Chapter 29
“Why, look who it is. Baron Potry. I didn’t expect to see you here. I never knew you had an interest in art.”
When Duke Winteryle ran into Baron Potry at the art exhibition salon, he had been in a rather good mood.
The duke’s public image was that of a warm and caring father to his son, but he was equally notorious for the blade he hid beneath his tongue.
Though he had never been particularly bright in his studies as a child, when it came to mischief and indulgence, he was remarkably cunning. Above all, he was an extreme aristocrat. To him, commoners were meant to crawl on the ground, and if they dared to lift their heads, it was his belief that they should be struck down and taught their place.
He insisted that his birth as the heir of House Winteryle was nothing less than divine blessing, clinging to a twisted sense of faith. In short, Duke Winteryle was a man who embodied every conceivable vice, and he had grown into exactly that sort of person.
Thus, when he encountered Baron Potry, he was already anticipating the amusement of belittling and trampling him in front of others before leaving. That was one of his cruel pastimes. To humiliate the head of a lowly house in front of their family.
And Baron Potry was, in particular, someone the duke disliked. To make things worse, the baron’s only daughter, Lucy Potry, had ruined her own standing in society by running her mouth and had since lost all of her connections. She was the perfect excuse for a public humiliation.
Originally, the duke’s destination had been a masked ball held in the pleasure district.
He had visited the salon only to secure an invitation to the party from its host, Count Deneb. While it would have been easier to send a letter, the scandal of attending such a debauched gathering was dangerous—even a duke could not prevent his reputation from being stained if word got out. Thus, he had chosen to appear in person. But fortune, it seemed, had smiled upon him.
For reasons unknown, Baron Potry was surrounded by people, and the duke, for once, took the initiative to approach him first.
“Duke Winteryle, isn’t it? It’s been some time since you last graced us with your presence. How have you been?”
The words sounded polite, but the implication was clear: Your daughter caused such a scandal that you’ve been hiding at home, so what are you doing here at a salon?
Those who understood the barb gave awkward laughs. But the atmosphere had cooled at the duke’s arrival, and there was nothing anyone could do to fix it.
The duke, however, cared little for how uncomfortable things became because of him. He had always lived as he pleased, unchallenged. Even now, his gaze was fixed only on Baron Potry and his daughter.
In the past, he would’ve flushed red and been at a loss for words… but today his reaction is different.
To his surprise, Baron Potry was smiling pleasantly. The duke had expected his face to twist in humiliation, but it did not. Instead, the baron simply raised his lips as though the duke’s jab were nothing more than a trivial jest.
“I have been quite busy these past months, which kept me confined to my estate. But I thought it unwise to stay away from social gatherings for too long, so I’ve begun attending salons and parties again.”
“Is that so? Busy with what, I wonder? I also hear your daughter has been absent from society as well.”
The duke assumed the baron was bluffing.
It had not been long since Charlotte had been falsely accused, and Lucy Potry, who spread those rumors, had been rebuked by the Marquess Blanche. That was hardly enough time to recover one’s standing. Yet Baron Potry calmly adjusted his clothes, his eyes still smiling.
At that moment, something glittered faintly beneath his coat. As he straightened his jacket with a few taps, a brooch pinned above his chest gleamed brilliantly in the light.
Even Duke Winteryle, who had laid eyes on countless rare and extravagant jewels, found himself momentarily captivated by the beauty of the piece.
The round pendant, bordered by finely cut diamonds, bore the Potry family crest—a bat—delicately carved in pearl at its center. The outermost rim was encircled with another ring of diamonds, like petals of a blossoming flower.
The duke almost asked where he had acquired it, a sudden urge of greed rising within him, but seeing the baron hold his head high as if to flaunt the jewel, anger welled up instead.
Baron Potry smirked as their eyes met. How dare he, before me… The duke clicked his tongue in disapproval.
“Baron, you are the head of your house. You haven’t forgotten that, have you? A family head should devote himself to his household. Should you really be squandering your wealth on such trinkets rather than providing for your family?”
“Trinket? Ah, you must mean this brooch? I fear you’ve misunderstood, Your Grace. This was a gift from my daughter.”
“From Lady Potry?”
“Yes. I hadn’t realized myself, but it seems my daughter has a remarkable talent for gemcraft. One day, she surprised me with this brooch of her own making.”
Who cares if some lowborn noble’s daughter can cut gems? the duke thought. Yet he could not deny the craftsmanship was exceptional. Reluctantly, his eyes drifted to Lady Potry. Still, what good was talent in gem-setting when it did nothing for one’s standing in society? The duke scoffed.
“Gemcraft, is it? Then she must require a great many stones. Surely that’s a strain on your resources. That must be difficult.”
This time, he was certain he would see their faces fall. It was petty, base, and unbecoming of a duke, who should have shown dignity befitting his station. Yet he sneered like a common rake.
“Ah, you haven’t heard the news, then?”
“What news?”
“In the Potry lands, in Floa territory—why, diamond mines have been discovered. Several of them, in fact.”
“Diamond… mines?”
“Yes! Thanks to that, I’ve come into quite a fortune. And I was able to nurture my daughter’s talent as well. This brooch was made with diamonds mined from our own land.”
The duke was struck dumb. Diamond mines? Several of them?
It was far too great a fortune to dismiss as mere “wealth.”
Only then did the duke understand: Baron Potry had not hidden away in shame over his daughter’s scandal—he had simply been occupied with this sudden, monumental stroke of luck. That explained his calm smile, no matter the duke’s taunts.
Since the Floa territory belonged to House Potry, the mines were entirely the baron’s property. Once excavation began, the wealth would be enough for generations to live in idle luxury.
In time, with steady income, Baron Potry could even purchase a new title. With diamond mines at his disposal, rising from baron to count would not be difficult at all.
Jealousy burned in the duke’s chest. Though his own house lacked no riches, the thought of Potry smugly raising his chin was unbearable—especially when he had always considered the man far beneath him.
Soon, Baron Potry would fund enterprises toward becoming a count, and Lady Potry would restore her place in society. Every scenario the duke imagined soured his mood further. He had arrived in high spirits, only to leave seething because of Baron Potry. He resolved to cut their conversation short and simply take the invitation he came for. But then—
“Ah, so the young duke hasn’t told you, Your Grace?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I had a discussion with your son regarding the diamond mines not long ago.”
“With Norman?”
“Yes. He offered to provide mining equipment. I assumed, naturally, that he had already discussed the matter with you…”
“What did you just say?”
That offhand remark from Baron Potry utterly crushed the duke’s pride.
Baron Potry’s blow soon found its way back to Norman.
Enraged, Duke Winteryle summoned his son to his study the moment he returned. He nearly hurled a paperweight at him the instant he saw his face, but a fleeting moment of restraint prevented bloodshed.
Tonight, after all, his son would attend the return banquet as the partner of the Saintess. He could not mar his son’s face before such an occasion.
“Why did you not tell me that diamond mines had been discovered in Floa?”
Norman almost laughed. So this was what had provoked such fury? He found it hard to believe this man was truly his father.
Father, even young Count Deneb’s eight-year-old son has heard that Baron Potry struck it rich. And you didn’t know?
“I assumed you were already aware.”
“You should have reported it to me regardless! And is it true that you offered mining equipment?”
Report? As though I were some underling… Norman bit back his anger and answered coolly.
“Yes.”
“By what right do you make such decisions! I am still alive and head of this house! Are you already playing the part of family lord?”
“No, Father. I only agreed to supply equipment on the condition that Baron Potry export all his diamonds exclusively through our port. We signed a contract—”
“Silence!”
Norman clenched his fists behind his back. He knew well enough that talking back would only worsen things, but to endure his father’s senseless fury in silence was still a bitter trial.
For nearly two hours, Duke Winteryle ranted and raved, venting the humiliation Baron Potry had caused him until his pride was somewhat restored.
At intervals, he slammed the paperweight against his desk, until it was chipped and cracked. Norman, meanwhile, sat exhausted, feeling as though his ears were bleeding from the tirade.
But what reignited his anger was his father’s parting words:
“That wretch Potry. He thinks a single diamond mine makes him somebody? This is the perfect chance to remind him of his place. Once he sees that you are the Saintess’s partner, it will eat him alive. He’s always been desperate to build ties with the temple. So prepare yourself, Norman. I’ll be attending the banquet as well.”
