“I’m sorry, Master. It hasn’t arrived yet.”
The butler bowed respectfully to Johann, lamenting his own failure.
Due to the shortage of servants attending to the arriving guests, he had carelessly sent a seemingly idle maid to run the errand. But she still hadn’t returned, and the banquet was about to begin.
Watching Johann’s expression carefully, the butler pointed to the watch in the center of the display.
“This piece matches well with today’s outfit. What do you think, sir?”
Johann lazily brushed his eyes across the alternative watches the butler had presented.
His narrowed gaze was laced with displeasure, and the butler’s anxiety grew.
Where is she? What on earth is she doing?
To Johann Leopold, the Patex Nostalgia 1870 watch meant far more than just a timepiece.
It had been a birthday gift from his mother, the Duchess of Edinburgh—the first and last present he’d ever received from her.
In the Edinburgh ducal family, it was customary for sons to begin wearing the watch gifted at birth when they turned sixteen.
While others would alternate watches depending on the occasion, Johann insisted on wearing only that one.
Johann closed his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck with his large hand, tilting his head back slowly.
The butler, feeling increasingly helpless, dared not suggest another watch.
His master’s expression was utterly impassive, a trace of weariness showing—so dry and indifferent that he didn’t seem like someone whose birthday it was.
But then again, he hadn’t been much different even when the Duchess was still alive.
“My apologies. This was my oversight.”
The butler offered another polite apology.
Just then, a knock sounded, and the door opened. The butler quickly turned, hopeful.
His face lit up—only to freeze the moment he saw it was Maurice.
If only it had been the maid they were waiting for.
“It’s time to go downstairs.”
Johann, in the midst of casually adjusting his cufflinks, stopped the motion and rose to his feet.
“Master, your watch…”
“If it arrives, I’ll wear it then.”
Johann said dryly as he buttoned the black tailcoat.
The butler bowed deeply as Johann walked across the bedroom. Then, another knock sounded.
Finally.
The butler quickly lifted his head, a smile forming—
“…”
—but it vanished the moment he saw who it was. Not the maid.
She’s fired, the butler silently swore.
The assistant manager of the Leopold Hotel walked straight toward Johann.
“There’s something to report, sir.”
Johann nodded.
“The Marquess of Lancelot has checked in.”
It wasn’t particularly surprising—Johann had already expected him to interfere in the International Bank acquisition.
“And…”
The staff member paused briefly, then continued.
“Miss Anne Marshall is staying with him.”
“Anne Marshall?”
Johann sounded like he didn’t know the name, so Maurice added:
“She’s Countess Blanchet’s maid—the one from the Earl’s household.”
At the mention of Blanchet, Johann’s gaze, which had been low and assessing, lifted toward the front again.
“And Olivia?”
“She’s not listed among the guests.”
Johann tilted his head.
Why would Olivia’s shadow-like maid come to Rondos alone?
His narrowed gaze grew sharper, and the fading golden light of the late afternoon shimmered in his gray eyes.
“Happy birthday, Johann.”
His wife’s voice echoed in his mind.
“I love you.”
He saw her gentle, smiling face again, murmuring love endlessly.
Sunlight pouring through the window lit up his face as he slowly closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, all traces of emotion had vanished.
Meanwhile…
At the main gate of Greathill, adorned with a roaring lion emblem, a standoff between a gatekeeper and a coachman was escalating.
“This is the carriage of Marquess Edgar Langster of House Lancelot from the Kingdom of Britt!”
“Right. And I’m telling you,” the gatekeeper sighed and replied, “Even His Majesty the King of Britt cannot enter without an invitation. So please show me the invitation.”
They went back and forth for a while.
While the argument dragged on, Edgar looked calmly out the carriage window.
A cool breeze drifted from the lush green forest. Beyond the fluttering curtains, Greathill shone splendidly on the hill under the setting sun.
“I told you, I left in a rush from Britt and forgot the invitation.”
Tired of arguing, the gatekeeper sighed again and finally said,
“Fine. Please wait here. I’ll speak with the butler.”
The gate to the grand mansion didn’t look like it would open easily.
The persistent coachman forced the gatekeeper to give some ground, and he turned around.
The coachman glanced at Edgar through the side window. Edgar gave a slight nod—an order to knock him out temporarily.
Just then, a white carriage rattled up along the spruce-lined road and stopped.
The burly coachman, about to strike the gatekeeper, froze mid-motion.
The horses stamped their hooves at the sound of the carriage halting, and Edgar bit his lip.
Damn it.
The gatekeeper and the coachman both turned toward the new arrival.
“Wha… why…”
The gatekeeper stammered, eyeing the coachman’s raised arm.
Only now did he realize the man was built like a mountain bandit.
“You, uh, had some dust on your shoulder.”
The coachman casually brushed the gatekeeper’s shoulder and returned to his seat.
Then the new arrival’s coachman called out:
“This is the carriage of His Highness Prince Mikhail of Rondos!”
Ah, Mikhail.
Edgar smiled silently.
It seemed Lady Luck was on his side—at least today.
He approached the excessively luxurious white carriage and knocked beside its gold-framed window with his cane.
Startled, a blond-haired young man turned his head from inside the carriage.
“Brother?”
Mikhail’s eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost.
“Is it really you?”
Edgar responded with a grin and climbed into the carriage without hesitation.
Now accompanying Prince Mikhail, Edgar’s carriage was allowed through.
It was the first time an uninvited guest had entered Greathill in its short history.
The butler was just as stunned by the unexpected guest.
Dumbfounded, he greeted Mikhail automatically, still staring at Marquess Lancelot.
Even as he accepted the hat and cane Mikhail casually handed him, his eyes never left Edgar.
I need to report this to the master…
First the watch fiasco, now this—the butler felt like his insides were burning.
The man was the head of a rival enterprise, after all.
“I overtook my uncle’s carriage. He’ll be here soon, so don’t leave your post,” Mikhail said, gently placing a hand on the butler’s shoulder before walking toward the grand hall.
The butler dazedly watched the unfamiliar man striding confidently beside the prince.
“What’s your scheme?”
As Edgar turned away from the banquet hall corridor, Mikhail lowered his voice.
Despite trying to look stern, he couldn’t help but feel a thrill of anticipation.
Edgar smirked.
“It’s my dear cousin’s birthday.”
The breeze carried the faint scent of roses.
He thought of the woman anxiously waiting for word.
He remembered her solemnly vowing to repay his kindness.
Just the thought made him smile.
What would she offer in return?
“In what way?”
“Pardon?”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead, and had only blinked her large eyes in surprise.
Watching Olivia blush and fluster over her own assumptions had been entertaining.
“Winning the Dumblin Championship. That’ll do.”
Ah! Her face had gone even redder in relief.
“I can’t promise I’ll win, but I’ll do my best.”
Her eyes had sparkled with determination.
Edgar tightened his lips in a smile and added,
“I came to drop off a bottle of liquor.”
He lifted a small gift box wrapped in black paper and tied with a crimson ribbon.
“What, is it poisoned?”
Mikhail looked around nervously and asked in a low voice. Edgar’s silent grin only made him more suspicious.
Bored as he had been, Mikhail was now dying of curiosity.
“What wind brought you here?”
The wind, huh…
“Who knows.”
Edgar replied indifferently, raising his hand slightly in farewell.
Don’t follow me any farther—that was the meaning.
“Be careful not to get caught by the Grand Duchess Wellington.”
Recalling the sharp glare of the old noblewoman, Edgar chuckled softly.
That woman was remarkably long-lived.
He cleared away the unnecessary thoughts and made his way to the drawing room Anne had told him about.
After passing several stern portraits along the long hallway, he came upon a particularly grand door.
Servants stood guard outside but showed no suspicion, as he had passed through the official gate.
He told them he was just dropping off a gift and would leave right after.
They opened the door without protest.
Wearing a calm smile, Edgar stepped into the room.
The first thing he noticed was the tower of gifts stacked like a Christmas tree.
Shiny wrapping papers and ribbons sparkled under the chandelier.
A massive display of gifts—a clear symbol of Johann’s stature.
Edgar placed his own gift box on a nearby table and approached the pile.
Hands in his pockets, he slowly searched for a navy blue paper bag.
He passed by a small velvet box likely containing jewelry, then larger boxes further down.
“…”
No Patex shopping bag. No leather case with the brand’s logo.
Edgar frowned and turned to the left side of the room.
His gaze traveled from the top of the pile to the bottom—and then the door burst open.
“Looking for this?”
A deep voice cut through the silence.
