Chapter 25

“I hear Young Master Elwin is absurdly indulgent with the tenant farmers,” another added, scoffing. “Why squander such generosity when he lacks the funds to even keep his own roof from leaking?”

“Oh, I heard of that as well! They say he spends his days wandering the fields, returning to the manor with soil caked beneath his fingernails like some common laborer.”

“A truly peculiar creature,” a third voice laughed. “But the absolute highlight of the comedy is that, despite his rustic habits, he is still desperately angling for a noble marriage.”

The conversation had degenerated into a farce so offensive that Elwin’s mouth parted in sheer, breathless incredulity. What on earth are they implying? That I am desperately hunting for a match? And among high society, no less?

“My dear, didn’t you know?” a woman purred. “Those who put on the grandest displays of innocence always harbor the most monstrous ambitions.”

“It is almost tragic,” another sneered. “He carried himself with such unbearable pride, only to be cast out of polite society without a single penny to his name.”

“Tell me, Mr. Leon,” Frederick called out, his voice sharp and mocking. “Did you not hear of this in Savar? The tale of how the late Count, utterly blind to the realities of commerce, launched a reckless foreign venture merely to secure a handsome dowry for his precious Omega son? It is practically a local legend here.”

At Frederick’s cruel jest, the entire table erupted into derisive laughter.

It seemed the ton had collectively decided that the late Count’s desperate foreign gamble was driven solely by a desire to purchase his Omega son’s way into a respectable marriage.

The theory was not entirely devoid of logic.

Within aristocratic circles, any sudden, desperate scramble for liquidity almost invariably pointed to a matrimonial alliance. Though Elwin descended from an ancient lineage, his status as an Omega meant that any match within the high nobility would demand an astronomical dowry from his house.

Yet until the day his father closed his eyes forever, Elwin had never once entertained the notion of marriage, let alone demanded a noble match.

Why must they weave such venomous fantasies out of nothing?

He nearly stepped forward to shatter their lies, but his foot faltered. In the end, his father had crossed oceans to secure Elwin’s future, only to perish in those distant lands. Even if they accused him of driving his father to his grave, he possessed no shield to defend himself.

To the ton, marriage was merely a transaction of survival. To their minds, amassing wealth for Elwin’s future security and securing a noble dowry were indistinguishable concepts.

Yes. In the end, it was my fault. Father… because of me, you died alone in that foreign land…

A suffocating weight of guilt and grief dragged his heart into the abyss. Meanwhile, the vultures at the table continued to hound Leon for any scrap of gossip from Savar.

Leon, who had deftly parried their queries thus far, finally parted his lips with palpable reluctance.

“Well, I…”

The sound of Leon’s voice tightened a vise around Elwin’s chest. Leon knew exactly how desperately Elwin was trying to curry favor with Dwight. If the man dropped even the slightest hint of Elwin’s private, tearful struggles, he would be instantly reduced to a public laughingstock.

“I cannot say I heard much of that nature,” Leon murmured evasively.

A momentary wave of relief washed over Elwin, though the ravenous guests refused to relent.

“Is that so?” Frederick pressed. “I should think the late Count was quite the celebrity even there. He was an eccentric fellow, after all.”

“Did he perhaps trigger some catastrophic explosion while conducting his bizarre experiments in Savar as well?” another snickered. “Surely a disaster of that scale would have made waves.”

Having exhausted their sport with Elwin, they were now desecrating his father’s memory. Indignation flared, hot and unbearable. Clenching his fists, Elwin prepared to stride forward and confront them, but Leon’s voice cut through the air.

“Count Ravenwell was an honorable man.”

The words left Leon’s lips stripped of any levity. His tone rang with such cold, unyielding gravity that a sudden, suffocating silence fell over the entire table. Elwin held his breath, desperately trying to quiet the wild thumping of his heart against his ribs.

“Or so I was told,” Leon added, his voice shifting back to its usual glib cadence as if sensing the stifling tension he had created. “He was highly regarded among the local orphanages and poorhouses—hailed as a benefactor who bore little resemblance to typical aristocrats.”

The chastened guests forced out tight, uneasy chuckles, quickly pivoting their gossip to mock the late Count’s lack of aristocratic dignity.

Though it was merely another superficial jab, Elwin felt the tension drain from his shoulders. His father had indeed possessed little aristocratic vanity; had they spoken those words to his face, the old Count would have simply laughed and nodded in agreement.

Furthermore, Leon’s phrasing—a benefactor who bore little resemblance to typical aristocrats—carried a weight far deeper than mere rumor. While others might interpret it as a slight, Elwin understood its true merit. Remembering how bitterly Leon had once condemned aristocratic deceit during their first meeting, it was clear the man held no love for highborn pretensions. To Leon, his father was a man of genuine warmth, beloved by the very souls high society cast aside.

Yes. My father was a truly honorable man.

Recalling the unwavering conviction in Leon’s voice, a sudden ache bloomed behind Elwin’s eyes. The tears he had so carefully suppressed threatened to spill. Seeking to hide his vulnerability, he retreated once more to the sanctuary of the manor’s washroom, scrubbing his hands under the cool stream of water for a long, agonizing time.

He watched his grief swirl and vanish down the drain. Having finally composed himself, he stepped out to return to the garden, only to freeze at the threshold.

“Oh?”

“Sir Elwin,” a voice called out.

Leon had abandoned the high-society gathering to wander the garden paths alone. Sighting Elwin, he closed the distance with measured, gentle steps.

“You lingered so long,” Leon said, a teasing lilt in his voice, “I feared your poor eyesight had led you astray.”

Though wrapped in a jest, the underlying concern was unmistakable. Elwin felt a sharp pang of remorse; only moments ago, he had harbored such deep suspicions regarding Leon’s origins.

Yet what did those doubts matter now? Whether Leon was truly Dwight’s former classmate was irrelevant. Leon was simply Leon.

“Perhaps you are right,” Elwin murmured, attempting a careless shrug in imitation of his companion. “I ought to have worn my spectacles. I cannot fathom why I made such an absurd fuss over dressing so grandly.”

For what purpose had he painstakingly groomed himself and rehearsed his manners, only to be subjected to such ridicule? A soft, self-deprecating laugh escaped him.

“I disagree,” Leon replied softly. “What difference could spectacles possibly make? A painting by Raphael does not cease to be a masterpiece merely because it hangs without a frame.”

Startled by the elegance of the compliment, Elwin lifted his gaze.

Ah, I truly should have brought my spectacles.

Through the haze of his poor vision, Leon’s features remained a soft blur. Yet Elwin was entirely unaware of the profound vulnerability shining in his own eyes as he stared back. He had no inkling that his glassy, pale-blue eyes shone with such crystalline clarity, laying bare the deepest recesses of his soul.

“…What is it you find so fascinating?” Leon asked, his voice catching slightly.

A rare note of disquiet flavored the Alpha’s tone. It might have been a trick of the dappled light, but a faint, warm flush seemed to steal across Leon’s high cheekbones.

“I was merely wondering,” Elwin murmured, “if you had resorted to practicing empty flattery upon me as well.”

“I… ha.”

Leon exhaled a sharp, incredulous breath. The sound of that soft sigh made Elwin realize his defense mechanism had struck a raw nerve.

Raphael’s masterpiece…

The words conjured the memory of a curly-haired cherub from a painting Elwin had glimpsed during his childhood travels with his father. Could he truly view my face in such a light?

It was surely nothing more than an empty, polite phrase, yet it left a strange, fluttering warmth blooming in his chest.

Perhaps nursing a bruised ego from the accusation, Leon let out a series of quiet, disgruntled grunts. Yet he made no move to leave, remaining steadfastly at Elwin’s side. As the silence stretched between them, an unexpected urge to speak surged within Elwin.

“Mr. Leon,” Elwin whispered, his lips tingling with unspoken words.

Ever since the word Savar had crossed Leon’s lips, a burning curiosity had consumed him. Did you ever cross paths with my father? Was he happy there?

Yet merely shaping the silent inquiries in his mind brought a lump to his throat so intense he feared he might dissolve into tears. The threat of such public vulnerability terrified him.

Following his father’s sudden passing, Elwin had been afforded no leisure to mourn, thrust immediately into a desperate struggle for survival. Because of this deferred grief, a volatile reservoir of emotion occasionally surged deep within his chest, hammering violently against the heavy lid he had forced over his heart. He could not allow himself to break down here. He had already betrayed far too much weakness today.

Forcing a fragile smile, Elwin offered a single, safe question: “Savar is quite warm, is it not?”

Even through the soft haze of his vision, he watched Leon’s dark, striking eyes curve into a warm, gentle arc. At the sight of that compassionate smile, Elwin realized with a pang that his own face must look utterly sorrowful.

“Indeed,” Leon murmured. “The southern sun is exceptionally kind.”

Ah, this is truly dangerous.