Chapter 20

There was the reason for the proprietor’s distress. Elwin turned slowly to face a short, stout man with greasy brown hair and a face resembling a rodent.

“…It has been some time, Mr. Frederick.”

Before them stood Mr. Frederick Finch, the eldest son of a wealthy military contractor residing near the estate. His family was what the locals politely termed ‘nouveau riche,’ though rumor whispered they had amassed their fortune through aggressive bribery of logistics officials.

More critically, he and Elwin shared a bitter, personal history. Elwin had rejected his hand in marriage twice.

From the moment the Finch family had acquired their wealth, they had scrambled to purchase social standing. Armed with a recessive Alpha son, they believed they could force an alliance with the local nobility, descending upon Elwin with aggressive proposals the moment he came of age. Though the disparity in status was vast, they apparently believed their astronomical dowry would blind the cash-strapped count.

Instead, the gaudy chests of gifts had been returned unopened, turning Frederick into the laughingstock of the entire valley.

In truth, if one counted their encounter at his father’s funeral, it had been three times. Elwin vividly recalled that grim afternoon. Under the guise of offering condolences, Frederick had lured Elwin behind the chapel on the pretext of urgent business, only to suddenly seize his hand in an unwanted, desperate grasp.

— “Lean on me now, Sir Elwin!”

Recalling Frederick Finch’s heavy, theatrical cry, Elwin could not help but grimace at the sheer memory of his own bewilderment.

— “Pardon? What do you…”

His response back then had hardly qualified as a rejection; it was merely the involuntary reflex of a man hearing the utterly preposterous—akin to claiming the sun now rose in the west, or that rivers flowed uphill.

In the agonizing silence that had followed, only the harsh cries of crows had echoed.

Caw! Caw!

Ultimately, Elwin had wrenched his hand free from the man’s grip and fled.

— “I am sorry, but I am terribly busy!”

Yet here they were. Because that disastrous encounter had been their sole prior meeting, the current reunion was nothing short of mortifying. Predictably, Mr. Frederick Finch glowered at Elwin with deeply resentful eyes before his features instantly rearranged themselves into a grotesque, exaggerated smile.

“That magnificent platinum-blond hair…” Frederick gushed, turning his full attention elsewhere. “Could you be the illustrious Sir Dwight, the destined lord of this town?”

Witnessing Frederick’s shameless fawning, Elwin silently despaired. If he ever hoped to become the world’s premier flatterer, the mountains he had yet to scale were dizzyingly vast. Sir Dwight, though visibly flustered by the excessive praise, did not appear entirely displeased.

“I am indeed,” Dwight replied.

Dwight cast a brief, signaling glance toward Elwin. Shaking off his stupor, Elwin stepped forward to bridge the introduction.

“Lord Dwight, this gentleman is—”

“My name is Frederick Finch,” the man interrupted, smoothly sliding into the spotlight and rendering Elwin invisible. “My family commands Finch Imperial Supply. We frequently provision the outposts along the Graymont border, so perhaps my name has crossed your prestigious ears.”

Though Elwin possessed zero talent for social chess, even he could discern that Frederick was deliberately freezing him out.

Left stranded in his own parlor, Elwin watched as Dwight narrowed his eyes, inspecting the heavily gold-stamped business card Frederick had handed him—an artifact that practically reeked of wealth.

“Ah, Mr. Finch.”

Encouraged by Dwight’s sudden interest, Frederick ensconced himself at the tea table and breezily introduced himself to Lady Selena, momentarily looking struck by her beauty. His gaze then snagged on the massive gemstone dangling from Leon’s watch chain, and his eyes widened with avarice.

“And this gentleman’s name would be…?”

“I am Leon.”

“Leon of… where, precisely?” Frederick pressed.

It was a pointed demand for a pedigree. Since Elwin had never once heard Leon’s surname, his own ears pricked with quiet curiosity at Frederick’s persistence.

“Oh, mine is not a lineage worth boasting of in polite company,” Leon replied, offering a mild, evasive smile.

At this deflective response, Frederick’s expression hardened into immediate contempt, assuming Leon was of negligible stock. Dwight, who had briefly shown curiosity, also averted his eyes with a dismissive air.

Only Elwin sensed the underlying strangeness of the exchange. In an era where any merchant with sufficient capital could purchase a title, a man whose family estate boasted an elaborate, sprawling hedge maze was hardly someone from an insignificant background.

Is it not that his family is minor, Elwin mused, but rather that he is forbidden from disclosing his origin?

While Elwin remained lost in speculation, Frederick clasped his hands together and redoubled his sycophancy toward Dwight.

“At any rate, I had heard whispers that the new count had arrived, and I was utterly mortified that I had not yet paid my respects. What a wondrous stroke of fate to cross paths with you here.”

It was a brazen lie; Frederick had obviously stalked them here after learning Elwin would be hosting Dwight. Furthermore, addressing Dwight as the count in Elwin’s presence—before the succession was officially finalized—was a calculated, venomous snub.

“If it pleases you, would you grant me the immense honor of hosting you at my manor? I am arranging an intimate tea party in the coming days.”

“I have little appetite for such gatherings,” Dwight muttered, looking distinctly uncomfortable. The rumors of his reclusive nature were evidently true.

Yet, Frederick pressed on with relentless zeal. “The local gentry are positively starved for an audience with Sir Dwight! Your presence would crown my family with unmatched prestige.”

“Is that so?” Dwight murmured, his vanity clearly stoked by the sugary words. “Well… if everyone is indeed waiting.”

Sensing the crack in Dwight’s armor, Frederick struck. “Indeed they are! Necks are practically craned in anticipation. Shall we say the day after tomorrow?”

“Very well. I have no pressing engagements.”

“Oh, how dreadful! Has our precious guest been left to languish in boredom?” Frederick feigned a theatrical sigh, casting a pointed look at Elwin. “Alas, the count’s household in its current, tragic state is hardly equipped to host such refined affairs. I shall gladly take up the mantle to ensure you are properly entertained.”

It was another overt jab. While the estate was indeed in mourning—lacking both the coin and the social grace to host a grand reception—proclaiming the family’s inadequacy to Elwin’s face was an egregious insult.

“Naturally, Lady Selena and Lord Leon must accompany you,” Frederick added smoothly. “I would be delighted to welcome Sir Dwight’s esteemed companions.”

He had now entirely excised Elwin from the conversation, treating him as a ghost at his own table. While Selena quickly accepted, Leon hesitated, shifting his gaze toward Elwin as if gauging his reaction.

“Well, I…”

“We accept your gracious invitation,” Elwin interjected smoothly, cutting off Leon’s awkward hesitation.

Frederick flinched, his polite facade cracking in sheer bewilderment. The voice had not belonged to Leon, but to Elwin.

“The day after tomorrow, then,” Elwin continued, flashing his most dazzling, insolent smile. “I shall personally escort Lord Dwight to your estate.”

It was a brazen declaration of war. By forcing his way in so publicly, Elwin left Frederick with no recourse; no matter how deeply the merchant despised him, he could not openly rescind the invitation to his face.

“Very well…” Frederick sputtered, his tail thoroughly between his legs. “I shall expect you then. Excuse me.”

Even in retreat, Frederick pointedly ignored Elwin, offering his parting bow solely to Dwight. Elwin, however, lacked the energy to dwell on such petty slights. The initial fire of his defiance had faded, leaving him to face the daunting reality of his impulsive move.

So, I am attending a high-society tea party.

One mountain conquered, only for another to rise. At the tender age of twenty-one, Elwin was about to make his official debut into the treacherous waters of high society.

***