Chapter 23

Now, the man himself—whom Elwin had rejected multiple times—offered a dismissive nod that barely qualified as a greeting while staring at him with undisguised scrutiny.

The moment their eyes locked, Mr. Frederick’s face flushed a deep crimson, and he cleared his throat hoarsely. Once he recovered his composure, he narrowed his eyes, swept his gaze over Elwin’s outdated attire, and curled his lip in a sneer of quiet mockery. He clearly believed the old jacket made Elwin look pathetic. Since this, too, was entirely expected, Elwin maintained his calm.

Mr. Frederick then led the party toward the manicured lawn where the other guests had gathered around a long table framed by floral arches and trimmed hedges. These were the children of the region’s prominent families.

“Everyone, Lord Dwight has arrived!”

“You are finally here!”

“Welcome! It is an honor, Count.”

Recognizing the distinctive silver-white hair, the crowd immediately descended upon Lord Dwight with exaggerated warmth. After keeping him cornered with sycophantic greetings for several minutes, their gaze finally drifted to Elwin.

Only a few had ever met Elwin personally, but his identity was instantly clear to all. Proper etiquette demanded that Mr. Frederick introduce him as the host, but as the man showed no intention of doing so, Elwin stepped forward to introduce himself.

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Elwin Somerset Hetherton.”

Even dressed in a coat four years out of fashion, Elwin’s bright blond hair, striking blue eyes, and innate dignity commanded the space. While some looked on with clear envy, many already harbored a deep-seated resentment toward him. Those who had gleefully painted him as a hidden monstrosity were deeply unsettled by the flawless beauty of the young lord standing before them. Instead of feeling chastened, their embarrassment morphed into bitter indignation; if a perfectly beautiful young master chose to ignore local society, he must surely look down on them all.

Turning away with sour expressions, they collectively decided to freeze him out. Pretending not to have heard his greeting, they turned their backs and addressed their host.

“Mr. Frederick, who are the gentleman and lady accompanying you?”

“Yes, please introduce them to us!”

The focus shifted entirely away from Elwin.

The young men stared wide-eyed at Selena, whose splendid gown made her the picture of youthful elegance. The young ladies, however, were entirely captivated by Mr. Leon. Though dressed in his usual flamboyant style, his refined posture and classical features made Mr. Frederick’s over-embellished attire look laughably cheap by comparison.

Beside Mr. Leon’s striking presence, the local alphas—even those dressed in their finest tailored suits—looked remarkably plain. Elwin finally understood why the village chief had once compared Mr. Leon to a prince.

Amidst the cascade of sycophantic praise and brittle laughter, Elwin alone remained marooned in silence.

It mattered little that none spared him a word; indeed, a direct address might have proven more vexing. Yet he harbored no difficulty in surmising that this frigid reception was merely the overture to the systematic neglect and humiliation awaiting him today.

“Now, shall we take our places at the table?”

Even as Frederick marshaled the guests to their seats, the social freeze persisted with calculated precision. The place of honor at the table’s center fell to Lord Dwight, with Frederick assuming the seat directly opposite. In strict adherence to traditional etiquette, male and female guests were arranged alternately; thus, Leon and Selena were positioned near the focal point, where the room’s collective attention could easily wash over them.

Elwin’s seat, by contrast, was relegated to the very foot of the table, consigned to a dim, shadowed corner. Worse still, he found himself flanked on either side by two male Alphas.

Must they truly stoop to such petty lengths?

As fate would have it, both men were suitors whose marriage proposals Elwin had previously spurned. Their resentment apparently ran deep; the moment the two Alphas settled into their chairs, they pivoted away, turning their backs on him with synchronized finality.

As the tea party commenced in earnest, the conversation grew progressively animated. Yet, as anticipated, not a single soul directed a word toward Elwin. Indeed, a considerable interval elapsed before the teapot even migrated to his end of the table.

Only after Frederick had filled every other cup did he finally deign to drift toward Elwin’s secluded corner. Wearing a crooked, knowing smile, he lifted the porcelain teapot from the silver tray propped by a waiting maid. “Perhaps you would prefer the milk poured into your cup first, Mr. Elwin?”

Weary to his very bones, Elwin murmured a thoughtless assent. “Yes, please.”

No sooner had the word escaped his lips than several heads snapped in his direction. In that instant, Elwin felt his heart plummet into his stomach.

Ah. A misstep.

“Did I not tell you?” Frederick drawled mockingly, raising his voice so it carried across the lawn. “Mr. Elwin is a gentleman of such rigorous frugality that I knew he would favor the milk-first method.”

A collective titter rippled through the assembled guests. It was a foolish blunder—made all the more galling because it was the very trap Leon had explicitly warned him against only the night before.

— “Ah, yes. At these gatherings, the host will invariably inquire whether you prefer the tea or the milk poured first. Tomorrow, ensure you request the tea first.”

— “But I customarily prefer the milk first.”

— “To be frank, so do I. It renders the flavor…”

— “Mellower.”

— “Precisely.”

Leon had beamed, clearly delighted by their shared preference, before offering a deeper explanation.

— “However, high society harbors a foolish prejudice, deeming the milk-first method a vulgar, lower-class habit. The theory goes that commoners pour the milk first to prevent their cheap earthenware from cracking under the shock of boiling water. The wealthy, conversely, wish to parade the pristine color and fragrance of their costly leaves first.”

When Elwin had grimaced in sheer disbelief, Leon had nodded in hearty agreement.

— “Indeed. There are many who crave the vanity of flaunting expensive tea leaves and imported porcelain, even for a single cup.”

— “How absurd. Imported teacups are not inherently sturdier. The difference lies not in craftsmanship, but in the exorbitant tariffs that inflate their price.”

— “Quite right. It is a vanity born of customs duties. Yet, as it swells the royal treasury, Her Majesty’s government is no doubt pleased.”

— “The Crown pleased by vanity? I understood Her Majesty the Queen to be a sovereign of remarkable thrift. Did she not slash the tea tax years ago so even simple farmers might enjoy it?”

For a man who paraded about adorned with massive gemstones, Elwin had found the defense of such extravagance hypocritical and had immediately countered. Leon had paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, before posing an unexpected query.

— “My… Mr. Elwin. Are you a patriot, then?”

— “Are you not, Mr. Leon?”

At Elwin’s indignant retort, Leon had erupted into a rich peal of laughter before steering them back into serious debate.

— “Yet Her Majesty simultaneously hiked the tariffs on imported tea and foreign porcelain.”

— “Was that not a measure to curb luxury?”

— “Who can say? In truth, the steep duties only caused the demand for those luxury wares to explode, rendering them even more desirable status symbols. Thanks to that vanity, the Crown successfully raised the capital required to pay the royal garrison’s wages and avert a mutiny.”

Is he an apologist for the palace? Elwin had chafed at the explanation, yet he could not deny its frustratingly sound logic. The intricate dance between luxury items and state revenue was a macroeconomic perspective he had never once considered.

Because the intellectual fire ignited by that debate had consumed their attention until the small hours of the morning, Elwin had completely forgotten the trivial matter of tea etiquette. Now, he reaped the consequences as the guests snickered at his expense. With rumors of the count’s dwindling fortunes already circulating, the assembly had seized upon this perfect opening to humiliate him.

Masking his mortification, Elwin maintained an air of serene indifference and quietly partook of his tea. He hoped that by denying them a reaction, the mockery would fade, but the malicious snickers only persisted.

“Ha ha ha!”

Suddenly, a robust, resonant laugh sliced through the garden. Recognizing the cadence, Elwin raised his eyes, only to freeze. The man laughing so heartily was none other than Leon.

A cold dread gripped Elwin’s chest. The day had been trying enough, but seeing Leon join in the mockery dealt a devastating blow. It went beyond mere hurt; it felt like a profound, stinging betrayal.

How could he…? This is too cruel.