SMR | CH 31

~Chapter 31~

“You’ve had a bit too much to drink, Sir Julian.”

A large shadow fell between Harriet and Julian.

Julian, who had been frowning with irritation, looked surprised the moment he saw the person.

“D-Duke Kailas…!”

Even in his drunken state, he recognized the man right away—so maybe he wasn’t as drunk as he seemed.

Both Harriet and Julian froze as Cedric slowly stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Julian.

“Is something the matter? You were raising your voice, which doesn’t really suit such a pleasant party.”

“N-No, not at all! Haha! I guess I got a bit loud from the excitement of seeing an old acquaintance.”

Cedric glanced briefly at Harriet at that ridiculous excuse.

“Excitement, hmm… So you two know each other well?”

“Ah, w-well, not exactly… Haha…”

Julian began sweating and looked around nervously. Then, suddenly, he waved toward the far end of the hall.

“Oh! Long time no see!”

He started backing away and muttered, “Someone’s calling me, so I’ll just… excuse myself.”

Then, he quickly disappeared.

Harriet clicked her tongue as she watched his retreating figure.

Just moments ago, he was full of confidence and trying to intimidate her. But as soon as a man with more power and a bigger frame showed up, he backed off immediately.

She couldn’t tell whether she should be relieved the confrontation ended safely, or bitter at how easily she had become a target.

Feeling someone’s gaze, she turned her head and found Cedric staring at her.

“They say people change after spending time at St. Clarissa’s convent… It seems to be true. I hardly recognized you.”

She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant had changed, but the way he looked down at her didn’t feel like a compliment.

‘What’s that supposed to mean? That I think I’ve changed just because I wear nicer clothes now, thanks to my new guardian?’

‘To a noble duke like him, I must look pathetic and vulgar. Well, guess what? I don’t like you either.’

Harriet barely stopped herself from smirking.

“Others may have changed a little, but me? My life’s completely turned upside down. The blessings of God are endless.”

“I didn’t know you were such a devoted believer.”

“To be fair, Your Grace doesn’t really know anything about me, does he?”

Cedric gave a small smile. It didn’t seem mocking, but it wasn’t warm, either.

“You’re right. You keep doing things I never would’ve expected.”

Once again, his words were hard to read—was that an insult or a compliment?

‘Given how annoyed I feel, I’m guessing it’s closer to an insult.’

Harriet didn’t want to talk to Cedric any longer. He had been the last man involved in her final scandal, and now here he was again at her first party after returning to society. She had a bad feeling about it, like it could lead to more unnecessary gossip.

“Anyway, thank you for your help. Since I wouldn’t want to stain Your Grace’s noble name, I think I’d better disappear from your sight. Have a pleasant evening.”

She gave a graceful curtsy, holding her skirt, and left without looking back.

Neither of them noticed Julian watching from a distance with wide, startled eyes.

Left alone, Cedric leaned against the terrace railing.

“Harriet Listerwell… She’s like a completely different person. No, actually, she’s just as shameless as before—maybe even more so now.”

He’d overheard a nearby young lady complain in that tone the moment he arrived at the party. What had caught his attention was the name “Harriet Listerwell.”

‘So, she left the convent. I heard she returned to Genoa, but I didn’t think she’d jump right back into high society.’

He had intended to ignore it.

But while looking around at the party guests, his eyes had landed on a man with a reputation for scheming—one who was now eagerly talking to a woman in a green dress.

‘Greg Lambert? Looks like he’s hunting for another gullible victim to drag into his family’s business.’

Greg had a habit of targeting naive rural nobles or wealthy ladies, luring them with exaggerated claims to get their investments.

If Lambert’s business ever actually succeeded, it would be considered a wise investment instead of a scam. But the odds of that happening were very low.

Still, that was their way of doing business. Ultimately, the responsibility lies with whoever decided to invest. All Cedric could only hope was that the woman in green made a wise choice.

‘Doesn’t look like she will, though.’

She was nodding and asking questions, clearly intrigued by what Greg was saying.

Cedric decided to leave them be and turned to greet some acquaintances nearby.

As he chatted and exchanged polite small talk disguised as information gathering, he sipped his champagne.

‘The Marquis of Pascal isn’t here tonight, I see.’

One of the first things he checked was the status of Marquis Pascal—the man who had once tried (and briefly succeeded) to cut off their army’s supply line during the war.

‘Well, Count Hayward came instead. From what I gathered, the marquis couldn’t attend due to a gout (arthritis) flare-up.’

‘That kind of gout is said to feel like being sliced with a knife. Maybe it’s the price he’s paying for going against the late Duke?’

At those words, Cedric let out a dry chuckle.

‘Hmm. I don’t think a little gout is enough of a punishment—but what can you do?’

Because of the marquis’s constant interference and nearly treasonous actions, Roen had suffered immensely and eventually died on the battlefield. So was Cedric supposed to feel sorry for someone lying comfortably at home, whining about pain?

‘Anyway, I just need to keep an eye on the Earl of Hayward tonight.’

He’d already assigned someone to watch the earl, so it looked like he wouldn’t have much else to do at this party.

You’d think that would make him feel more relaxed—but Cedric didn’t enjoy this kind of event. Endless small talk with no meaning was incredibly boring to him.

He couldn’t help but glance at his watch—and was surprised.

‘Only five minutes have passed?’

The thought of enduring this until midnight made him sigh internally.

While he sipped his champagne and kept quiet, his acquaintances started chatting among themselves.

“Oh! I saw that young lady earlier—Harriet Listerwell. Countess Pellon brought her along.”

Again with Harriet Listerwell. It wasn’t gossip about the current stars of society, but rumors about someone who had once been cast out of Genoa.

At this point, she might be the most talked-about person in the social scene.

Then again, it was more fun to gossip and criticize others than to compliment them—so maybe it wasn’t so strange.

“I heard her new guardian is Countess Pellon.”

“What? That’s a bit odd. With the Countess’s personality, she wouldn’t take in a scandal-ridden grandniece.”

True enough. Trisha Pellon wasn’t the kind of woman to let someone into her home out of pity or due to some old family tie.

“I’ve never invested in something that failed.”

That kind of confidence meant her opinion of Harriet Listerwell must be very different from everyone else’s. But what exactly did she see in her that made her worth the investment?

Cedric tried to recall everything he knew about Harriet.

‘For someone who supposedly chased after men all the time, she always carried herself with surprising dignity. She was the only woman who didn’t look away from me first.’

He still remembered how she had once looked him straight in the eye and asked, “What? Do I amuse you?” It had been unexpectedly bold—and somewhat refreshing.

Maybe Trisha had seen that boldness too. But was it really worth all the criticism she’d get from society?

Meanwhile, the others kept chatting.

“She really looked prettier. I don’t know what she did at the convent, but that weird blotchy skin condition is totally gone.”

“And that dress she wore tonight looked amazing on her. It was a green silk gown—and I’m sure it was expensive. Probably the Countess’s doing…”

At the mention of a “green silk dress,” Cedric’s gaze shifted back to where Greg Lambert had been. Sure enough, Greg had been chatting with a woman in a striking green dress earlier.

He quickly scanned the area, and just then, he spotted the same green dress disappearing toward the terrace.

Cedric casually swirled his almost-empty champagne glass, then handed it to a servant passing by to collect empties.

“Would you like me to bring you another?” the servant asked.

Cedric glanced toward the terrace again, then shook his head.

“I’d like to check the champagne vintage. Where can I get another glass myself?”