FJ 8

Chapter: 8

The banquet had begun, and the fourth dance piece was playing.

Several times, people who recognized Juliet Monard approached her and offered her champagne, but Juliet shook her head and declined each time.

“I’m not feeling very well.”

From a balcony some distance away, Lennox watched the scene in its entirety.

Perhaps because of what had happened at the temple earlier that day, curious glances toward Juliet never ceased.

But her claim of poor health did not seem to be mere politeness—one after another, the men who went to ask her for a dance returned empty-handed.

Indifferent to the gazes around her, Juliet remained where she was. She showed interest in people only once.

“Congratulations on your wedding!”

At the end of Juliet’s gaze was a group of young ladies about her age.

Well-dressed noblewomen had gathered at one side of the hall, bursting into peals of laughter.

“You’ll be such a beautiful bride.”

“Have you chosen your bridesmaids yet, Lady Fatima?”

Judging by the atmosphere, the woman in the flamboyant pink dress appeared to be the bride-to-be.

Juliet watched the shyly responding bride with an unreadable expression.

Lennox found himself wondering what Juliet was thinking.

‘Come to think of it.’

He reflected anew.

During the time he had been watching, very few people had spoken to Juliet freely.

And those who did were either making advances—or mocking her.

‘Is that why she’s standing there all alone?’

For some reason, seeing her standing there quietly by herself, like a child who had lost her mother, displeased him.

She was the heir to a long-established count’s family. Among the unmarried young ladies at the banquet, it would be hard to find anyone of higher status than her.

‘So what exactly is she lacking, that she’s standing there alone like that?’

Frowning in irritation, he recalled that if she were at the ducal estate in the North, Juliet would never be treated this way.

Before the banquet, Elliott—the duke’s secretary—and Cain, who was in charge of Juliet’s protection, had desperately tried to defend Juliet Monard.

Jude had even blatantly asked, making a flimsy excuse, whether they couldn’t just overlook things once, saying that he didn’t know what Juliet had done wrong, but still.

“The young lady’s close maid got married and left not long ago, didn’t she? Maybe she was feeling unsettled and made a mistake because of that?”

Lennox found it rather amusing that subordinates with temperaments as bad as their employer’s were going so far as to shield her.

So he let them continue under their misunderstanding.

In truth, he had never seriously considered the possibility that Juliet had been fooling around with another man.

It wasn’t because he trusted her—or because of pride. Simply put, it wasn’t something Juliet Monard would do.

So Lennox considered another possibility.

That the one who had changed wasn’t Juliet Monard—but Lennox Carlisle himself.

The Lennox of old would never have bothered investigating a lover’s whereabouts.

To prevent further complications, he should have ended the relationship immediately.

He would have handed her a sufficiently generous check and sent her away without delay.

And yet, he hesitated.

‘Have I grown attached, without realizing it?’

In truth, their relationship should have ended long ago.

He was easily bored and preferred light, brief relationships.

The longer a relationship dragged on and the more emotions became entangled, the more troublesome it was to end. Cutting things off cleanly before that point was his habit. Once he grew tired, the relationship was over.

But at some point, Lennox began to notice a faint sense of discomfort.

At the ducal estate in the North, the presence of someone else in his bedroom had become natural.

In the dim hours before dawn.

When leaving the bed first, leaving behind a woman sleeping soundly after a night of exhaustion had become routine.

That was when his instincts warned him that going any further would be dangerous.

He became clearly aware of it three years ago, around the time of the North’s summer festival.

As tradition dictated, the woman offered him a neatly embroidered handkerchief bearing the initials of his name and his family crest.

At that moment, he frowned and made an impulsive decision.

This is as far as it goes.

At the same time, a part of him seemed to feel relieved.

‘That figures.’

It had simply taken longer than usual, but Juliet Monard was no different from the women before her.

If such a “heartfelt” gift was rejected, she would surely be hurt, and eventually cling to him, hoping for something more.

They had dragged things on long enough—it was time to end it.

But before he could even speak the words of farewell, the woman—normally so quiet—spoke first.

“You don’t like things like this, do you?”

It was as if she could see straight through him.

Before he could think of a response, she smiled brightly, like a bouquet of summer flowers cradled in her arms.

“It’s fine if you throw it away. You can give it to someone else if you want.”

She said the ladies she’d met at the festival had pestered her to make one, so she’d had no choice.

It wasn’t an embarrassed excuse made out of fear of rejection.

Leaving only those words behind, Juliet turned away without waiting for his reply.

It was as though she truly believed the gift she had brought would naturally be discarded.

That calm indifference struck him as deeply strange, and in the end, he couldn’t throw the handkerchief away.

Whenever he saw it, her bright smile came to mind, so he locked it away deep in a drawer. Giving such an item to someone else was out of the question.

Strangely, she sometimes acted as though she knew him better than he knew himself.

Despite having lived only a little over twenty years, Juliet’s words and actions carried a detachment that felt far beyond her age.

She didn’t seem aware of it, but at times she behaved with an easy familiarity, like someone who had known him for a very long time.

What he understood even less was that it didn’t feel particularly unpleasant.

Lennox Carlisle couldn’t identify the nature of that ambiguous emotion.

It felt too regrettable to cut off—and too vague to acknowledge.

And so he couldn’t bring himself to let her go.

Today, I’ll end it. Tomorrow. Next season.

He had been making that resolution for years.

Still, he didn’t know the name of the feeling.

“I’m not feeling well, so dancing would be difficult. I’m sorry.”

Even polite refusals had their limit.

Juliet, now openly irritated, rejected the tenth invitation to dance.

She regretted not occasionally pretending to be a madwoman.

‘What is wrong with these people?’

If word of the commotion at the temple that morning had spread, shouldn’t they be more cautious? Instead, lowly sorts who normally wouldn’t even dare speak to her were pestering her relentlessly.

“Please don’t be like that—”

Did they think it was fine to harass her because she was a woman soon to be discarded by Duke Carlisle?

Staring coldly at the man clinging to her, Juliet debated internally.

‘…Should I just take him somewhere secluded and get rid of him?’

She formed a frightening plan in her mind.

“Then how about some champagne? There’s some fine liquor over there—”

“What business do you have with my partner?”

Fortunately, the problem was resolved before Juliet crossed into criminal territory.

A tall man approached silently from behind and pulled her into his arms by the waist.

“Y-Your Grace!”

The man who had been leering at her as if drunk turned pale, as though he had seen a ghost.

It goes without saying that he immediately beat a hasty retreat, snapping to attention.

Watching a man who could drive idiots away merely by appearing, Juliet thought it unfair.

Then again, what in this place wasn’t unfair?

He was the master of the North, young, wealthy, and unmarried.

‘And I am Juliet Monard.’

Turning toward the dark-haired man, Juliet quickly put on a bright smile, as if she had never looked sorrowful.

“Ah, Your Grace. You’re here.”

But the man didn’t smile back at her.

Not that she had expected him to.

Juliet’s smile fell flat against his cold gaze.

He lightly furrowed his brow, as if displeased by something, and released her waist.

Unlike his usual self, his cool eyes held a complicated mixture of emotions.

“Let’s talk.”