Chapter 43
Cayente was certain that although Yulia had returned home unconscious, she wouldn’t tell her family what had happened between them. The Baron, suspecting that it was Cayente’s doing but unable to question her directly, must have been burning with frustration.
He hadn’t intended to hurt Yulia that deeply—but in the end, he didn’t think the result was all bad. For some reason, even though it wasn’t intentional, the memory of how he had never made Yulia cry before—even when deliberately trying to make her laugh—clashed with his current actions and left behind a bitter feeling.
“Who’s here?”
“Baroness Ruper has come to visit.”
“Not the Baron, but the Baroness?”
The day after Yulia returned in shock, Cayente naturally assumed it would be the Baron who had come to the office from House Ruper. But surprisingly, it was Henry who reported that the Baroness had arrived.
Well, after her only daughter was carried in unconscious, even a thoughtless woman would do at least this much. Maybe she came worried, wondering what had happened to Yulia.
“Did His Majesty not like our Yulia’s performance…? Lucy said she saw Henry near the front gate yesterday… Could it be that he was with our Yulia?”
The Baroness opened with talk of the Emperor. She kept glancing at Cayente, trying to confirm whether he had met Yulia yesterday.
“I wasn’t with her.”
“Did His Majesty say anything?”
“No. I wasn’t with Yulia, but we did briefly cross paths in the corridor.”
Cayente saw no reason to hide this. He didn’t plan to recount every word exchanged with Yulia, but he didn’t care if people found out he bore some responsibility for how she’d left.
Not that this woman would take that part seriously anyway.
“Oh, I see? Did Yulia say anything at the time?”
“Say anything?”
“If not, then it’s fine.”
Cayente had been prepared to say—if pressed—that he had told Yulia to quit the cello. That it was unacceptable for someone of noble status like the Countess-to-be to play in public with bare hands. He had been ready to clarify again that he neither cherished nor loved Yulia.
“Did the Count say anything to her directly?”
“Directly?”
But it didn’t seem like the Baroness was actually interested in what had shocked Yulia so much.
“Well, my husband kept saying I was spending too much of the Count’s money. I told him I was using it with permission, but he said even so, how could I be spending so freely? Then he blamed me, saying maybe the Count scolded Yulia, and that’s why she came home crying.”
Cayente could see that although the Baroness was asking what he had said, her real concern lay elsewhere. She didn’t care what exactly had hurt Yulia—only whether it was her fault or not.
He should’ve realized this when she shamelessly wore accessories that had been gifts to her daughter.
“Did the young lady cry at home too?”
While Cayente furrowed his brow in place of a reply, Henry—setting down teacups—asked the question instead. The Baroness, now having someone who would listen, launched into her tale as if it were some juicy gossip.
“She sobbed her heart out. Her eyes were so swollen, she must’ve started crying even before she got home. She was gasping for air like she’d forgotten how to breathe. She never cried that much, not even as a baby! She wailed so loudly it hurt my ears. It even started a fight between me and my husband.”
This is the kind of person she was. A woman so childishly self-centered that she couldn’t even see her own family clearly.
“If that’s the case…”
“Pardon?”
“If I had scolded her about money, are you here to apologize for that? Or… did you come to accuse me of making Yulia cry like that?”
“Oh dear! As if I’d ever come to accuse you, Count!”
And yet Cayente felt furious, even though this was entirely predictable.
“So even that back then… was for your own sake.”
“That? What do you mean, ‘that’?” she said with a laugh.
“I mean the day Yulia and I got engaged—when you blocked her from coming with me.”
“How could that have been for me? That was for the family’s dignity. I mean, really—how improper would it have been to send a daughter to live in a man’s house before the wedding?”
She had said that back then, and Cayente had thought perhaps she was doing it out of care for her daughter. But now it was clear—this woman had never once considered Yulia’s feelings.
“To call a person like this a mother…”
“Pardon?”
“To think she was willing to endure all that insult…”
To endure it all just to remain part of this so-called family? The thought of Yulia’s foolishness made Cayente so angry his neck tensed.
“Did she not say she didn’t want to marry me?”
“Yulia? No, she didn’t say anything like that… Did you say something harsh? Yulia’s very sensitive, you know. She must’ve taken it to heart…”
Though the Baroness belatedly expressed concern for Yulia, it wasn’t enough.
“You should’ve gotten angry.”
“Sorry?”
“You should’ve thrown your teacup—demanded why I hurt your daughter.”
“What kind of nonsense… You can’t do that. Not to you, Count.”
Instead of defending her daughter, the Baroness once again worried about Cayente’s opinion, jumping nervously in her seat.
“If you had, I wouldn’t have cared how much of that little pocket money you spent.”
“What do you mean…?”
If someone had to bear responsibility for the Baron’s murder, it wasn’t Yulia. It should be this woman, his wife. If someone had to suffer the consequences of his crimes, it ought to be the Baroness and the son who would inherit his wealth.
“Henry, contact the bank. I want a record of all checks used last month and this month.”
“The records? But I didn’t spend much!”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Regardless of whether Yulia’s unhappiness served his goals, Cayente couldn’t overlook someone who laughed so merrily while trampling over her daughter’s tears.
“S-sorry. I spent a bit. But it’s not like it shows! We’re going to be family anyway—”
“Family?”
Cayente cut her off immediately.
“I told you, that will never happen.”
It wasn’t just because her father had killed his—it was also because he had no intention of ever becoming family with someone who only used the word for their own convenience.
“I won’t spend anything from now on. Do we really need a list? If you’re that upset, ask my husband for the money. It’s not even that much.”
Under Cayente’s cold glare, the Baroness awkwardly rose and hurried out of the office. He let out a deep sigh and ordered,
“Send a physician to check on Yulia.”
“Yes, Count.”
Henry felt relieved—so the Count did worry about Miss Yulia. But Cayente’s concern wasn’t out of affection. He sent a doctor only because he was worried she wouldn’t show up at the wedding, which was now less than a week away.
“When everyone was bad-mouthing him, I should’ve known. Just one of those statues in his gallery could buy three houses like mine. What is he even saving all that money for?”
Fearing that Cayente might chase her down and interrogate every coin spent—or more truthfully, afraid of the look in his eyes—the Baroness stormed out of the office and finally turned back toward the street, grumbling.
“If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve told Deik to wait outside the office. I even forgot to ask him about getting Iann a job. Maybe he’ll just take care of it after the wedding?”
Though she was offended by the accusation that she was a terrible mother, the Baroness felt relieved. Based on their conversation, it didn’t seem like Cayente had scolded Yulia over money.
“If I’d given our Yulia to some other man, what would he have done? If he likes her so much, he should treat me better. What nerve.”
She still didn’t know what had made Yulia cry so much, but she was convinced Cayente loved her daughter. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone so far as to say such harsh things in front of her mother.
“See? I knew it. That’s why I’ve been spending.”
Who else but someone in love would pay off a 2 million gold debt, and then continue spending freely on everything Yulia wore? Expensive pink diamond jewelry like this wasn’t given to just anyone.
“Well, at least I won’t have to worry about him cheating. If he tries, I won’t sit still.”
Touching the sparkling pink diamond necklace that glittered even more in the sunlight, the Baroness walked away in satisfaction. She was just about to cross the road toward the carriage depot when—
“Baroness Ruper, correct?”
“Yes, and you are…?”
A young man approached the Baroness.
