Home/The Duke's Revolution Is My Responsibility/ch 8

Chapter 8: The Scoundrel Duke

The chaos of that night only subsided after Victor Hartland raised both hands in surrender to Roana Wedgison's stubbornness. Karim, upon seeing Cleo Eastwood, shuddered and declared, "I've never seen such an oily, sly-tongued man in my life!" Roana could only nod in fervent agreement.

After hearing Roana's conditions—which had been "agreed upon" with the interested party—Cleo snapped his fingers with a light, cheerful sound. It meant it was possible. He had come through the window, but this time he left through the front door. Like the wind, he came and went.

Victor, sitting with a dazed expression, stubbornly insisted on claiming the living room sofa. In the end, he curled up on the fabric sofa and fell asleep, but left before dawn broke.

Even after Victor was gone and Roana had gone back to sleep, Karim couldn't fall asleep again. She cornered Roana and demanded to know what all the commotion was about. Of course, she didn't get a proper answer. The stubborn disciple assured her that she had a plan and that it would cause no trouble for Karim.

Foolish Roana. Karim wasn't worried about Roana causing her trouble. She had always prioritized her disciple's safety above all else...

In the end, Karim got out of bed and headed to the kitchen. She drank a glass of cold milk sprinkled with salt and thought about taking a walk to clear her mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

If not for the sound of knocking at the door, she might have wandered the nearby streets lost in thought for the first time in a while. Karim opened the door with the force of someone ready to unleash a torrent of curses on whoever was pounding on her door at this ungodly hour.

Bang!

But standing there was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black robe, even larger than that Cleo or whatever from last night. The man spoke politely.

"I've come to escort the lady."

?

"I've had too much to drink. I'm seeing ghosts at this hour."

Karim quickly shut the door, rubbed her eyes, and muttered. She went to the kitchen, gulped down cold water, and rationalized: Yes, a walk is absolutely necessary to clear my head.

So she opened the door again.

"I've come to escort the lady. Please..."

?

The ghost was still there. Karim pinched her own cheek.

"Ouch!"

The sting meant it was real.

"I've come to escort the lady." That "lady" certainly didn't mean her. So Karim went to Roana's room for the first time.

The disciple was sleeping soundly, her blanket pulled up to her chin. Karim yanked the blanket and woke her.

"Roana."

"Hmm..."

Roana stirred, tucking the blanket between her legs. Karim pulled it harder.

"Roana."

"What is it...?"

"A handsome ghost showed up. You didn't happen to hide someone here without my knowledge last night, did you?"

Only then did Roana squint and turn over.

"What are you talking about...?"

"You sly little thing, get up now!"

Forced by Karim's urging, Roana got up. She slipped on her indoor shoes and casually combed her tangled hair with her fingers. Karim followed her around like a watchdog, arms crossed.

"But..."

"There's a ghost outside."

Looking at her teacher's serious expression, Roana thought to herself: I love Karim, I love Karim...

She had played along with Karim's drunken antics more than once. More accurately, Roana had mastered dealing with Karim's drunkenness. She knew that in cases like this, a bit of agreeable nodding and then putting her back to bed was the way to go. At least Karim's drinking habits weren't the loud type—that was Roana's only comfort.

Roana opened the door wide.

"See, there's nothing—"

"My lady."

Disaster. She quickly and calmly shut the door, shaking her head vigorously.

"I must have killed someone while drunk yesterday."

"You didn't drink yesterday."

"Then I must have buried someone while sober."

The two put their heads together and whispered their speculations. After deliberating while still half-asleep, they fortunately concluded that she hadn't killed anyone. Good-hearted, steadfast Victor Hartland had been sleeping in the living room—how could she have murdered someone and returned like a ghost in the wind?

"I'll check."

Roana cautiously approached the door. She took a deep breath and opened it a crack.

Gasp.

Outside stood a handsome man with short black hair and deep purple eyes, with a unique charm in the tear mole beneath his eye.

Roana let out a silent sigh of relief.

He's human, not a ghost.

That didn't mean she had to open the door. She was ready to unleash a torrent of curses at this fellow who pounded on people's doors at dawn. She tightened her grip on the doorknob. But the coldly handsome man clung to the doorframe, nearly pleading.

"My lady, w-wait! Please don't close the door!"

"I'm not closing it."

She threw the door wide open. Just as she was about to fire off her loaded curses—

"I am Maurice Dante. I've come here on my lord's orders to escort the lady."

The suspiciously handsome man dropped to one knee and spoke. Both Roana and Karim softened slightly at Maurice Dante's deferential demeanor. More than anything, staring at him made their anger fade—he was that beautifully, hazily handsome.

In any case, Roana felt fully awake. The crisp first air of dawn poured in through the open door, another virtue of the workshop nestled in the mountains—the morning air was fresh and sweet, invigorating both body and mind.

Roana asked Maurice the obvious question.

"And who exactly is this lord of yours?"

She asked, but she already knew. Among those worthy of being called "my lord" rather than "master," how many did she know? And who in her life could command such a clearly highly trained knight as if they were an extension of their own limbs? Certainly no one until last night.

Maurice lifted his bowed head. His face made her feel guiltier for keeping him kneeling. But Karim, who always insisted that handsome men get away with everything, was even more on edge than before, gripping Roana's wrist and standing firmly beside her.

Maurice spoke quietly, like a horse lowering its head.

"My lord is Duke Cleo Eastwood."

---

Though Victor and her friendship ran deep, she had never set foot in the main Hartland estate. They always met near the workshop, walked to the annex together, or played at the annex itself. No matter how dilapidated the family's fortunes, Baron Hartland was still from an old, proud lineage. He would never allow his illegitimate son's commoner friend into his territory. So now, Roana was entering Hartland territory as an attendant to the man beside her—Cleo Eastwood.

"Quite the way to keep the bloodline alive on a scrap of land."

Cleo remarked dryly as he gazed out the carriage window.

Though the carriage, drawn by white horses from Nephel, was magnificent, moving at dawn meant they drew less attention crossing the city. Roana had boarded the carriage under Maurice Dante's escort. Cleo greeted her cheerfully, but after a few polite exchanges, he grew quiet—so much so that it belied the impression of their first meeting.

Perhaps this is his real face.

She thought. The strange, elusive, sly demeanor might be a social mask, and this face in the raw hours of the morning—unguarded—was the true Cleo. The lines of his profile were sharp, and along their dramatic curves, the morning's tangerine light scattered like shards of glass. Yet even that effect couldn't hide the maddening ennui pooling in his eye sockets.

She, too, grew quiet—not that she was talkative to begin with—and ironically, the silence made the ride to the estate more comfortable. If anything, the temperature of this silence leaned toward warmth rather than cold.

Soon the carriage stopped. Maurice Dante opened the door and bowed with precision.

"My lord."

Cleo gestured for him to step aside and descended gracefully. After him, Roana stepped out with Maurice's escort.

It seemed word had been sent ahead, as the Hartland estate was in full preparation. Servants fanned out to greet them. Among them stood Baron Hartland, the lady of the manor, and their "harmonious" family of four, tension plain on their faces.

As it turned out, they weren't the only carriage. After they alighted, four more wagons drawn by pairs of horses rolled in one after another.

"What are all those?"

She whispered to Cleo.

He had already donned his usual playful mask. Cleo smiled and answered.

"Gifts."

Gifts?

She wanted to ask more, but the impatient Baron Hartland shot forward like an arrow to greet Cleo.

"Welcome, Duke Eastwood."

"Spare me the formalities. Let's get straight to the point. Lead the way."

An elderly man—presumably the butler—gave orders to the staff. Servants quickly dispersed, and a few attendants followed them. They were soon guided to the reception room. The Hartland estate, old as it was, didn't look particularly well-maintained overall, but the reception room—frequented by guests—had clearly received attention. The furniture and decorations featured many curves, exuding elegance, and the intricate carvings in every corner were lavish.

Cleo sat in the center of an amethyst-colored sofa. Baron Hartland, who seemed doubtful he could even recognize his own son's face, naturally didn't recognize Victor's closest friend either. As Roana was here as an attendant, she stood behind Cleo alongside Maurice.

Refreshments were quickly prepared, but Cleo waved them away. He seemed somewhat agitated, a stark contrast to his carriage demeanor—his face was full of life. Where had she seen that kind of restlessness before...

Across from Cleo sat Baron Hartland and Victor. Roana exchanged a brief glance with Victor, then stared at the back of the man before her.

Now, Cleo Eastwood. Show me what you've got.

"Have you considered last night's proposal?"

Cleo asked, sipping his tea.

The Baron feigned hesitation. It was clearly an act—he was barely containing his delight.

"Ah, that..."

"You've read all the conditions I sent?"

"Yes, yes, of course, Duke. It was quite lengthy, so it took some time to read through, but..."

"Then I'd like an answer now."

Cleo pressed on, leisurely yet firmly.

Yes—that was how negotiations were done. That overwhelming momentum from the disparity in status! Push it all the way! She cheered Cleo on inwardly.

But for some reason, Victor's face remained tense. Had she been too naive, blindly rejoicing without knowing what the "conditions" were? Victor glanced at her anxiously, then flushed and lowered his head.

That's when a sense of unease began to creep in.

"But Duke, even if he is illegitimate, Victor is a child we raised with boundless love and affection."

The Baron spewed nauseating words without a shred of sincerity. Roana's fist clenched even though she knew she couldn't throw a punch.

Cleo crossed his legs leisurely. With a loose smile on his face, he extended his hand toward Victor.

"And I swear to embrace him with even more love and affection."

"Ugh."

Victor couldn't help but let out an odd sound, covering his face.

Cleo let out a theatrical "Ha ha ha" and continued.

"Because I truly love Victor Hartland."

...Had he lost his mind?

Back   Next