseless rumors circulating in the capital and think her a promiscuous woman, lacked even a shred of foresight, and was so insensitive that he could sleep soundly on a bed hosting a banquet of ghostly socks in a house that looked ready to produce actual spirits.

‘I slept too. I did sleep.’

That thought made her pause, and suddenly, last night’s events resurfaced in her mind.

‘Is putting our hands together really that important?’

Benjamin, standing by the bed in his robe as he asked that… had looked almost gentle.
And when he lay down and pulled her hand toward him—if asked whether her heart hadn’t trembled even a little, she couldn’t honestly say no.

“…!”

Coming back to her senses, Helena nearly whipped her own cheek with the riding crop.

‘I’ve lost my mind, Helena Winston!’

She clenched her teeth.

‘You’re shaken just because he pretended to be decent for a moment? After all the suffering I went through because of him?!’

Because of Benjamin—who had no preparation, no flexibility, and no money—Helena had endured ten days of pure hell on the journey to Burwood, wishing she’d rather die. And he hadn’t even shown the slightest hint of remorse. Shameless to the extreme.

Replaying those ten days of misery and the humiliation of being mistaken for a loose woman, Helena spurred her horse forward.
In the distance, she could see the house of the former head steward that Jones had told her about.

Near the count’s estate lay vast farmland, dotted with small villages.
The steward’s house stood along a secluded road between two such villages.

Set slightly apart from the farmhouses, the manor wasn’t flashy, but it was deeply traditional, and signs of careful upkeep were evident everywhere.

‘My goodness.’

Dismounting and surveying the garden, Helena made up her mind.

‘I have to bring this man back to the count’s estate.’

She passed a flowerbed where small, unfamiliar flowers bloomed modestly and stopped before the small front entrance. After knocking a few times, the door opened.

“….”

She had expected an elderly man, but instead, the person who opened the door was a beautiful boy. With calm golden hair and light green eyes, he looked at the visitor with a slight lift of his gaze.

Helena collected herself and began,

“I am—”

“Countess Ishpern, it is an honor to meet you.”

For a moment, Helena wondered if her name was written on her forehead.

The boy bowed politely.

“My master is expecting you.”

Expecting her.

With a strange feeling, Helena followed the clean but old corridor into a small sitting room. There, an elderly man with a kindly face stood by the fireplace, leaning on a cane.

Seeing Helena, the old man tried to bow while supporting himself with the cane. Helena quickly stopped him.

“That’s quite all right. You’re Mr. Kurt, correct?”

The old man nodded with a gentle smile.

“Yes. You’ve come a long way. I am Kurt, the former head steward of the count’s household.”

As he said “head steward,” Kurt unconsciously tried to straighten his chest. Helena supported him and guided him into an armchair by the fireplace.

Kurt slowly began to speak.

“I thought you might come looking for me, my lady.”

Helena sighed once and got straight to the point.

“Mr. Kurt, I’ll be blunt. Please return to the count’s estate. It needs you.”

At her words, Kurt closed his eyes gently.

“Ah… the House of Ishpern…”

A blissful smile spread across the old man’s wrinkled face as he reminisced.

“A beautiful castle atop green hills… gardens filled with flowers year-round, a grand hall always bustling with guests. In summer, swans played in the lake behind the castle; in winter, warm fires burned in every room, and stories bloomed like flowers.”

He opened his eyes again.

Only then did Helena realize that his eyes were clouded, half white.

Kurt continued in a sorrowful voice.

“My lady, we loved the count’s household. But like even the most beautiful roses that bloom only for a season, the House of Ishpern has faded.”

Helena bristled inwardly.

‘What nonsense?’

What Helena needed was that beautiful castle Kurt described—not the half-burned, half-collapsed ruin overrun with cobwebs and rotting socks.

She spoke calmly,

“Wilted roses bloom again when summer comes. The House of Ishpern will rise again as well.”

Kurt looked at her with pity.

“The Count will never allow that.”

Helena nearly snorted.

‘And who does he think he is?’