Chapter 4

“He is suspicious. Does he not strike you as deeply strange? That frivolous way of speaking, that perpetual, uncanny smirk…”

Later that evening, as the exhaustion of receiving their uninvited guests finally dissolved into a tense quiet, Master Elwin Ravenwell begrudgingly vented his frustrations to Toby before retiring. Toby, who was contentedly combing through Elwin’s shoulder-length golden waves—a ritual that served as one of his greatest daily pleasures—halted, tilting his head in mild confusion.

“Young master, of whom do you speak?”

“Of whom else? That creature who calls himself Leon.” Elwin crossed his arms, his frown engraving itself deeper into his pale forehead. “He is desperately suspicious. Even if he hails from some untitled family of the provinces, who has the sheer audacity to introduce himself by a singular first name? And his claim of being Lord Dwight’s public-school classmate… do the elite public academies truly admit men who resemble back-alley ruffians these days?”

From its gilded perch, Echo the parrot shrieked in an unnervingly clear imitation, “Ruffian! Ruffian!” Given that Elwin had been barred from ever applying to those very institutions before his university years—all due to the biological designation of being an Omega—it was small wonder he harbored a bitter, deeply seated resentment.

“Well, in these modern times, they say even the progeny of common merchants may gain entry to public schools, provided their vaults are sufficiently deep,” Toby murmured, resuming his rhythmic, soothing strokes. “Did you not spot the massive blue gemstone hanging from Lord Leon’s watch chain?”

“…What mineral was it? Was it transparent? Blue, you say?”

From the exact moment Elwin reduced a fine piece of jewelry to a mere mineral specimen, Toby surrendered all hope of his master possessing any social grace. Elwin possessed not a single ounce of vanity regarding expensive ornaments; his curiosity was strictly academic, piqued solely by the prospect of an uncatalogued geological sample.

“I cannot speak to its exact classification, but it screamed of extreme wealth at a single glance. I know not whose son Lord Leon might be, but his coffers must be overflowing. Every thread of his attire, from his accessories to the weave of his coat, is of the absolute finest quality.”

“What value is gold without refinement? The man is utterly devoid of breeding. So insolent, so shamelessly bold…”

Though acutely aware that their own ancestral household was currently teetering on the brink of ruin for the lack of a few pounds, Elwin stubbornly clung to his pride. Hearing his master speak so uncharacteristically ill of another person, Toby’s eyes widened with sudden intrigue.

“Young master… did something transpire between you and Lord Leon?”

At the inquiry, Elwin stiffened, a guilty startle rippling through his frame. Leon had grated on his nerves since their very first introduction, but in truth, there had been another, far more troubling encounter in the interim.

It had occurred immediately after Elwin escorted their guests to their respective chambers and descended to the ground floor to instruct the housekeeper regarding dinner.

— “Sir Elwin. My name is Isaac, and I am Lord Dwight’s attendant.”

One of the few retainers accompanying Dwight had offered a stiff, overly formal bow. Typically, when a peer of the realm traveled for an extended duration, they dragged a small army of servants in their wake. Yet Dwight had arrived with only this single, sharp-eyed man.

— “Forgive my forwardness, but there are certain financial matters regarding the inheritance that must be verified. Might I speak briefly with whoever oversees the count’s household ledger?”

When the man laid bare his intentions, Elwin felt the cold dread he had anticipated ever since the baron’s letter had first arrived. So it begins, he thought.

From the moment his father drew his last breath, the estate and the ancestral manor had effectively become the property of the incoming heir. It was only natural that Dwight would seek to audit the estate’s solvency, and equally expected that he would wish to ensure Elwin did not siphon away the family assets. This sudden, sharp reminder of his own disposable status made Elwin’s chest tighten, yet he maintained a mask of cool composure.

— “There is no separate steward. I manage the Ravenwell accounts myself.”

— “I beg your pardon?”

Isaac stared, his aristocratic sensibilities visibly shaken. The peerage almost universally relegated such vulgar, tedious arithmetic to hired clerks; no gentleman of blood ever soiled his fingers with the mechanics of commerce.

But the House of Count Ravenwell was a different breed of nobility. Their former treasurer had accompanied Elwin’s late father overseas to manage the mining concessions, and the estate’s current ledger could ill afford a replacement. Because Elwin possessed an intimate understanding of their dwindling resources and a natural, razor-sharp aptitude for mathematics, the duty had naturally fallen to him.

— “Which specific assets do you wish to verify?”

— “Well… the overall solvency, I suppose…”

Finding it beneath his dignity to discuss hard coin with a nobleman’s child, Isaac wavered. Elwin detested evasion of any kind, and refusing to invite any suspicion of financial malfeasance, he chose to speak with brutal transparency.

— “The Ravenwell estate spans roughly eighteen thousand acres. The tenant-rent rate is fixed at fifteen percent, yielding an annual gross income of approximately twenty thousand pounds.”

Though the figures Elwin quoted were entirely accurate, anyone with the slightest knowledge of rural land management would have instantly realized the anomaly. Yet Isaac merely nodded, showing no reaction to the absurdly low rent yield. Realizing the servant was entirely out of his depth regarding agricultural economics, Elwin continued quietly.

— “The manor itself is in the state you see. It remains structurally sound, though we lack a proper ballroom. Should the new heir require one, he must construct it himself.”

— “I see. It is a charming residence, full of ancient character.” Isaac’s gaze swept across the wood-paneled walls before settling back on Elwin. “Though I did notice a particularly large chamber on the second floor secured with a heavy lock. Might I ask what lies within?”

— “That was my mother’s private suite. She passed away a decade ago. My father commanded that it be preserved precisely as she left it, and so it has remained.”

Elwin’s late mother had descended from the ancient, illustrious House of Duke Somerset. That a lady of such magnificent lineage had fallen in love with a quiet southern count—who was widely dismissed as a harmless eccentric—was nothing short of a romantic miracle.

Consequently, her chambers remained the sole bastion of true high-society luxury within the Ravenwell manor. Though the Somerset family had deeply disapproved of the match, they had not sent their beloved daughter away empty-handed; a vast fortune in fine silks, heirlooms, and magnificent jewelry still lay secured behind those locked doors.

— “Ah, the Duchess Somerset’s daughter. Then it must indeed be a chamber of exquisite treasure.”

Isaac’s predatory, sharp eyes flashed with a momentary, cold hunger. That the man had brushed past the estate’s entire agricultural ledger only to focus so intently on that single locked room was deeply alarming.

By custom, the personal effects of a deceased countess belonged not to the heir of the title, but to her surviving child—Elwin. Those jewels were his final sanctuary. They were the physical manifestation of his parents’ love, and he wished to preserve them at all costs. Yet he was practical enough to know that if the day came when he was cast out of his home, those gems would be his only means of survival.

— “Yes… quite so…” Elwin murmured, his tone stiffening.

Detecting the young lord’s sudden withdrawal, Isaac cleared his throat, executing a smooth, apologetic bow.

— “My apologies. Thank you for your candor, Sir Elwin. Should further inquiries arise, I shall trouble you again.”

As the attendant withdrew, Elwin allowed a heavy sigh to escape his lips. Yet, the moment he rounded the banister to ascend the stairs…

Ah!

He nearly collided headfirst with Leon, who stood lounging on the bottom step. Elwin recoiled, his heart hammering against his ribs.

— “M-Mr. Leon! Did you not state you were resting in your chambers?” Elwin demanded, struggling to regain his composure.

Leon merely smiled, his posture entirely unbothered.

— “The young lord makes a remarkably adorable sound when startled.”

— “I beg your pardon?”

— “I found myself parched, and so I descended in search of some water.”

— “If you require refreshment, you need only ring. I shall have a maid bring water to your room immediately.”

— “My thanks.”

As Leon offered a mocking nod, Elwin’s mind spun into a frenzy. He was mortified by whatever undignified gasp had prompted the man to label him adorable, but a far greater panic seized him: had this stranger overheard his conversation with Isaac?

Though Dwight’s faction was legally entitled to the estate, Elwin recoiled at the thought of their desperate financial struggles being laid bare before an outsider. Surely, no true gentleman would stoop to the vulgarity of eavesdropping—yet looking at Leon’s amused expression, Elwin sensed the man possessed no such moral qualms.

Following a step behind Leon as they ascended the grand staircase, Elwin decided to probe.

— “Tell me… just now, did you happen to…”

Before he could finish, Leon turned, his face morphing into an expression of such pure, guileless innocence that Elwin immediately felt a pang of self-reproach.

He heard nothing, Elwin reasoned, silently chastising his own paranoia. I must not harbor baseless suspicions. He is a guest under our roof, and it is my duty to treat him with impeccable courtesy. He recalled his father’s gentle counsel; even if the late count had loathed the shallow theater of high society, he had always insisted that Elwin carry himself with the dignity of a true gentleman. To treat any traveler with hospitality, even an uninvited rogue, was a fundamental duty.

— “The capital is rather chilly at this time of year, is it not?” Elwin offered, forcing a polite smile.

Leon’s eyes widened in genuine surprise before narrowing into a highly amused, knowing look, as if he had just witnessed some fascinating specimen in a glass jar.

Elwin immediately panicked, wondering if he had committed some terrible social faux pas. Social Etiquette had clearly stated that remarks on the weather were the safest avenue for polite conversation.

— “Did I ever mention that I hailed from the capital?” Leon countered, a single thick eyebrow arching with infuriating playfulness.

Elwin shrugged, adopting a tone of quiet confidence.

— “You possess a flawlessly polished capital accent, Mr. Leon. It is unmistakable.”

Though the man carried himself like a lowborn drifter, his pronunciation was as precise as a tutor at the Royal Academy. At his words, Leon’s gaze sharpened, a dangerous, brilliant intellect suddenly flashing beneath his lazy exterior.

— “Is that so? I confess it has been several months since I last graced the capital, so I cannot speak to its current temperature. It appears that while Sir Elwin may be dreadful with mathematics, your ear for phonetics is remarkably precise.”

— “I beg your pardon?”

Elwin froze, wondering if he had misheard. Leon leaned in, his voice clear, deliberate, and entirely devoid of its previous warmth.

— “I refer to your little performance downstairs. An annual yield of twenty thousand pounds from eighteen thousand acres is only mathematically feasible within the rich loam of the eastern agricultural belt. With a tenant rate of a mere fifteen percent, such figures are a physical impossibility on southern soil.”

— “So you were eavesdropping!”

To think the rogue had looked him dead in the eye and played the innocent. Dumbfounded and flushing with outrage, Elwin glared at him with all the ferocity he could muster, but Leon merely let out a soft, mocking laugh.

— “When one overhears arithmetic so spectacularly flawed, it is difficult for the ear not to wander.”

— “Those figures are entirely correct!”

— “Nonsense. Unless the young lord is simply illiterate in basic ledger-keeping, then you were lying. And what a delightfully aristocratic lie it was.”

Though Leon’s words were delivered with a veneer of politeness, the underlying mockery sliced deep. He was weaponizing the common stereotype of the declining aristocracy—fools who clung to their titles and feigned magnificent wealth while their estates crumbled to dust around them.

— “Though it is entirely understandable. When families find themselves in… reduced circumstances, pride often dictates the ledger.”

Leon shrugged with patronizing sympathy. The sheer condescension of the gesture snapped Elwin’s control.

— “Our circumstances are perfectly stable! And I do not lie!” he hissed, his voice echoing down the corridor.

Several passing housemaids paused in shock, turning to stare. Elwin was notoriously gentle; he had never once raised his voice to the staff.

While he might occasionally indulge in a minor embellishment to soothe his younger sister, Elwin was honest to a fault. The numbers he had given Isaac were the absolute, unvarnished truth, stripped of all vanity. To be branded a liar by a suspicious drifter made his blood boil. Yet, because Leon had struck the exact nerve where Elwin’s deepest anxieties lay, the humiliation was twice as painful. It was not Leon’s arrogance that burned, but the quiet, agonizing truth of their impending poverty.

Belatedly realizing that his anger was merely a confession of his own vulnerability, Elwin flushed a deep, mortified crimson. As he stood there, paralyzed by shame, they reached the second-floor landing. Leon swept his unnerving gaze over Elwin’s burning face one last time, offered a perfectly executed, mocking bow, and vanished into his quarters.

— “Doubtless it is as you say. Forgive my insolence, Sir Elwin. I shall look forward to your company at dinner.”

Left standing alone in the dim corridor, Elwin squeezed his fists until his knuckles turned white. He was so thoroughly consumed by fury that during dinner, the meticulously prepared conversation starters he had drafted to charm Dwight vanished entirely from his mind. He sat in frigid, stony silence, barely touching his plate.

Naturally, it was Leon who dominated the table. The man spun effortless, witty anecdotes, weaving seamless flattery that had both Selena and Dwight hanging on his every word.

Selena laughed with genuine delight, and even Dwight, who had arrived looking as cold and unyielding as a slab of marble, allowed a rare smile to grace his lips before the final course was cleared.

Elwin loathed to admit it, but Leon was the very definition of the “charming conversationalist” championed in his etiquette manuals. The hypocrisy of it made Elwin’s stomach turn.

If he is capable of such grace, why does he reserve his malice solely for me?

Yet, as he sat before his vanity that night, Elwin refused to confess to Toby that a stranger had easily dissected their financial ruins and branded him a liar. He offered only a sullen murmur.

“Nothing occurred. I simply find his presence highly disagreeable.”

“Is that so? He did not strike me as entirely monstrous…” Catching his master’s murderous glare in the mirror, Toby quickly cleared his throat. “Ahem. Of course, your instincts are always impeccable, young master.”

Toby smoothly steered the conversation away from dangerous shoals. “But he is of no consequence. What of Lord Dwight? Did you feel a pull? A spark of destiny?”

Elwin paused, his hands freezing on the collar of his nightshirt, his mind momentarily blank. “Ah…?”

In truth, he could barely recall Dwight’s face. His mind was entirely occupied by the infuriating, mocking specter of Lord Leon.

“Well… it was but our first meeting. I cannot say I felt much of anything.”

Elwin forced himself to summon an image of Dwight, but the man remained a cold, distant cipher. If anything, Dwight likely remembered him only as the strange, silent youth who had blinked at him like a startled owl.

It seems the grand romances of the fairy tales do not manifest at first sight.

But then, why should they? Love was a slow, deliberate art. How could a soul ignite in a single instant?

…Though it is certainly possible to despise someone at first sight.

Realizing his thoughts had drifted back to the rogue once more, Elwin shook his head violently to clear his mind. He must remain focused on his objective.

“Tomorrow, I must make a concerted effort. I shall offer to show Lord Dwight our library.”

Toby let out a long, suffering sigh. “Young master, I beg of you. What Alpha has ever had his passions inflamed by a leather-bound folio rather than a soft mattress?”

“Lord Dwight is a scholar, Toby. When my father courted my mother, he brought her fresh blossoms every day for a hundred days because she adored them.”

“But we do not have a hundred days; we have a month. Furthermore, Lord Dwight arrived with a lady of incomparable beauty. You must hasten your courtship.”

“You mean Miss Selena? They are merely kin. There is no romance between them.”

“You are also his kin, young master.”

The truth of the statement hit Elwin like a physical blow. Panic began to claw at his chest.

“You are right. I must be strategic. Perhaps… the library at dawn?”

“This is madness,” Toby whispered, leaning close. “Why not simply release a trace of your pheromones? When does your cycle next fall, young master?”

“What a vulgar suggestion! My heat is weeks away,” Elwin gasped, his cheeks burning. “And besides, did you not assure me that if I blinked as you instructed, Lord Dwight would be instantly smitten? I did exactly as you showed me, and it merely made the entire parlor uncomfortable!”

“Impossible! When I practiced it in the village, every merchant in the square was practically tripping over themselves,” Toby grumbled, thoroughly bewildered. “You must have executed it incorrectly.”

While the two companions bickered over the finer points of seduction, Echo the parrot busied itself on its perch, chanting, “Rogue! Ruffian!” to the empty room.

It was as if the bird knew exactly which infuriating guest occupied its master’s thoughts.

***