Episode 6
“Did you tell them to do a background check?”
Ariel asked Schumiern to make a bet instead of offering a reward.
“You can check whether I’m a suspicious person or not. No! You must check.”
As they parted ways, she even pressed him to conduct the investigation. Her confidence made it all the more suspicious.
“Huh? You requested a background check? That’s strange. Should I dig a little deeper?”
What Jun had investigated was only surface-level. If Schumiern had asked for a proper investigation, he would have known every minute of what Ariel did today.
One of Jun’s most important duties was to filter out suspicious individuals approaching Schumiern through thorough investigations.
That was the only way he could survive as a cousin of similar age to the king.
Schumiern rubbed his mouth with his thumb.
For some reason, he didn’t feel like investigating Ariel.
He kept seeing her clear face looking up at him from the street, the burning intensity in her eyes flickering in his mind.
And her absurd request as well.
“Find out about the patronage system.”
“The patronage system, all of a sudden? You said you would never accept patronage.”
Schumiern considered the patronage system nothing more than a way for factions to grow under the guise of respectable purposes.
If someone wanted to help, it was enough to do so out of pure goodwill.
If one helped with pure goodwill, that should have been the end of it.
But nobles flaunted, displayed, and broadcasted such relationships.
Vulgar, indeed.
Though never officially announced, the Marquess family was known for refusing all subtle requests for patronage, giving the impression that they did not sponsor anyone.
“There is no absolute in this world, Jun.”
“Has someone caught your interest? When? Where? I’ll investigate.”
“Jun, don’t. I’ll find out about that person myself. Focus on other matters.”
Schumiern was a man for whom 24 hours a day were never enough. Naturally, someone had to handle background checks and simple tasks—everything fell to Jun.
And yet he insisted on doing it himself?
Jun’s eyes narrowed, unaware that Schumiern had already completed the investigation.
“Any news about the people attached to Blake’s side?”
Ignoring Jun’s gaze, Schumiern changed the subject. Jun’s suspicion subsided as he continued his report.
Schumiern only half-listened. He was still thinking about Ariel, who had suddenly burst into his life.
A sharp smile curved on his lips.
Her dramatic entrance and absurd, desperate requests were too extreme to be mere coincidence. She was not ordinary.
“Jun.”
“Yes?”
“How can I attend Count Bronte’s reading?”
“You plan to go?”
Schumiern merely smiled, a cold and dazzling smile that sent chills down Jun’s neck.
The night of the reading had arrived. Count Bronte’s estate had been bustling since noon.
Night readings in late summer and early autumn attracted a surprisingly large number of attendees.
“Why would anyone choose to read books over a joyful party? I really don’t understand.”
Milla grumbled while bringing out the dress Ariel would wear in the evening.
“Do they really love books that much?”
Ariel closed the book in response to Milla’s continuous questions. It seemed she didn’t expect an answer. Milla, in turn, went to the drawer to fetch accessories.
A single set of pearls and a single set of rubies—two sets in total—yet Milla spent a long time agonizing over which to choose.
“Do you think they come for the books, Milla? It’s for the wine and the women, surely.”
Unlike the usual afternoon readings, tonight’s was different. The evening reading focused more on mingling, with wine and refreshments provided.
The key difference was that female writers and artists personally invited by Count Bronte would attend.
It was rare to see quietly working female writers and artists in social settings.
Many foreigners attended the evening readings, forming cliques, exchanging glances, making it all the more intriguing.
Some even invited Ariel to continue discussions elsewhere.
“Shall we move somewhere to finish our conversation?”
Pretending to be polite or innocent, or genuinely suggesting a conversation, Ariel rejected them all.
No matter how cleverly she behaved, desire shone clearly in the eyes, leaving her no choice but to avoid them.
And yet, she could not foresee Blake’s dark intentions. Purely clever, yet naive.
Every time she thought of her life ruined by Blake, she wanted to tear her hair out.
“Keep it simple again today?”
Milla looked displeased as she laid out dresses, jewelry, and shoes.
“It’s a shame about your looks. You don’t have a fortune or a title to inherit! While you’re here, shouldn’t you meet a good man? You can’t do that dressed plainly.”
Milla suggested Ariel use men as tools.
Given Ariel’s circumstances, it was indeed the most effective way to ensure a comfortable life.
She had not been taught household chores, could not serve as a maid, and being a commoner, could not work as a tutor. Few options were left for her to survive.
“Ugh, it must be hard to find a proper job too.”
Everything Milla said was true.
Count Bronte had trained Ariel in countless studies but never taught her laws, making her do laundry in divided portions.
She was taught embroidery techniques but stripped of materials, and if she picked up a broom, she would be made to copy texts all night to exhaust her stamina.
Ariel could only read, debate, and write—a skill mostly useless for a woman in the kingdom.
So perhaps, as Milla suggested, she could give it a try.
“Milla, please. Make me the most beautiful person today.”
Ariel had no intention of using men as tools. She intended to become someone else’s tool—Schumiern’s.
Though not adorned with glittering gold or dazzling jewels, the crystal chandeliers, luxurious tapestries on the walls, and antique furniture made by famous craftsmen were enough to impress those entering the reading hall.
“Always a pleasure, Count Bronte.”
The cheerful Owen kissed the back of Bronte’s hand.
“Welcome, Sir Owen. I hope you enjoy your time today.”
Despite being in the transition from middle to old age, Count Bronte still welcomed guests with dignity.
Owen, Marbo, Duchamp, Nicole, Houston, Madeline, Changri… young artists with bright futures and young nobles seeking connections entered one after another.
Objectively, the attendees were impressive. Youthful energy and burning passion made Bronte quietly envious and proud.
And he was proud of creating and sustaining this gathering.
‘Not much time left,’ a cold thought briefly crossed his elegant smile.
“Count Bronte, how have you been? Such a crisp, lovely day. You look splendid today. I feel as if I’ve aged to your years myself.”
Bronte placed his hand over his heart and bowed lightly.
Few would bow to her—royalty, dukes, marquesses—the kingdom had only three, two of whom would attend today.
He recalled the thrill of secretly asking Schumiern to send him an invitation. The memory sent shivers down his spine.
Count Bronte lifted his lips slightly.
“Welcome, Your Grace. Your joke is a bit much.”
Blake smiled elegantly and extended his hand, intending to escort her, but Bronte waved it away.
“I’ll leave my escort to someone else today.”
Blake’s confident expression faltered. Bronte had always allowed him to escort her, as he was the highest-ranking person present.
Who pushed me aside?
Blake pressed his lips to hide his disappointment, but his curiosity was soon answered.
“Marquess Schumiern Conte Cervandes will be arriving.”
Schumiern!
Blake’s face darkened further.
