Chapter 36

By the following afternoon, a tense, bustling energy permeated the Ravenwell estate. Because it was the day the eldest son would make his belated debut at an evening gala, the servants had poured every ounce of their devotion into his preparations.

Dressed in the meticulously tailored coat and the sapphire-pinned ornament, Elwin was breathtakingly beautiful. Alfred’s eyes welled with tears as he whispered that it was as though the late countess herself had returned to the living world. Yet Elwin’s expression remained shadowed by a quiet melancholy.

He would occasionally slip into a vacant, distant trance, only to jerk himself back, plaster on a polite smile, and offer his thanks to the staff. The servants found their young master so thoroughly endearing, yet so painfully tragic, that they could only pray his social debut would pass without incident.

“The carriage is prepared, young master. Shall we depart?”

At last, the hour arrived. Elwin was not the only one whose demeanor seemed altered. Selena, normally a beacon of high spirits, was dressed as exquisitely as a porcelain doll but wore a dark, petulant pout. Leon, whose lips typically held a languid, unreadable curve, carried a solemn, heavy shadow behind his eyes.

“Very well. Let us proceed,” Dwight declared.

Dwight alone remained entirely unchanged. He scrutinized Elwin from head to toe, appraising the meticulous craftsmanship of his attire with the cold eye of a merchant before offering a brief, condescending nod. Just as the party prepared to board the waiting carriages, Selena spoke up, her voice dripping with the same resentment she had harbored since their disastrous ride.

“I refuse to ride in the same carriage as Lord Dwight.”

Since their excursion, Elwin had not witnessed a single civil exchange between them. Given that Dwight’s reckless insistence on a dangerous path had nearly cost Selena her life, her anger was entirely justified. Yet Dwight showed absolutely no inclination to offer an apology.

When Dwight merely cast a dry, indifferent glance her way, Selena’s face flushed a furious crimson. Under normal circumstances, Elwin would have immediately moved to comfort her, but he was currently consumed by his duty as the heir of the Ravenwell name. He stepped forward to intervene.

“In that case, I shall accompany Lord Dwight in the family carriage. Selena, please ride in the second carriage.”

“Hmph. That is acceptable,” Dwight muttered, sauntering toward the Ravenwell coach.

Thus, Elwin shared his journey to the Finch estate with Dwight, while Leon and Selena occupied the carriage behind them.

Though Elwin had volunteered for the task out of a desperate urge to be useful, the reality of sitting directly across from the man plunged him into a stifling, paralyzing silence. Perhaps the heavy quiet proved too awkward even for Dwight, who eventually spoke in an indifferent drawl.

“Are galas a frequent occurrence at the Finch estate?”

Startled by the unexpected initiative, Elwin stammered, “I… I cannot say. This will be my first time attending one.”

“Indeed? Your family does not associate with the house of Finch?”

“It is not merely the Finches,” Elwin clarified softly. “I have never attended a social gathering of this nature before.”

Dwight stared at him with unvarnished bewilderment, as if trying to comprehend what sort of noble could possibly live in such complete isolation. Had he possessed even a shred of interest in his host family, he would have easily known of Elwin’s long-standing seclusion. Clearly, Elwin had been entirely beneath his notice.

That is only natural, Elwin reasoned, clutching his hands tightly in his lap. He is under no obligation to care about me. If I simply exert myself from now on… if I try…

Effort. Effort had always been Elwin’s solitary strength. He desperately wanted to fight for his place on this estate. Yet no matter how tightly he clenched his fists, his throat remained constricted, and he could not summon another word. A heavy, invisible weight bound his chest. When the carriage finally ground to a halt, he believed he could finally breathe.

He was dreadfully mistaken.

“Sir Dwight, you have arrived! It is an unparalleled honor to welcome the prospective count.”

The garden of the Finch estate was merely a different tier of purgatory. As the carriages emptied, Frederick Finch emerged to receive them, sporting a neck ornament so gaudy and ostentatious it bordered on the grotesque. Dwight accepted the fawning greeting with a curt nod, followed closely by Selena and Leon.

“Miss Selena, you look radiant as always. Lord Leon, we are deeply honored by your presence.”

Once again, Frederick flagrantly violated protocol by leaving Elwin for last. When his eyes finally fell upon Elwin’s altered attire, he paused, his gaze sweeping critically over the seams of the coat before letting out a low, mocking snort.

“Ah. You decided to join us as well, Sir Elwin.”

With that dismissive remark, Frederick turned on his heel and ushered the guests toward the grand ballroom. More accurately, he escorted Dwight, Leon, and Selena inside, leaving Elwin to follow in their wake like a ghost.

The moment they crossed the threshold, a sea of nobles surged forward to curry favor with Dwight. Others, who had met Selena and Leon at the previous tea party, quickly swarmed them. As Elwin was jostled backward by the press of perfumed bodies, Frederick guided Dwight behind a heavy velvet curtain into a private parlor, followed by a flock of eager gentlemen. Moments later, a group of high-society ladies cornered Selena, swept Leon into their circle, and drifted away. Within minutes, the crowd parted, and Elwin was left standing entirely alone.

Well… I expected nothing less, he thought.

Accepting a glass of champagne from a passing maid, Elwin retreated to a quiet, shadowed alcove along the perimeter of the ballroom. In truth, solitude was a familiar companion. It pricked his pride to see onlookers whispering and gesturing toward him from a distance, but they refrained from the overt, cruel mockery of the past, making the isolation entirely bearable.

Sipping his wine, Elwin observed the ballroom. The sheer opulence of the Finch estate was dizzying, bordering on vulgarity. The hosts seemed to possess an obsession with gilding; heavy gold patterns choked the walls and ceiling, a massive crystal chandelier cast a blinding glare, and even the carpet possessed a metallic sheen. An orchestra played a pompous, over-engineered waltz, while guests in silk and velvet danced, gossiped, and drank.

Everyone seemed to belong to this glittering world, yet Elwin was already exhausted. The lights gave him a headache, his clothes felt suffocatingly tight, and he wanted nothing more than to return to his quiet room.

My clothes, he thought, looking down at the navy velvet. And… home.

He recalled the maids who had pricked their fingers to alter his coat, and the butler who had wept over his mother’s ribbon. A crushing wave of duty and guilt crashed over his heart. They had sent him here with their hopes; he could not simply hide in the shadows.

Steelins his resolve, Elwin set his glass down to search for Dwight. Approaching the private parlor where Frederick had led him earlier, he peered through a gap in the heavy velvet curtains.

Inside, the air was thick with tobacco smoke and the sharp scent of brandy. Amidst the low, rumbling laughter of men, Elwin caught a dry, rhythmic sound he recognized all too well.

The shuffling of cards.

As the realization dawned on him, Dwight’s drawling voice cut through the haze. “Ten of clubs. It seems the night belongs to me once more.”

They were gambling. An instinctive, physical revulsion washed over Elwin. It was not the cards themselves that disgusted him, but rather the prospect of humiliating himself by trying to mingle with Dwight in such an environment. As he took a hurried step backward to escape, his shoulder collided with someone behind him.

He spun around to find a stout man with a sneering, petulant face staring down at him.

“My apologies, Mr. Frederick,” Elwin murmured, desperate to disengage.

He attempted to push past him, but Frederick’s voice, dripping with venom, stopped him cold.

“You certainly are putting in an extraordinary amount of effort tonight, Sir Elwin.”

Elwin paused, frowning. “I beg your pardon?”

“I refer to your attire,” Frederick sneered, his eyes tracing the seams of Elwin’s coat with theatrical distaste. “I cannot fathom what manner of discarded rags you managed to cobble together, but it presents a rather threadbare and pitifully clumsy display.”