Chapter 42

“What do you suppose Lord Dwight will ask of you today?”

Three mornings later, Toby posed the question with a cheerful lilt, his hands busy running a brush through Elwin’s hair. Unlike Toby, whose vibrant green eyes danced with anticipation, Elwin stared back at his own pale, hollow reflection. He hesitated for a long moment, reluctant to dampen the spirits of his excitable attendant, but the mounting dread became too heavy to carry in silence.

“I am not going anywhere today,” Elwin murmured. “The work has piled up. There are matters that require my immediate attention.”

Toby’s jaw dropped, his expression as utterly devastated as if the heavens had fractured above them. “What? But the atmosphere between you two is finally so wonderful! You must strike while the iron is hot, Young Master. This is the precise moment to make a more active appeal!”

A wonderful atmosphere? Elwin wondered grimly if the events of the past three days could truly be described in such glowing terms.

Only one thing was certain: during that time, Dwight had pursued him relentlessly, casting a strange, charged current of interest in his direction. The day after their garden walk, Dwight had insisted on a morning ride. The following day, claiming he had errands in town, he had practically commanded Elwin to act as his guide.

Even within the manor walls, Dwight’s behavior had shifted dramatically. At tea and dinner, he monopolized the conversation, sliding delicacies onto Elwin’s plate at every opportunity.

His intentions were so glaringly obvious that not only the servants privy to Elwin’s “marriage operation,” but even the completely oblivious staff, began to sense a change. Hopeful whispers rippled through the corridors. If the two of them could forge a bond, perhaps the young master would not be forced to leave after all.

“I suspect Lord Dwight will propose by tomorrow at the latest,” Toby declared, already lost in a romantic daydream. “Oh, how exquisite it will be! What do you think, Young Master? A spring wedding would be absolutely divine, wouldn’t it?”

Toby was practically arranging the floral centerpieces in his mind. Because Elwin cared deeply for his servants, part of him wished he could live up to their desperate hopes. And yet…

“I do not know,” Elwin sighed, his shoulders drooping. “For now… I simply need to rest. I am far too exhausted to go out again.”

The weariness went bone-deep. He had forgotten how thoroughly socializing drained him; conversation with others had always been an arduous chore. But conversations with Dwight were a unique brand of torture. Until recently, the man had largely ignored him, meaning Elwin had never had to endure his company for long.

Now, he was utterly at a loss as to how to handle Dwight’s ceaseless, self-absorbed chatter. While anyone would have found it tedious, Elwin was particularly sensitive to remarks that demeaned others or relied on blatant misinformation.

To correct him would trigger an endless, exhausting debate. Thus, Elwin had chosen the path of silent endurance—a silence Dwight consistently misread as rapt admiration, prompting him to launch into even grander, more insufferable soliloquies. Slanders against the uneducated, sneers at vulgar bloodlines—every word was a poison.

Elwin had reached his absolute limit. If he had to endure another day of it, he felt his mind might fracture.

Just as Toby was thumping his chest in sheer exasperation, a soft knock rattled the door, and Butler Alfred entered.

“Young Master,” Alfred said, stepping forward. “The monthly settlement documents.”

He held out the estate ledgers along with a stack of promissory notes that required Elwin’s review. The monthly payment deadline was fast approaching, and Elwin’s signature was indispensable. As he transferred the heavy paperwork, Alfred offered a piece of unexpected news.

“On another note, Young Master… the town sheriff has been inquiring whether our household has ever had dealings with the Finch family.”

Elwin paused, looking up. “The Finch family? Why would he ask such a thing?”

“From what I gather, a massive investigation into the Finches’ illicit wealth is underway. The tax officers and the sheriff have raided everything—from their military supply warehouses to their corporate offices.”

It was common knowledge that the Finch family’s enterprise had been built on a foundation of bribery and ruthless exploitation. What startled Elwin was not their corruption, but the sudden, aggressive intervention of the authorities. What kind of formidable force had shifted the wind so drastically to prompt such an investigation?

“I see,” Elwin said, keeping his voice even. “Since we have never had cause to do business with them, it does not concern us.”

“I have already informed them of the same,” Alfred replied.

“Serves them right!” Toby piped up, his eyes flashing with vindictive satisfaction. “They dared to treat you so terribly just because they had a little coin.” He turned back to Alfred, his tone turning into a petulant whine. “But Mr. Alfred, listen to this! Lord Dwight will surely seek the young master again today, yet the young master insists on burying himself in these ledgers all day long!”

Alfred, still holding the edge of the ledger, quietly observed Elwin. A shadow of profound concern flickered across the old butler’s weathered face. He cherished his delicate young master above all else.

Unlike Toby, who was merely swept up in the thrill of Dwight’s relentless pursuit, Alfred had clearly been harboring his own doubts. Having watched Elwin grow from infancy, the butler could read the silent misery written in his eyes. Moreover, Alfred had likely heard whisperings from Eleanor.

Indeed, the more aggressively Dwight pursued Elwin, the deeper Selena sank into a dark melancholy. Since their return from the disastrous Finch gala, rumors had run rampant among the staff. The mere sight of Dwight seemed to distress Selena so intensely that she remained barricaded in her chambers, sending her meals back untouched.

Only Eleanor was permitted entry, staying for hours at a time. Though Elwin understood Selena had not shared the full truth with Eleanor, it was painfully evident that she was consumed by betrayal and bitter regret.

“If you are fatigued, then you must rest,” Alfred said gently, his expression softening with paternal warmth. “Why not put the ledgers aside for today and take a proper respite?”

“Not you too, Mr. Alfred!” Toby wailed, thumping his chest once more.

Before Toby could launch into another passionate appeal, Elwin quickly snatched the ledgers from Alfred’s hands.

“Please convey my apologies to Lord Dwight,” Elwin instructed. “Tell him I am overwhelmed with urgent matters today and must dedicate myself to my work.”

Having delivered his decree, Elwin practically fled into the sanctuary of his study. Only when the door clicked shut did the suffocating weight leave his chest. He let out a long, ragged sigh. Then, as an extra precaution against any unannounced intrusions from Dwight, he stepped to the window and drew the heavy velvet curtains shut.

Finally, I can breathe.

There was work to be done, of course, but claiming he was too busy had been a mere pretext. Ledgers of this simplicity required very little effort. Within minutes of sitting at his desk, Elwin had dispatched the figures and migrated to the soft sofa nestled by the window.

As he sank into the cushions and closed his eyes, the residual tension slowly evaporated from his limbs. Faintly, the subtle, lingering scent of the sofa’s previous occupant drifted up to him. It was a strange realization—that he, a man who craved absolute solitude, could find such profound comfort in the ghostly trace of another.

Before long, his consciousness drifted.

He did not know how much time had slipped away before a presence—so faint it was practically soundless—startled him from his slumber. Someone had slipped into the locked study. Elwin parted his dry lips, his voice thick with sleep.

“Mr. Leon?”

At the writing desk a short distance away, the man slowly raised his eyes from the book he had been reading. How long had this impossibly stealthy man been sitting there, watching him sleep?

“If you entered,” Elwin murmured, rubbing his eyes to dispel the lingering haze of sleep, “you should have awakened me.”

It was not a mere polite objection. The moment Elwin’s eyes focused on Leon, a sharp pang of longing struck him. He had missed him. It was an absurd thought, considering they resided under the same roof and had seen each other in passing.

But they had not spoken a single private word since that fateful evening in the Finch greenhouse. At meals, Dwight had stubbornly monopolized Elwin’s attention, making it impossible to even exchange a glance with Leon.

The forced distance had been a quiet torment. Even if a private conversation would only leave him flustered and embarrassed, Elwin still yearned for it. Socializing had always exhausted him, yet he had never once felt that weariness in Leon’s presence.

“You looked so peaceful,” Leon replied, his voice a low, soothing purr. “You should rest more.”

“No. I am quite awake now.”

As Elwin’s vision cleared, his gaze instinctively drifted to Leon’s lips—perfectly sculpted, neat, and today, looking particularly soft.

What on earth am I thinking?

Terrified that a telltale blush would betray his scandalous thoughts, Elwin averted his eyes. In response to his retreat, Leon closed his book with a soft thud and fixed his intense, unblinking gaze upon Elwin.

Feeling utterly exposed under that heavy stare, Elwin stammered, “Why do you look at me so? Is there… something on my face?”

“Yes, right there,” Leon murmured, tapping his own lip with a lazy finger. “You drooled quite a lot.”

Elwin scrambled upright in absolute horror. As his fingers frantically searched his waistcoat pocket for a handkerchief, Leon let out a low, melodic laugh.

“I was merely teasing.”

“How could you say such a thing?” Elwin protested, his chest heaving as he glared at him. “I genuinely believed I had shown you something utterly disgraceful…”

“And what if you had? A little drool would hardly matter,” Leon said, his eyes crinkling. “It would be easier to teach a hound the art of the blade than to make your face look anything less than exquisite.”