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Chapter 50
When he had brought Betty over, it was still early evening. But after urgently handling the documents that had been postponed for several days, it was already late at night.
The butler of the mansion, carefully chosen for his discretion, was quick to show no reaction even to a sudden visit from an unexpected guest.
Since visitors rarely came to the mansion, he had briefly shown signs of surprise at the unfamiliar person the master had brought, but he quickly regained composure.
Without a word of complaint, the butler, who had just come to the study, gave a short explanation: he had only brought a warm cup of tea for the guest because they didn’t want to have dinner.
Ian merely nodded in silence, and the butler, noticing no discomfort, added a tactful explanation.
Mulling over those words, Ian settled back into his seat to focus again on Kane’s report.
“This concerns the author of Roxellon, whom you asked me to investigate after leaving the theater. It seems it won’t be easy to find clues.”
Kane, noticing that his lord’s thoughts were entirely focused on Betty, chose a lighter topic while organizing the remaining documents.
Ian had decided not to reveal the reason for the investigation just yet.
Thus, Kane’s attempt to distract him only ensured Ian continued thinking about Betty.
Sighing inwardly at his inability to stop dwelling on her, Ian replied to Kane.
“Is there a problem with the investigation?”
Kane, unaware that his lord’s focus had once again faltered, continued his report in a calm tone.
“It’s problematic, yes. The theater where the play was first briefly staged went bankrupt, so proper records weren’t preserved. And that happened quite some time ago.”
“So it’s difficult to trace the former theater owner?”
“There are only rumors. Since financial issues were involved, it’s likely they’ve kept a low profile, making it hard to track them down.”
Kane rubbed his forehead, clearly troubled, and continued.
“If you’re really curious, the only feasible way would be to buy the abandoned theater and look for any remaining records there…”
He trailed off, thinking such unnecessary expenditure would hold little meaning for Ian.
“That method will do.”
“…Excuse me? Do you really mean that?”
Kane, astonished, asked again, doubting that his lord would be willing to waste money on such a minor matter.
“Find the current owner. If they refuse to sell, offer double.”
Ian paused briefly, then added, “If necessary, you may use my name.”
Kane gradually realized the weight behind Ian’s indifferent command. He opened his mouth in surprise, then quickly closed it.
“…Understood.”
After all, it was an order. Regardless of the reason, it had to be carried out.
Especially since Ian didn’t look like he was in the mood to provide explanations.
Kane decided to quickly change the subject before Ian grew more uncomfortable.
“Very well. I’ll proceed accordingly. I’ll report back if there’s progress. Also, there’s some additional news I should report…”
As Kane began relaying miscellaneous information from the Duke’s estate, Ian noticed a familiar figure appearing in the mansion’s garden, seen from a slanted angle.
Perhaps frustrated and having come out for a walk, the brown-haired woman cautiously scanned her surroundings and slowly sat on a nearby long bench.
Even from a distance, it was clear her face was caught in deep thought, emotions swirling.
“…My lord. Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
Ian reluctantly tore his gaze away from Betty and nodded absently.
Kane, interpreting his disinterest as fatigue, placed the stack of papers on the desk.
“Nothing here is particularly important, so reading this should suffice. It’s late, so I’ll take my leave.”
“Very well. Thank you.”
Kane bowed lightly and left the study, his footsteps fading as the door closed.
Ian’s gaze returned to the outside.
Despite being mid-spring, the cold air seemed evident as a blush touched Betty’s cheeks.
Her thin clothes, with nothing layered over them, caught his attention.
Yet she seemed entirely unaware of the chill, leaning back and staring endlessly at the sky.
Ian didn’t want to disturb her thoughts and simply continued to watch her.
But when he noticed her face and fingertips reddening from the cold, he decided it was time to call her inside.
He rose from his seat but paused for a moment.
“…I should speak with her.”
His eyes fell on the last drawer of the study desk, where he kept all the letters he had received from Betty.
Slowly opening the drawer, he carefully retrieved a small box containing the letters.
Starting from the most recent, his hand traced back to the earliest, stopping at one particular letter.
After a brief hesitation, he picked it up, holding it securely against his chest as he fully stood.
The cold air mingled with a fog-like breath.
Ian strode toward Betty, now shivering slightly.
“Your Highness.”
A faint sadness lingered in her eyes as she looked up at him.
Blinking a few times, she quickly tried to stand.
“Please forgive my rudeness—”
“No, it’s fine. I told you, you don’t need to be so formal with me.”
Trying not to sigh, Ian stopped her from hastily standing and sat beside her.
To dispel the awkwardness between them, he brought up an ordinary topic.
“How’s the room you’re staying in? I told the butler to give you the best guest room, but if you don’t like it, you can ask to change.”
He had intended to ask why she hadn’t eaten dinner but diverted to this question.
Neither needed to ask why she had no appetite—they both already knew.
“The room? The room… is fine. There’s absolutely no problem. Thank you for your consideration.”
Grateful for the generous treatment, she didn’t want to complain unnecessarily, so her response came quickly.
“I’m glad to hear that.”
After that, there was a pause.
Going straight to the main topic, Ian hesitated, unsure how Betty would react.
He pondered the right moment to reveal what he held in his arms, keeping her gaze locked.
Finally, he reached into his pocket and drew out the papers.
“…That is—”
For a fleeting moment, Betty seemed surprised, but soon returned to her usual calm expression.
The moment had come. She hadn’t expected him to come directly with the letters, but this was classic Ian Devane.
Unable to ignore the situation, she immediately asked the question she had been most curious about.
“When did you… how did you know?”
“I suspected from the beginning. The moment I met Princess Sharte. I only became certain after confirming your handwriting.”
Ah, as expected.
He had realized it then. Only now did his subsequent actions make sense.
The way he sometimes looked at her, the way he observed her…
“Even before confirming your handwriting, I already thought it had to be you. The confirmation only strengthened that belief.”
Ian extended the letters toward her, as if to show her the decisive proof.
