Chapter 83
“Agnes, I had a great time today.”
“Me too. Get home safe. I won’t be walking you back.”
“That’s my line…”
“I can trust myself not to get distracted on the way, but you—honestly, you make me nervous.”
You partied way too much. Agnes shot Bran a suspicious glare.
Exposed under her sharp gaze, Bran only gave a sheepish laugh. For someone his age, he actually led a pretty wholesome lifestyle, but to Agnes he looked every bit the reckless playboy. Instead of making excuses, he quickly changed the subject.
“Agnes, you seem… more mature somehow.”
“…Really? That’s not an insult, is it?”
“Of course not. It’s a compliment.”
Having lived through real years beyond her appearance, she couldn’t accept it as pure praise.
“I’ve always been more mature than you.”
“Haha, true. Yeah, you have.”
“Worry about your own future. Don’t waste time hanging around with Reynold or your brother-in-law.”
“I am studying too, you know.”
“You say that, yet you’re always out like this…”
“…I was wrong, teacher.”
Agnes wrinkled her nose and gave him a sharp side-eye.
She couldn’t very well lecture him without proof about his friendship with Jayden, so she settled for scolding him to get his act together. That ended up sounding exactly like a teacher to a student—something Bran teased her about.
He really has bounced back. Honestly, what a simpleton.
Then Bran grew serious.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Agnes, but…”
“Hmm?”
“You mustn’t go there yourself. You understand?”
“Eh?”
“Send someone instead. And don’t wander around at night.”
“…”
“Oh heavens, what did I give you again? Hand it back—hey!”
“Go home already.”
“Agnes!”
“I won’t do anything dangerous. Don’t worry.”
“You promise?”
“Of course.”
My students never get dragged into danger because of me. Agnes added silently.
Just then Bran’s carriage pulled up in front of the restaurant. Agnes gave him a little shove toward it.
“Go on. Your mother will be worried.”
“How long are you going to treat me like a kid? That’s not even the point, Agnes!”
“It is the point. That’s exactly the point—for both of us.”
“…”
“Goodbye, Bran. It was nice seeing you today. And thank you.”
Without listening to his protest, Agnes slammed the carriage door shut.
Then she made a quick flick of her head, as if to say, Don’t mind me. Just go.
Bran still looked like he had things left unsaid, but Agnes turned away, refusing to meet his eyes. She didn’t have the luxury to linger on him now.
Her suspicions had solidified. Now she had to confirm them.
The House was a private-membership club, impossible to enter without clearance, and it came alive only late at night. Agnes, who had to be up for classes early each morning, had no intention of sneaking into such a place.
Bran’s probably worried I’ll disguise myself as a man and try to sneak inside. But I’m not that reckless.
Her focus was instead on the taverns near the House.
Pleasure always came with indulgence, and indulgence never lacked alcohol.
Jayden hadn’t been in Conswern long enough to have a true “regular spot,” but Bran had even written down the name of the tavern he frequented. That was where Agnes waited.
“Are you alone, miss?”
“No, I’m waiting for someone.”
“What a shame.”
But sitting there quietly was nearly impossible—people kept striking up conversations.
“Are you by yourse—”
“I’m waiting for someone.”
“Al—”
“I’m not alone.”
Eventually, she started refusing automatically without even looking at them. Nursing the one drink she had ordered out of politeness, Agnes scowled.
Apparently, a woman alone in a tavern was an open invitation.
She had never enjoyed nightlife—she lacked both the money and the inclination—and most of the people around her were straight-laced professionals. But even among them, a few sought stress relief in bars. She’d heard the warnings: it was dangerous, better to drink safely at home.
Now that she experienced it herself, she understood. The tavern itself wasn’t the danger—it was the people hovering, waiting for you to get drunk.
In the end, Agnes tucked herself into a corner at the far end of the bar, with her back to the entrance. It made it hard to watch the door, but she had no choice.
Still… the drinks are good. The food too. No wonder people come.
She even chuckled softly, finally understanding why some insisted that home-bottled liquor just never tasted the same.
She didn’t have a detailed plan.
But once her suspicion hardened—that Jayden was the one who would ruin Timothy in the future—she couldn’t ignore it. She had to see his true face.
She couldn’t just sit still.
I’ll just check. I need to see how Mr. Reynold acts when the children aren’t around.
For now, it was still only suspicion.
Even if Jayden truly would destroy Marquis Reynold someday, he hadn’t done anything yet. Perhaps at this moment he really was just an uncle wanting to get along with his nephew.
Agnes hoped that her doubts would remain just doubts. For Timothy’s sake, she needed evidence.
Maybe he’s not coming tonight.
It was nearly midnight.
Bran had said Jayden partied almost every night. Maybe tonight he had chosen a different tavern.
Agnes glanced at her near-empty glass, torn between ordering another or giving up for the night.
“Mr. Reynold, your learning is truly impressive.”
“You flatter me. I’m nothing special.”
“And modest, too.”
With the chime of the door, a burst of laughter spilled inside.
Agnes ducked her head and hunched her shoulders. A whiff of briny water blew in—the smell of the streets still soaked from the recent floods.
“The fact that such a remarkable man has no title is absurd. Something must be wrong.”
“Such is the fate of the younger twin, is it not? The destiny of a brother born only minutes after his great elder.”
“A few minutes hardly make an elder and younger.”
“Haha.”
The voices belonged to a small group—three or four, Jayden among them. Agnes longed to see their faces but dared not lift her head.
“To lose a title by mere minutes is bad enough, but now you’re left cleaning up after that child Marquis? Truly unjust.”
What did you just call him? A brat? Agnes clenched her fist.
So maybe he used to be a brat. But now Timothy’s the model student! And even when he was troublesome, he never caused harm. Calling him a brat, as if he’s hurt you somehow…
She pressed down the surge of anger.
“To be frank, though it may be unpleasant to hear, even the late Marquis Reynold bent far too low before the Batenberg family. His wife was their daughter, true, but the Reynolds are every bit as distinguished.”
“That’s right…”
What? Even insulting his late brother and sister-in-law, and he agrees?
“The Batenbergs serve only the Imperial House. No family could expect their respect.”
“Exactly. Any other family would have been treated the same.”
“They keep to themselves, looking down on others as beneath them. Do people realize what the Crown Prince and the Duke truly are? Supposedly serving the people, yet so unbearably arrogant.”
“They’ll never know. All they see is nobles throwing themselves into relief efforts and praise them for their ‘dedication.’ No one wonders what that performance is meant to hide.”
Never even lifted a single stone, yet you speak so glibly. Agnes’s breath came rough.
You’ve no idea how many days Ethan couldn’t even come home. You never saw how gaunt his face had grown…
“If not for that child Marquis, the title would have found its rightful master…”
Rightful master? What do you mean, ‘if not for’?
“Say that again, you—!”
Say that again, you bastard.
Agnes could no longer hold back. She shot to her feet—only for a hand to clamp down over her mouth.
