LB | Chapter 05

Chapter 5

“Yes. I’ll make sure not to upset Countess McCallen.”
“Good, good. Now, let’s go in.”

Following the Browe couple, I stepped out of the carriage and into the enormous McCallen estate.

The Browe mansion was impressive, but this place… this is on another level.

Honestly, it was lucky I had already seen the Browe residence first.
If this were my first noble mansion experience, I wouldn’t have been able to control my expression.
Even the ceiling here was ridiculously high.

“Welcome, Count Browe, Countess!”

The man greeting them at the ballroom entrance was none other than Count McCallen himself.
I knew right away—it was impossible not to recognize him.

He looks like him!

The police officer I saw before came to mind immediately.
Count McCallen looked to be in his late fifties or early sixties—handsome enough that he probably turned heads in his youth.

“Thank you for inviting us, Count. And this is my grandniece. Rosalyn, greet him.”

“It’s an honor to meet you. I am Rosalyn Thesis.”

I bowed politely, just as I’d practiced.

Count McCallen’s gaze brushed past me, but he didn’t look particularly interested and clearly had no intention of starting a long conversation.

“Enjoy the evening, my lady.”

That was it.
Well, he was welcoming over a hundred guests tonight—he couldn’t spare more than a moment.

Leaving his side, I followed closely behind the Browe couple.

My nervousness had nothing to do with the McCallen family’s prestige.

What if Rosalyn made a friend while I was locked up? Or worse—an enemy?

And to make things worse, the very police officer handling the fire case was here.

I desperately hoped no one would approach me as if they knew me.
But if it happened? I’d bluff boldly.

I never heard that Rosalyn met many people. She probably didn’t socialize much.
Meaning the number of people who could expose me was small.

So I would insist—confidently—that I was Rosalyn Thesis.
No one in Herona could prove otherwise.

“Rosalyn! Come greet someone. This is Lady Howard, the viscountess. She has wide connections in society.”

As I steadied myself internally, Count Browe suddenly pulled me to his side.

The woman he introduced me to was warm-looking and elegant—older, but with kind eyes.
Her gaze over me wasn’t rude, but I wasn’t naïve. I knew exactly what it meant.

Ah. So that’s what “wide connections” means.
A matchmaker.

I should never forget why the Browe couple was putting in this effort.
If this woman weren’t a “broker” who could sell nobles like valuable goods, they would never bother introducing someone as plain as me.

“Pleasure to meet you, Lady Howard. I’m Rosalyn Thesis.”

“I’ve heard so much about you. Such a young lady going through such tragedy and still holding yourself together… it’s truly touching.”

She squeezed my hand with a sorrowful expression—completely fake, of course.
We’d literally just met.

This is how nobles act. Pretending to be compassionate and generous while calculating their own benefit every second.

Holding back a scoff, I put on the perfect “sad smile” of a girl who recently lost her parents.
I stayed quiet; the rest of the conversation flowed between the adults.

Soon another person approached to greet the Browe couple, and again I followed them to introduce myself.

This repeated more times than I could count.

So many people, and no one seems suspicious of me.
Relief washed through me—until:

“Rosalyn Thesis…?”

A voice called my name, and chills ran down my spine.

Stay calm. You are Rosalyn Thesis.

I inhaled slowly and turned.

And froze.

“Heather Dartmouth…?”

Why had I forgotten she might be here?
My expression stiffened immediately.

If anyone could expose me, it was her.

“H-Hello…”

I forced my jaw to move as I greeted her.

But she didn’t look suspicious at all. With her chin lifted proudly, she said:

“I heard about the tragedy. I know I didn’t mean it, but I must have hurt you deeply. I’ve been wanting to apologize.”

“You want to… apologize to me? For what exactly?”

“As you know, I only told that maid to pay damages to teach her a lesson. I actually planned to return the money later.”

One thing became clear:
Heather did not recognize me as Emma.

So she really never looked at Rosalyn carefully… or I look too convincingly like her.
Maybe both.

Either way, it worked in my favor.

Now that I knew she couldn’t tell the difference, I could act like a proper noble Miss Thesis.

She and Rosalyn already had bad blood, so I had no reason to act friendly.

“So, what exactly is it you want to say?” I asked.

“I just don’t want you to misunderstand me.”

Misunderstand?
What—forcing a maid (me) to pay for a dress?
What is there to misunderstand?

“I heard the maid set the fire after failing to borrow money from the baron. I never imagined things would end up like that.”

For a second, I almost made a face.

Me? Set a fire?

But then I remembered—I had told the warden I’d try asking Baron Thesis for money on bail day.

So Heather’s assumption wasn’t completely random.

Should I correct her?
Or let it be?

I wasn’t sure yet.

But her next comment made my blood boil.

She “planned to return the money”?
To the girl who nearly killed herself in despair?

She would have pretended to cry sadly at my funeral, saying she had no idea things would turn out that way—
and then forgotten me by the next morning.

I felt heat rise in my chest.

So no, I couldn’t answer kindly.

“Oh, that?” I said lightly. “It’s all in the past now. No point imagining ‘what if.’”

Heather sighed with relief. “I’m glad we understand each other—”

“But even if Emma did set the fire,” I cut in smoothly, “who could have predicted it?”

Her expression froze instantly.

I continued in a calm, polite tone.

“That debt would certainly have ruined her life. But really—who could have expected she’d resort to arson? Don’t you agree?”

Her lips pressed tightly together.

“And as for any misunderstanding,” I added, “surely you didn’t expect me to believe you tried to harm me by placing such a huge debt on my maid, right? That would have been a very unreliable plan.”

“Lady Thesis—”

“So please don’t worry. I’m sorry you were troubled by it.”

Her lips trembled in anger.

Before she could respond, Count Browe waved for me from afar.

“Rosalyn! Come here, child!”

Ah, my dear grand-uncle.
Always appearing exactly when needed.

“Oh dear, the Count is calling for me. I hope you enjoy the evening.”

I curtsied and turned away.

Even from a distance, the man standing beside Count Browe caught my eye.

It’s him!

He was impossible to miss—tall, striking, and exactly as Count Browe warned.

I took a deep breath and approached, reminding myself not to show how nervous I felt.

“Rosalyn,” Count Browe said proudly, “this young man is the McCallen family’s youngest son—and the officer in charge of our townhouse fire. Come greet him.”

Standing before him, I couldn’t help but stare.

Those golden eyes—
So vivid and bright they didn’t look real.

Count McCallen’s eyes were called “golden,” but compared to this man’s?
They were practically brown.

His were the rare, true color of molten gold.

“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said. “I’m Rosalyn Thesis.”

“Ash McCallen,” he said. “It’s good to finally meet you.”