Episode 6 – The Trouble a Single Fly Can Cause
“Emma, tell me exactly what happened.”
Enoch’s voice was cool and sharp as he questioned the butler, Emma, after she’d come begging him to help Irene.
Emma took a deep breath and tried to explain calmly.
“Right after Madam and the Duke left in the carriage, the Duke’s cousin Mr. Hawthorne showed up.”
“Why the hell would Philip’s cousin come here?”
“According to him, His Majesty has granted Philip’s uncle—Lord Arthur Brandon, who’s also Hawthorne’s father—the
title of Duke.”
“What?”
Enoch and I stared at her, shocked.
Philip’s funeral had been only ten days ago and they were already passing the title on to someone else?
I didn’t know if noble titles were normally handed over that quickly, but judging by Enoch’s reaction, it was just as
unusual in this world as it would’ve been back in mine.
“Enoch, is there any way Irene could get Philip’s title?”
“Normally, Philip’s eldest son would inherit it. But Philip had no children. Sometimes the Duchess inherits, but that’s
only if she has a son to eventually take over. Irene doesn’t, so she’s not eligible.”
My temper flared. Even in this world, women were shafted. Hell, in a society this obsessed with hierarchy, it was
probably even worse.
Then something struck me.
“Emma, you said the title’s going to Philip’s uncle. So why did the cousin come here?”
“Hawthorne’s always had a chip on his shoulder about the Duke and was insanely jealous. I doubt he came here with
good intentions.”
“Where’s Irene now?”
Enoch and I followed Emma to the sitting room where Irene and Hawthorne were. The door was slightly ajar—on
purpose, apparently.
First priority: get Irene away from this creep. But then I caught something unexpected.
“Dear sister-in-law,” Hawthorne’s voice oozed smugness, “I’ve always admired this house since I was young. Now
that it’s going to be mine, I thought I’d take a look around. Surely that’s not a problem?”
“There’s a thing called proper manners. You should’ve written ahead before barging in,” Irene’s voice was tight with
annoyance.
He just kept talking in that greasy tone.
“My father says you’ll need to vacate the house in three months.”
“It’s been only ten days since Philip’s funeral! You’re really throwing me out already?”
“If you insist, I could let you stay in one of the guesthouses. Father can be generous like that.”
That was it—I stormed in. Enoch was right behind me, so I wasn’t worried.
What I saw inside made my blood run cold.
Irene stood by the fireplace, eyes shut tight, lips pressed hard together like she was holding back tears. Hawthorne’s
back was to us, leaning way too close to her. His hand was on her face, brushing her cheek like a creep, eyes probably
crawling all over her.
“The northern guesthouse would suit you,” he murmured. “It’s secluded… perfect for when I come over to keep you
company on lonely nights.”
I was about to yell when Irene’s fan came down hard—smack!—right across his mouth.
“Oh!” he yelped.
“Oh, my! There was a fly by your mouth, so I tried to swat it. Missed though. My bad,” Irene said sweetly, though
her eyes were ice-cold.
Yep. That’s the heroine spirit right there.
“Even if the title’s changing hands, that hasn’t happened yet. Even if you take this place in three months, you still
don’t own it now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean get out of my house. Now.”
A knock came from behind me—Enoch, who had already stepped inside, just knocking to announce himself.
Both Irene and Hawthorne spun around. Irene flushed bright red when she realized we’d seen everything.
Hawthorne, however, had the gall to get angry.
“Eavesdropping? Pretty low-class behavior for nobles.”
Yeah, clearly he had no idea who Enoch was.
Enoch’s face darkened. “Low-class? The only low-class thing here is what you just did to your widowed cousin-in-
law.”
“What are you? Do you even know who I—”
“Sure. You’re a pathetic little rat who thinks daddy’s name makes him important.”
“You’re dead, you bastard”
Hawthorne didn’t even get three steps before Enoch’s fist connected with his jaw. He went down hard, clutching his
face as blood streamed between his fingers. One punch and it looked like Enoch had shattered his nose and jaw.
Mess with the heroine in front of her number-one fish, and that fish turns into a shark.
Enoch yanked him up by the collar and slammed him against the wall.
“Touch anything of Philip’s again and I’ll snap your fingers off—one by one. Actually, I’ll start by ripping out your
nails.”
Hawthorne let out a strangled scream, then just… passed out.
Enoch dropped him like trash. “Emma, take this out.”
Efficient as ever, she called in servants to carry him out on a stretcher.
“Take him to a doctor. He’s not hurt bad enough to die.”
“Yes, Duke Osmond.”
Emma’s eyes were full of gratitude and admiration. Enoch hadn’t even broken a sweat.
I looked at Irene—she was pale as a sheet, standing only because pride wouldn’t let her collapse. Sure enough, once
Hawthorne was out the door, she fainted.
Once Irene was in bed and Hawthorne was gone, it was just me, Enoch, and Emma in the sitting room.
“Emma, if the new Duke complains about this, tell him to bring it up with me,” Enoch said. “Though if he knows what
his son did, he won’t dare.”
He was clearly making sure Emma wouldn’t take the blame for anything. It was… kind of admirable.
I asked, “Can I go check on Irene?”
Emma seemed relieved. “If you would.”
But then Enoch stopped her. “Did Hawthorne bring any official papers?”
“Yes. Said it was a royal decree.”
Enoch sighed, like he’d expected that. And… was that guilt in his eyes?
Before I could think more about it, one of Irene’s maids came in.
“My lady wishes to see you, Duke Osmond.”
“How is she?”
“Much better.”
“Good. Tell her I’ll see her in the morning.”
We all stared at him. “Wait—what? Why?” I demanded once the others left. “She’s asking to see you now.”
His gaze sharpened. “What do you mean by ‘especially Irene’?”
“Exactly what I said!”
But then he asked, “Do you also think that because she’s a widow now, I have a chance?”
“What??”
“No! Philip died ten days ago! I wouldn’t think something like that! I just wanted you to check on her, not hit on her!”
His tension eased, and after rubbing his face, he muttered, “It’s been a long day. I’ll see her in the morning. You go
rest too.”
I still couldn’t shake my worry, so I went to her room anyway. Emma was just coming out.
“Is now a good time?”
“I’d wait. She’s… been drinking.”
Sure enough, another maid came out carrying an empty wine bottle. Emma went back inside, and I eventually gave
up and returned to my room.
Lying in bed, I kept wondering—why did Enoch look guilty when the royal decree came up? Why react so strongly to
me saying “especially Irene”? And why turn her down just now?
I finally decided to just go ask him.
I went straight to his room. “Enoch, it’s me, Nora. We need to talk.”
No answer. I opened the door
And froze.
Irene, in a loose nightgown, was on the floor… pinning down a freshly-showered Enoch.
