Chapter 112 …
“Don’t look… it’s embarrassing.”
“But…”
Benedict lifted his head. Still, he left one hand in Lucien’s.
Now, with tears flowing endlessly, he could barely see ahead. Lucien held him firmly without saying a word.
Benedict closed his eyes, relying entirely on that small hand.
What expression would Lucien make after hearing his story?
That night’s rudeness wasn’t a mistake—it was, in fact, desire. And even if he admitted it would grow alongside his illness…
Would Lucien still stay by his side?
Benedict knew how selfish that wish was.
‘Am I even allowed to stay with Lucien like this?’
If he truly cared for Lucien, maybe he should maintain some distance between them.
“…I want to hear it quickly.”
From beyond the wall, Lucien murmured softly.
“Perhaps… I just want to see Benedict soon,”
I want to see you too, Lucien.
Benedict suppressed the urge to give the same reply.
He feared that even that would be a word spoken from filthy desire.
That night, very late.
“I apologize for disturbing you at this hour.”
Alfie, unusually formal, bowed to Emma.
“I heard you reconciled with Benedict a while ago. Are you still so shocked?”
Emma smiled faintly, teasing him at the unusual sight, and Alfie immediately played along.
“Hmph, I’ll carry this in my heart forever. Lady, please tell Master to take care of his poor butler from now on.”
“If it’s such a request, surely there’s someone better than me. Sit down, anyway.”
“No. Let me speak while standing.”
“Do you intend to snap this old man’s neck?”
“….”
Having no such intention, Alfie reluctantly allowed her to sit in the appointed seat.
“Now, speak.”
“You surely know that the Duke has been very sensitive lately, Lady.”
Alfie didn’t hesitate.
“He can’t help it. Indeed… his fever cycles have been getting shorter.”
Though anyone at the Duke’s mansion knew this, no one dared to speak it aloud.
Emma understood why Alfie had chosen a rare, quiet moment for their meeting. This was for a delicate conversation.
“At first, I thought the same.”
“Hmm?”
“Well, it could have some effect. But Master… is not someone who takes out his frustrations on those around him because of his illness.”
Alfie knew well that Benedict was trying hard not to act otherwise.
“So I reconsidered. When did it start… exactly?”
“Around autumn…”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Of course, that wretched newspaper…!”
“No.”
Alfie shook his head firmly. It wasn’t because of the sensationalized article about Lucien.
“More precisely, it was after visiting the Sertcliff family.”
It was on the very last day, when Benedict went to pay his respects to the Viscount. After that, he had become noticeably unstable.
“I asked him if he had heard anything there, but he flatly denied it. He said there was nothing.”
“The more firmly he denies it, the more suspicious it seems.”
“Master was never particularly skilled at lying, anyway.”
Alfie smiled sadly.
Seeing his master struggle alone while hiding something was hard to bear. It also meant he wasn’t fully trusted as a butler.
“And after returning… he began meeting with people.”
“Yes, he met a few scholars through me as well.”
Emma nodded, recalling Benedict’s sudden requests.
“They were all people who had private records with the previous Duke.”
“What is Benedict searching for?”
“There’s actually only one thing he’s seeking.”
The Decision of Promise.
“He’s unusually meeting so many people…”
Wrinkles deepened at Emma’s eyes.
After a moment of silence, Alfie posed a question—the real reason he had come.
“You are from the Lockridge family, Lady. Sertcliff belongs to it, correct?”
“That’s true, but I know very little of them. As a child, I had no interactions with them.”
“But you must know something about their family customs? For example, regarding jewelry?”
“Of course I know that. But that is just a mark of belonging to Sertcliff. When the previous Duke of Sertcliff died, the jewelry on his body…”
Emma flinched, stopping herself mid-sentence.
This was something she had never consciously considered. It was common for family members to possess an item marking their lineage.
Even when she read the letter Lucien had brought from the West, she hadn’t connected Sertcliff family customs with the Decision of Promise.
But what if it did connect?
“Oh my…”
“Perhaps my hypothesis, formed from observing the Duke’s actions, isn’t entirely off.”
“No, this is impossible.”
If the jewelry from the previous Duke’s body was truly the Decision of Promise, it meant the item resided in a human body.
“Would the previous Duke have known this?”
“No, surely God would not have arranged such cruelty.”
“I thought about it.”
Alfie didn’t waste time on abstract reasoning.
“Then… who could it be?”
“….”
“The previous Duke surely wrote in his journal, ‘Found it.’ What would he have done immediately afterward?”
Emma bit her lips.
“He would have negotiated to retrieve it, either directly from the person… or…”
Alfie closed his eyes calmly and spoke the rest.
“…from the organization the person belongs to. Master probably knew that too.”
He emphasized the word organization. Emma could easily imagine the Wandering Group.
“Leave immediately.”
She raised a trembling hand toward the door.
“How dare you say that! How dare… you dare!”
“But, Lady…”
“Leave. My goodness, is there no one else here?!”
Even in a secret conversation, fear crept into her voice, raising it involuntarily.
“Understood.”
Alfie quickly rose before any commotion could begin. She finally exhaled, leaning back against the sofa.
But before he fully withdrew—
“…Bel.”
Regaining a fraction of composure, she called Alfie with a cracked voice.
“You must not speak like that to others. Nothing has been proven yet.”
Even as she spoke, Emma thought: even if this were proven, could she use it as leverage?
Lucien and Benedict were precious to her.
And she had always hoped that they would find happiness without wandering too far. Foolish Emma had never managed to make that happen.
Seeing them finally happy was her last remaining wish.
‘But… how…’
Emma gripped her breaking heart.
Had Benedict borne this suffering alone, far earlier than anyone realized?
“…God, please.”
Despite not being particularly devout, the words escaped as a prayer.
“If You truly have mercy… then…”
Please do not impose such a cruel trial upon those poor children.
The prayer, spreading quietly through the room, merely faded into the darkness.
