Episode 14
Cullen quietly set the papers down. He removed his glasses, pulled a soft cloth from the drawer, and calmly began wiping the lenses.
Harry, watching his mood carefully, continued speaking.
“Lady Dvenzell saw the newspaper, cried herself to sleep, and fainted. The marquis is apparently furious,” he said.
“That makes sense,” Cullen replied evenly. “She’s his only daughter. He’d be protective.”
He nodded slightly, as if understanding the marquis’s anger.
Harry, truth be told, didn’t like Lady Dvenzell much — she always looked down on him for being a commoner. Still, when he remembered her bright smile from the last social event, he couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her.
“What should we do? Send a gift or something to comfort her?” he asked carefully.
Cullen shook his head, his smooth black hair swaying.
“Leave it. No response needed.”
“But… what if this ruins our relationship with the marquisate?”
“It won’t.”
Cullen cut him off coldly, put his glasses back on, and picked up the papers again.
Harry clasped his hands nervously, biting his lip. He stood there so stiffly that Cullen finally glanced up.
“Are you protesting or something?”
“Of course not, sir! I wouldn’t dare.”
Harry looked genuinely startled. He wasn’t trying to argue — he just felt bad for the young lady. Having grown up with three older sisters and two younger ones, he had a soft spot for girls that age.
Cullen nodded. “Right. You’re nothing.”
Harry’s face fell. He was the one who’d said it first, but hearing Cullen agree still hurt.
Seeing his sulky expression, Cullen set his quill down with a soft tap.
“How many of the noble debutantes this year do you think already have fiancés?”
“…Sir?”
Harry blinked, confused by the sudden question.
Cullen didn’t wait for a response. “Forty percent. That’s a lot, isn’t it?”
“Yes… yes, it is.”
Cullen looked at him through his glasses.
“If Marquis Dvenzell truly intended to marry off Alisa, he’d have done it long ago.”
Harry’s eyes widened as realization hit.
“You’re my one and only aide, so you should know this — has Dvenzell ever once brought up an engagement with our family?”
“…No, sir. Never.”
“Has he even hinted at it in public?”
“No. Not that I recall.”
Cullen nodded and calmly picked up his pen again.
“Then the marquis’s complaint is just for show — to soothe his daughter. Ignore it.”
Harry stood there silently, watching his employer’s elegant handwriting glide across the paper embossed with the Lorvant crest. His mind was full of tangled thoughts.
He knew, thanks to his sisters, how much women cared about love. Lady Alisa has been saying since she was little that she’d marry His Grace, he thought. The marquis had always laughed kindly whenever she said it, so everyone assumed there was an unspoken understanding between the two houses.
Turns out the marquis wasn’t the doting father everyone thought. Poor Alisa — she probably didn’t even realize her father had never planned to make it real.
Cullen frowned suddenly, scratching his head with the end of his pen. Then, out of nowhere, he snapped at Harry,
“What, are you close with Alisa or something? Why are you sighing like that?”
“It’s not that,” Harry said quickly, embarrassed.
Cullen drew a line through the document and muttered, “Be honest — I’m not exactly the ideal man to hand your daughter to, am I?”
Harry cracked a faint grin. “When you put it like that, it all makes perfect sense now.”
The tension melted away; Cullen found it funny rather than insulting.
“Keep it quiet,” he said gently. “She’s still young. No need to make her taste the bitterness of life just yet.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harry nodded, though he still looked a little stunned. Cullen — worrying about a young lady’s feelings? The same man who’d chew out demons for breathing too loud?
Maybe noticing Harry’s thoughts, Cullen pointed his pen at him. “Stop thinking nonsense and get back to work.”
“Yes, sir!”
Harry hurried back to his desk and buried his nose in the stack of documents.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows. And just like that, the quiet routine of the Lorvant estate continued.
Meanwhile, at the Burndale Manor…
In Countess Sophia’s sitting room, the most famous tailors in the capital had gathered. They surrounded Lana in a circle, arguing fiercely about what kind of wedding dress would suit her best.
“How long do I have to stand here like this…?” Lana moaned, sitting on the sofa with a miserable face. She had so many layers of white fabric draped over her that she looked like a walking ball of cloth.
Sophia gestured, and Diana quickly hurried over to peel the layers off her lady. Freed from her textile prison, Lana collapsed limply into an armchair — like a noblewoman fainting after watching a bloody duel.
“Miss, shall I bring you something light to eat?” Diana whispered softly.
Food? Lana’s eyes sparkled — until Sophia barked, “No! You have to slim down for the wedding!”
“You said last week I was too skinny!”
“That was because you looked cute while eating,” Sophia said matter-of-factly.
Lana’s jaw dropped. Did she just call me her pet?!
Ignoring Lana’s glare, Sophia turned to the head maid. “I’ll personally oversee Lana’s meals until the wedding. We can cut down on grocery orders for now.”
The head maid nodded. “In that case, we’ll need plenty of salad greens and nuts for her meals.”
Lana’s face fell. The head maid gave her a sly, secret smile. That sly fox…! Lana seethed silently.
Just then, Diana nudged her and pointed to the door. The butler was standing there.
“What is it?” Sophia asked.
The butler bowed politely and said, “His Grace, the Duke, has sent a message for the young lady.”
Before he could even finish, the tailors and their apprentices squealed and elbowed each other.
“The Duke?!”
“Oh my, the Duke himself!”
“So glad we accepted the Countess’s commission!”
“Maybe we’ll get to see him in person!”
One overly chatty girl started babbling, “But he never visits the shops! Even Lady Dvenzell said her biggest wish was to appear in public with him instead of just getting gifts—”
Smack, smack, smack! The others immediately hit her from all directions — back, arm, head — until she shut her mouth tight. Everyone froze and looked nervously at Lana.
But Lana was distracted by something else entirely. She whispered to Diana, “Do you think the Duke has to go through this kind of fitting too?”
“He probably just tries on a couple of suits,” Diana replied.
“Ugh. Men have it so easy.” Lana sighed, rubbing her forehead dramatically. The injustice burned deep.
The butler hurried forward. “His Grace said he wishes to assist personally with your fitting and has requested to meet you.”
“A meeting? Where?”
“He’s sending a carriage shortly.”
Lana frowned. “If he wants to help, he could just send food instead of dragging me outside.”
Diana leaned in and whispered mischievously, “Maybe he wants to sneak you out somewhere — like to eat together away from the Countess’s eyes?”
Lana gasped. “Of course! That’s so like him. Always thoughtful — and thrillingly so.”
Diana just gave her a weak smile.
Lana turned to the tailors, fluttering her lashes like a bashful bride. The women squealed again.
“Oh my! The groom’s calling — of course you must go!”
“Yes, go ahead! The design is basically done; we can finish without the bride!”
“So why have I been tortured like this, then?!” Lana cried, half-rising in protest.
The faint shimmer of heat around her looked dangerous, so Sophia quickly signaled to the butler. He and the head maid stepped in smoothly, escorting Lana out before she could explode like a hungry bear.
Sophia turned back to the dressmakers with a bright, businesslike smile.
“Now then, where were we?”
