AHCF 17

Chapter : 17. Chapter 2. What is Called Trust (3)

The moment the sun rose brilliantly above the horizon,

the sound of hooves echoed loudly through the bourgeois street where the Duncan mansion stood. That arrogant noise ruthlessly tore through the silence of the drowsy, sleeping street.

Count Artes stepped out of the carriage after opening the door. Inside, the pale-faced Lloyd was asleep, resting his head on his wife’s lap, breathing softly.

Only his wife, who like the Count had spent the second sleepless night, watched her husband as he stepped outside. Just as she had coldly said she would—“Do whatever you want”—she merely observed in silence.

She watched her husband be utterly humiliated.

Aisila Duncan hadn’t simply shut the door. At first, the wife had been disappointed that it was merely a “rejection at the door,” but the moment salt was poured onto the carriage, she had to struggle to hold back laughter.

Ignoring her husband’s face turning alternately pale and red.

“What is—”

All sorts of curses spilled from his lips. It was even funnier because he was so clumsy at swearing while trying to maintain his dignity. She eventually burst out laughing, unable to hold it in, and the Count’s face took on even more vivid shades.

Only Lloyd remained unaware of the situation, silently confused.

She hadn’t expected Aisila Duncan’s rudeness to feel this refreshing. At the sight of her husband looking so pitiful, she had openly let out her ridicule.

Clop. Clop. The rhythmic sound of hooves stopped. The Count, who had been ignoring his wife and stood outside the carriage, looked up at the boy riding toward them.

“Count Artes.”

Duke Richard looked down arrogantly as he called out.

“What brings you to the Duncan estate this early in the morning?”

“My apologies, Your Grace. We have circumstances… The Duncan heir refused to open the door, so we are waiting like this.”

At the Count’s words that subtly blamed Aisila, the young duke raised an eyebrow. The Count, failing to notice the true meaning behind the boy’s tilted expression, continued eagerly slandering Aisila Duncan.

“She barged into the Artes estate first, acting rudely, and now she even refuses to let us in.”

“…Is that so.”

“That’s how bourgeois people are. They rely only on money.”

“As if nobles are not the same—relying only on bloodline.”

At the casual reply, the Count blinked. Perhaps due to the lack of sleep from the night before, he did not fully understand the duke’s words.

For a brief moment, the boy’s smile felt strangely alien.

Then the duke jumped lightly off his horse. Though just a child, smaller than the Count, his presence was overwhelmingly heavy.

The Duncan gatekeeper straightened his posture the moment he saw the boy.

“Long time no see, Ril.”

“Long time no see, Your Grace. Was your inspection successful?”

“Yes. Thanks to you.”

To greet a mere gatekeeper boy so familiarly, when he had not even acknowledged him. A faint sense of humiliation flickered through the Count as he frowned slightly.

“Could you open the gate?”

“I will ask Miss Aisila.”

“Thank you.”

The duke ended the conversation casually and returned to the group. He mounted his horse with agile ease and looked down at the Count.

“If the gate opens, you will enter as well.”

“Of course. If it opens, I will be grateful.”

The duke did not respond further, and the Count stood awkwardly below, waiting.

Strangely, he felt as though he was being looked down upon. Even though the Artes family was unquestionably noble.

It could not compare to the Ducal House of Richard, but the Count still had pride in being of a distinguished lineage.

Barely suppressing his frustration and humiliation, he waited.

Soon, light footsteps echoed, and the Duncan gatekeeper returned.

“Miss Aisila says you may come in~.”

The gatekeeper said cheerfully as he opened the gate. Beside the duke pulling his reins, the Count blinked in disbelief. The fully opened gate felt unreal.

Finally. At last.

At last it had opened. He could finally take Ronell, that damned child. Duncan no longer had any legal reason to keep the child.

The Count smiled broadly, certain of victory.

He stepped down from the carriage with his half-dazed wife and still-sleepy Lloyd. At the mansion’s entrance stood Aisila Duncan alone, wearing a robe, exuding quiet dignity with one hand in her pocket.

“Father, the garden here is really big!”

Lloyd shouted with wide eyes, and Aisila silently looked down at him. She studied him with an unreadable gaze before replying softly.

“Thank you.”

The Countess only moved her lips slightly without speaking, while the Count alone, slightly embarrassed, quietly restrained Lloyd.

“Shall we talk in the study, Count?”

“Hand over the child.”

“If you don’t want to come in, then don’t.”

“We want Ronell Artes, Miss Duncan. You have no reason to keep that child. Before we proceed with legal measures—”

Bang.

Aisila slammed the door shut as if she couldn’t be bothered to listen any longer. The Count froze, trembling in rage, but glaring would not open the door.

Just as he was about to give in to humiliation, his wife moved forward toward the door.

She knocked twice and spoke clearly.

“Let’s talk in the study, Lady Duncan.”

At that, Aisila opened the door again and leaned against the frame.

“What would you like for tea?”

“Black tea. Biscuits, if possible.”

“I will prepare them.”

Aisila replied politely, and the Count, opening and closing his mouth uselessly, followed his wife’s signal.

As soon as they entered, Lloyd became excited again, amazed by the vast entrance hall.

“So the illegitimate child lives here? Crazy!”

Aisila frowned at that, though no one noticed.

Still marveling, Lloyd ran off down the hallway without even asking the owner for permission. Only the Countess was left flustered, trying to stop him.

“He seems very excited, Young Master.”

Parents with at least a shred of decency remained silent. Aisila let out a dry laugh and called for a nearby maid.

“Aisa. Lloyd Artes has run off somewhere. Bring him to the study.”

“…Understood, my lady.”

“And Mitchell?”

The secretary beside Aisa bowed formally.

“Yes, Lady?”

“Black tea and biscuits. To the study.”

“Understood.”

Aisila began walking lazily toward the study.

The Count briefly wondered what the duke accompanying them was doing, but followed silently behind Aisila like the others.

＊ ＊ ＊

When Ronell opened his eyes to the morning sunlight, he found himself in an unfamiliar room.

Wondering seriously where he was, he soon remembered that he had fallen asleep in Aisila’s bedroom last night. Aisila had already woken up, as only she remained in the large bed.

“You awake, kid?”

“Eek!”

Ronell nearly fell off the bed in surprise but quickly regained his balance, flopping to the other side instead.

Terriot gave a blunt assessment.

“You’re like a paper doll.”

“How did you get here—uncle?”

Aisila’s older sister would probably hate it if she knew this uncle was here.

“That’s right.”

Reading the words Ronell couldn’t bring himself to say, Terriot nodded casually.

“If she finds out I’m here, she’ll probably burn down my study, so it’s a secret.”

“Yes, yes.”

A secret. Ronell pretended to lock his mouth and nodded vigorously. Terriot walked over and ruffled the boy’s yellow hair.

“Good. I’ll wait outside, so wash up and come out. Lily will be waiting in the bathroom.”

Let’s eat breakfast together.

At that suggestion, Ronell quickly jumped off the bed and ran toward the bathroom. Terriot watched anxiously in case he fell, and once he was safely inside, he hurried out of the room.

Entering his daughter’s bedroom without permission was not something a father should do, and if Aisila found out, she would tear him apart.

No—being torn apart would be lucky. She’d probably eat him whole.

He had no choice this morning.

Terriot made excuses to himself. The Artes Count’s group had definitely entered the estate, so he needed to stay near the child while Aisila dealt with them.

This was unusual behavior for Terriot, whom Aisa or Reinhard would normally dismiss with a “Who are you, exactly?”

And Ronell, who had achieved the feat of making Terriot wait outside, was now being guided by Lily, Aisila’s maid-in-charge, and left the bathroom after washing up.

“To get to the dining room, go up the stairs and through the left door!”

Lily called out cheerfully behind him.

The uncle went right, I think. Ronell wondered briefly, but obediently went up the stairs and opened the left door, unaware that Terriot was waiting on the opposite side.

Because Aisila’s bedroom was too large, had multiple floors, and doors in every direction, a disaster had occurred.

In the middle of the hallway stood a familiar figure.

“Ruby!”

You weren’t here last night!

Recognizing the warm greeting, Ruby purred elegantly.

Oh my, my servant missed me? Of course I’m the best. I know. I’m extremely charming!

The spoiled pet cat, who had not appeared at all when its servant had cried through the night, was now acting proud and self-important.

Ronell knelt slightly and held the cat’s white paw gently.

“Good morning, Ruby. Don’t eat too much salmon today.”

Meow.

What nonsense, servant! Salmon is delicious. I shall eat twice as much today.

“If you keep eating like that, you’ll get fat. Then your knees will hurt.”

Ruby had no chance to retort, because a familiar voice, sharp and loud, echoed through the hallway.

“Oh, it’s the illegitimate kid! Hey, you—wait, you—huh.”

It was Lloyd Artes.