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Chapter 28
“Did the Duke buy it for you?”
“Of course not. If he had that kind of money, he’d have spent it on expanding the territory’s knight order first.”
“Then how did this happen? Did your father buy it for you?”
Was that why she came to the Grand Duke’s castle back then—to beg for this? No. Caria had never once asked the Grand Duke for something, never once begged for him to buy her anything. And besides, the Grand Duke wasn’t the type to hand over gifts without a reason.
She could practically hear Alkard’s brain grinding as he tried to piece it together, which Caria found irritating. He was already assuming from the start that she couldn’t possibly have bought a house on her own. As if a house was worth that much.
Still, she couldn’t really scold him for his guess, since it was true that she hadn’t bought this house herself.
“I received it.”
“Received? From who?”
“—From some strange old man.”
“What? Old man?”
Caria shrugged with a sullen look. To be honest, even she still found it strange that that odd old man had given her a house. Even if they were related by blood, a seventh cousin she had never met before was practically a stranger—and their first meeting had been disastrous.
“He said since I was leaving after the divorce and looking for a place to live, I might as well take it.”
“…What?”
Ah, I’m divorced. Alkard’s thoughts screeched to a halt at her flat voice. She’d said it in the same casual tone one might use to say, “I had soup for lunch.” But the words themselves were anything but casual.
Divorce. What was that again? Right—when a husband and wife cut ties and become strangers. Meaning, she would no longer be Caria Pandeon. Meaning… she was separating from the Duke of Pandeon?
“What?! You’re leaving the Duke of Pandeon?!”
Exactly three seconds later, Alkard’s roar shook the entire mansion. Caria and every servant nearby grimaced and clapped their hands over their ears.
Again and again, Alkard stared at her as if doubting his own ears, his eyes full of questions.
Just a few days ago, she’d been at the Pandeon estate—and now she was saying divorce?! Seeing Caria so calm, while his own heart was pounding like a drum, made him feel dizzy.
When had she started thinking of this? Weren’t things fine? What had gone wrong? Could it have been because of that incident where the Duchess supposedly struck her?
And if she really was separating from the Duke, shouldn’t she have gone back to her family to talk it over? Why hide away alone in some unfamiliar mansion?
But faced with the thousand questions tumbling in his mouth, Alkard couldn’t decide which one to ask first.
At that moment, the front doors banged open, and in strode a man whose face practically radiated discontent with the world.
“Tsk. Who’s yelling so loud in front of the entrance?”
He came in as if it were his own home—a middle-aged man with neatly combed platinum-blond hair and a stern, sharp face.
His buttoned-up collar and polished shoes spoke of his fussy personality, while the staff in his hand, carved with a lion, looked more like a symbol than a crutch—his body was clearly too vigorous to need support.
Caria let out a deep sigh, not bothering to hide her annoyance.
“Does it matter if someone screams in their own house, or sings if they want to? Why are you here again?”
“Just came to inspect whether you’re using the house properly.”
“Tsk. Annoying old man.”
She scowled, glaring at him, but the man didn’t even twitch an eyebrow, as though her words rolled off like water. The heavy air didn’t bother the butler either, who calmly took the man’s coat. Without being invited in, the man strode confidently up the stairs.
Who was he, and what did he have to do with this house?
To answer that, we need to rewind one week.
One Week Earlier
When Caria declared her divorce to Rubidov Pandeon and left the estate, Chagal was waiting with her carriage in front of the gates, just as promised.
But the “suitable carriage” Noah had chosen was far grander than she expected—large, luxurious, and flashy. The knights guarding the front gate gaped, whispering that not even the Pandeons had a carriage so fine.
Pleased by their stares, Chagal himself took the reins, but nearly dropped them when Caria told him their destination.
“What did you say you’re going to buy?”
“A house. I said I’m divorcing and leaving, so of course I need one.”
She said it as casually as if she were shopping for clothes or jewels. Chagal silently applauded her boldness. He’d realized it before—when she called three hundred thousand gold “barely anything”—but her calmness wasn’t mere bluff. He wondered where all that gold came from, and how much she still had left.
“Let’s go to a real estate office on the townhouse street.”
Townhouses for nobles started at two hundred thousand gold, and large mansions with over a hundred rooms could go for five hundred thousand.
Even wealthy buyers usually spent weeks or months deliberating before purchasing—but Caria planned to buy a house that very day.
She had the funds, and she also wanted gossiping neighbors to quickly spread the word that the Duke and Duchess of Pandeon were now living apart.
“I’m afraid moving in immediately won’t be possible. I’m sorry.”
The broker’s troubled face gave Caria a headache. She had overlooked one thing: timing. Even with money, if there were no properties on the market, there was nothing to buy.
“Almost all townhouses are owned by nobles, so transactions are rare. And with the social season beginning, whatever listings there were are already gone.”
Winter was approaching, and with it, the capital’s peak social season. Rich nobles flocked to the warm capital to indulge in pleasures—a very noble sort of logic.
With not a single property to even look at, Caria pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation. The broker broke into a nervous sweat under the princess’s displeasure.
“There are a few plots where you could build a mansion, if you’re not in a hurry. A brand-new house, perhaps?”
“How long would that take?”
“Usually about a year… ah, but with double the workers, maybe six months!”
Six months was still too long. Caria needed a base in the capital now to deal with her divorce. In six months, she’d have solved her problems and secluded herself in the forest to brew elixirs.
She needed a house not after six months—but for the next six months.
Seeing she wasn’t interested in his suggestion, the broker’s nerves frayed even more.
“Well… there is one property left, but—”
“There is? Then why didn’t you mention it first?”
“Because the conditions are… unreasonable.”
Even as he spoke, the broker seemed unsure whether he should say more. Caria stood abruptly.
“Enough talking. Just show me. If that’s the only property left, I’ll see it.”
*
“What’s this? Looks perfectly fine to me.”
The place he showed her was a mansion not far from the luxury shopping district. A three-story white-toned building with a spacious garden, its scenery was excellent.
Especially the terrace on the third floor, overlooking the street—a perfect spot for breakfast in the breeze or afternoon tea.
It was more than fine—it was beautiful. Compared to her father’s castle, it was smaller, of course, but more than sufficient for comfortable living.
Leaving the broker to explain matters to the gate guards, Caria strode inside first. The cold season had left the garden flowerless, but she admired the neatly trimmed trees.
As she touched a dry branch, trying to gauge the plantings, she heard a gasp behind her. A servant pruning the garden had dropped his tools, staring at her in shock.
What’s this?
It didn’t stop there. A maid carrying laundry, a footman bringing in groceries—each one who saw her face froze in surprise, dropping what they held or gasping aloud.
Sensing something strange, Chagal silently moved closer behind her.
Then, the sound of hurried footsteps—and suddenly, someone grabbed her wrist.
“Enje?!”
She was spun around. Facing her was a middle-aged man, panting hard.
Though neatly dressed, his breathing was ragged. He stared at her for a long time, chest heaving, before gradually regaining control and letting go of her wrist.
His lips moved several times, as if searching for the right words. Finally, he asked:
“—Who are you?”
“Oh, Count Lowell, sir! Long time no see. Allow me to introduce—”
The flustered broker rushed up, trying to smooth over the tense air. But Caria ignored him completely, shaking off her wrist and speaking coolly.
“Isn’t it polite to introduce yourself first, before asking who someone else is? Especially after such rudeness at a first meeting.”
She fixed him with a sharp stare, not flinching an inch. The man’s face twisted in disbelief—then turned red with embarrassment. Without another word, Count Lowell spun on his heel and strode back into the mansion.
And that was how Caria first met Count Lowell—the “annoying old man” who had lost both his only daughter and granddaughter, and had withdrawn from society ever since.
