CHAPTER 65………………………………………….
. An Unlucky Day
Jerome’s back was soaked with cold sweat.
“Y–you mean, my arm, Your Grace?”
Hearing his son’s trembling voice, the Count’s brow twitched in irritation.
Surely His Grace couldn’t be serious. It must be a joke.
And yet, the foolish boy looked terrified—too frightened even to think straight.
How could someone with so little nerve ever hope to survive in politics? The Count even began to wonder if his son would be capable of managing the small provincial estate that would one day be his inheritance.
But the Grand Duke’s next words were enough to chill even the Count’s skepticism.
“Only your arm? Had your leg brushed against her, I would have made sure you could never use it again. If any part of your body had harmed the young lady, I would have repaid it tenfold.”
The Count tilted his head slightly, staring blankly at Algernon’s smiling face.
He was smiling so pleasantly, yet every word that came out of his mouth dripped with menace. Was it a joke, then? But his calm, deliberate tone said otherwise.
“Your Grace…?”
Instead of answering, Algernon turned his gaze toward the Count.
The Count found himself staring at those slightly upturned red lips, and then—lifting his gaze—into the narrowed green eyes of the Grand Duke.
In that moment, the Count sighed inwardly.
How was it that he looked so very much like the late Emperor?
When he had first begun his career at court, so many sleepless nights had been spent trying to guess at the old Emperor’s true thoughts—words that said one thing, eyes that meant another.
The current Emperor, though violent, was at least transparent. He loved drink and women, and as long as one flattered him suitably, he was easy enough to handle. The late Emperor, however… he had been a different beast entirely.
“Why? Do I sound as though I’m joking?”
“N–no, Your Grace. Not at all.”
Meeting those calm, smiling green eyes, Count Sebastian Frances finally realized that Algernon was not joking in the least.
“You must be grateful your son came home with nothing worse than bruises, mustn’t you?”
The Count muttered a curse under his breath, bowing his head.
“Indeed… It is a great relief, Your Grace.”
“Then stop scolding the boy so much. And you, Sir Jerome.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
The Count’s son brightened immediately, as though being told to stop his punishment had filled him with hope.
Watching him, the Count sighed again. What on earth had his wife eaten to give birth to such a fool?
“There is something I would like you to do,” said Algernon.
“Just give the order, Your Grace.”
“The Count has raised a fine son indeed.”
Algernon let out a short laugh and beckoned Jerome closer with one finger.
“Come here.”
He leaned in and whispered something in Jerome’s ear.
“Think you can manage it?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
“I’ll trust you, then.”
Watching his son bowing repeatedly with almost wagging-dog enthusiasm, the Count barely managed to swallow a sigh.
“Well then, I’ll be on my way. My apologies for disturbing you at such a late hour.”
“Think nothing of it, Your Grace. But if I may…”
The Count hesitated before speaking again.
“What is it?”
“It may be presumptuous of me, but… do you not intend to travel abroad again?”
At that, the Grand Duke clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his head in thought. Then, after a pause, he answered lightly.
“I suppose it’s time I settled down—marriage, a household… I can’t roam forever, can I?”
“Then have you chosen a bride? If not, my wife has quite the network in society. She could introduce several suitable young ladies.”
The Count, ever the seasoned politician, knew exactly when to seize an opportunity to ingratiate himself.
“I appreciate the thought,” Algernon replied with a faint smile, “but I’ll decline. Wouldn’t it be risky for you if such rumors reached His Majesty’s ears? Best not to trouble yourself unnecessarily.”
“…Understood.”
Unable to argue, the Count simply bowed his head. Algernon turned and started toward his carriage.
“Travel safely, Your Grace. Next time, do send word ahead—I’ll prepare a proper banquet.”
“You and I both know noise and spectacle serve neither of us well,” Algernon replied mildly. “Thank you for your hospitality tonight. Sir Jerome, don’t forget what I asked of you.”
“Of course not, Your Grace!”
As Algernon glanced back at Jerome’s face, mottled with red and purple bruises, his lips pressed into a thin line. Even as a jest, to tease him further would only provoke resentment.
When he had first arrived, Algernon had debated whether to kill or spare the boy—but seeing Jerome’s foolishly innocent behavior, that impulse had melted away.
“Count…”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Summon a physician. Sir Jerome’s wounds might worsen if left unattended.”
“He’s old enough to handle it himself,” the Count grumbled.
Algernon chuckled at the brusque reply, just as he was about to step into his carriage—
A large carriage came speeding up the drive and stopped nearby.
“My, the Count has many visitors tonight,” Algernon murmured quietly, recognizing the crest painted on the door: the Duke of Syde’s house.
The visitor who emerged looked exhausted—it was Anje.
Upon noticing Algernon, she paused to offer a polite bow.
“It’s been a while, Your Grace.”
“Lady Anje. What brings you here?”
Her expression was calm—perhaps she hadn’t yet heard what had happened earlier that day?
As Algernon’s gentle smile played about his lips, Anje’s mind filled with questions, yet she could not bring herself to speak any of them.
Even though Mariana had done nothing wrong, Anje didn’t want to confess the full story of the incident to Algernon. He would find out soon enough.
“I came on an errand from His Grace, the Duke.”
“Ah, I see.”
Avoiding his gaze, Anje summarized her message vaguely, omitting all crucial details.
Algernon studied her for a moment, then smiled faintly.
“Out on business at this hour—you have my respect. Go on, then, and take care of what you came for.”
“Yes, Your Grace. Please travel safely.”
With that, Algernon boarded his carriage and departed.
The Count watched as the Grand Duke’s carriage rolled out through the gates and disappeared down the main road. Then he turned to face Anje.
Even without hearing her message, he could already guess its contents—an apology from the Duke of Syde’s household.
When Jerome had first returned home battered and bruised, the Count had been ready to storm the Duke’s estate in fury. But after hearing how his own son had disgraced himself by making a ridiculous proposal upon first meeting the young lady, the Count now felt only shame.
“Come in, Miss,” he said.
He recognized her face.
She attended the last ball with the Duke, if I recall correctly.
Her dress was modest, typical of a household aide, but the carriage behind her was grand—one that even the Duke himself might use for official visits.
Glancing between the splendid carriage and the composed young woman, the Count gave a courteous nod.
“Anje Beaufort, aide to His Grace the Duke of Syde,” she introduced herself.
“A pleasure. And what brings you here at this hour?”
Did he really not know? On the way here, Anje had worried that the furious Count might already have sent a messenger to the Duke’s estate to demand reparation.
From his manner, it seemed he hadn’t—but she dared not relax yet.
“Well, it’s just that…”
As she hesitated, the Count’s servants came out and lit the lamps in the garden.
The light revealed Jerome’s bruised skin, and Anje flushed with embarrassment.
He certainly deserved a hundred beatings for the foolish words he’d spoken to her lady—but now, standing before his father, she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of pity.
“I’ve come to apologize for the offense our young lady caused earlier today. His Grace, the Duke, also deeply regrets the incident.”
Anje bit her lip briefly, then turned to fetch several boxes from her carriage.
“These smaller boxes contain salve for bruises—it helps them heal quickly.”
“Medicine after giving the injury, is that it?” Jerome muttered.
Anje flinched and glanced at the Count, but he showed no sign of anger—merely indifference.
Even Jerome himself didn’t seem particularly upset, which gave Anje a little courage as she continued, pointing to another box.
“These are restorative herbs. His Grace suggested that either the Count or the Countess might benefit from them if brewed as tea. And this—this is a cream that’s said to be excellent for the Countess’s complexion.”
“But why does Father get medicine when I’m the one who was beaten—”
“Quiet! Have you no shame?” the Count snapped.
Without caring that Anje was watching, he struck Jerome hard across the back.
“You little fool! You’ll be the death of me yet!”
