Chapter 92
Duke Harold Baisen.
Count Garcia took a deep breath as he looked at the man standing in front of him.
“Diana must have gone to the orphanage with Marchioness Mayer by now…”
Harold looked once at the Count, then at the child holding a servant’s hand.
“That outfit… the children at the orphanage Diana volunteers at wear those.”
“…”
“So she went to the orphanage again while claiming to be out on errands, did she, Count?”
Harold’s gaze returned from the child in the bright yellow clothes to the Count.
Those deep eyes felt like they could see right through him, and Count Garcia cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Ahem! Your Grace, to what do I owe this unannounced visit?”
“Hm? Weren’t you the one who reached out to me first?”
“Me? I don’t believe I did.”
When the Count denied it, Harold merely shrugged.
“I heard you visited my wife some time ago. It seemed like you wanted to have a proper conversation. So I came to grant that wish.”
“…”
“Though I came in Diana’s place. After all, husband and wife are counted as one, aren’t they?”
“…”
“Consider me Diana, and be glad to see me, Count.”
“Heh heh…”
Glad? Not a chance! The Duke was being completely ridiculous.
“I heard you even prepared dinner, so I shall enjoy it. Lead the way, Count.”
Count Garcia clenched his fists in frustration. Harold, catching the gesture, looked down at his hands and smirked slyly—he had no intention of backing off.
The Count’s blood pressure spiked from the Duke’s brazen attitude. So young, yet so arrogant, just because he held the title of Duke.
“…Please, follow me.”
Count Garcia began climbing the grand central staircase.
His plan to speak to Diana alone had been thoroughly ruined the moment the Duke arrived. Now that Harold even knew she would be coming, there was no excuse to send him away. It was better to play along than stir more trouble—besides, there would be other chances.
Once they reached the dining room, Harold took the seat of honor. The table was loaded with luxurious dishes.
Harold slowly scanned the long table with his eyes, then sliced into a veal steak and took a bite. His throat moved with a big swallow.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin and gave a crooked smile.
“This dinner was meant for Diana, wasn’t it?”
“…Yes, it was.”
“This veal steak is far too greasy. Diana prefers lighter, simpler food.”
He then pushed away a plate of salad topped with salmon.
“And why is there salmon on the salad? Diana is allergic to it.”
…Was she allergic? The Count swallowed hard, trying to recall.
It wasn’t as if he had never eaten with Diana. She had always joined them at family meals.
But now he realized—he had no memory of what she liked or disliked.
“You said you wanted to get along again, yet a father who doesn’t even know his daughter—how pitiful.”
Harold’s casual but cutting words made the Count whip his head toward the head chef.
The chef lowered his head immediately, looking pale.
“Hmph! Of course, I knew about it. I’ve just been too busy to monitor the menu. I trusted the chef to handle it properly—who could’ve guessed this would happen!”
The Count clenched his fists and shook with rage.
“This is unacceptable. I will fire the chef immediately.”
“That’s up to you.”
The Count forced a laugh, relieved to have found a way out of the situation. That’s when Harold offered something unexpected.
“Count, as thanks for this meal, allow me to share a story.”
“I would be honored to listen.”
“I can’t stand foolishly greedy people. Everyone has desires, but some act so stupidly in pursuit of them. Take Baron Bisk, for example—caught recently for tax evasion.”
“…Is that so?”
Surely he doesn’t know something… Count Garcia narrowed his eyes.
Just as he reached for his glass, throat dry, Harold continued.
“Worse than fools are those who don’t know their place. For instance…”
He brought the glass to his lips and murmured,
“Count Garcia. People like you.”
“…I don’t know what makes you say I don’t know my place, Your Grace.”
“When Kaiden searched all night for Diana after she was kidnapped, didn’t you start having foolish hopes? That you could pair the two together?”
“I didn’t have such things.”
“Denying it doesn’t make it untrue, Count.”
“…”
“Much better when you’re quiet.”
The Count’s lips twitched slightly. It hadn’t been some silly hope.
Even at the Crown Prince’s welcome celebration, Kaiden had visibly paid attention to Diana. No man would search all night for a woman he didn’t care about.
If he could rebuild his relationship with Diana, and then, once Harold passed away, pair her with Kaiden…
The Garcia family could align with the powerful Baisen Duchy. Their influence would grow immensely.
How did he see through it?
He’d been completely exposed. The Count’s hand tightened around the wine glass.
Stories of Harold flashed through his mind—how ruthlessly he held onto his dukedom, how he claimed what he wanted by any means, and how he punished those who betrayed or challenged him.
“…I only wanted what’s best for my blood.”
Harold smiled crookedly at the pitiful excuse.
The air turned dangerous, like a predator waking from a long sleep. The Count’s shoulders stiffened.
Harold reached into his coat.
The Count, fearing a dagger, swallowed hard and signaled his guards.
But what Harold pulled out wasn’t a weapon—it was a luxurious gold-trimmed invitation.
“You’ve heard of the upcoming ball at the ducal estate, haven’t you? I’m formally inviting you.”
“…?”
The Count blinked. He expected Counterattack, not an invitation.
Just then, the butler knocked and entered the dining room.
“The Duchess has arrived.”
Harold stood and straightened his slightly crumpled clothes. He handed the invitation to the Count.
As Count Garcia looked up at him, Harold gave him a sly smile and whispered,
“Please do come and offer your congratulations, Count.”
***
Diana returned to the orphanage with Harold and the child.
Contrary to their fears, Kir had come back cheerful and unscarred, handing out the snacks from the Count’s estate to the other children.
It was a relief that the child seemed unharmed. But after returning home, Marchioness Mayer sighed, her head full of thoughts.
“Phew…”
Kir had said the Count only wanted to talk to Diana. But she didn’t believe that.
He had discarded his own biological and adopted daughters when they were no longer useful. Even his son was exiled abroad the moment he became a useless. That man didn’t understand familial love.
A specific birthmark on Diana’s arm came to mind—a mark in the same spot her own younger sibling had.
Actually—
It hadn’t just come to mind.
Ever since she saw that mark, she couldn’t stop thinking about Diana.
Maybe… just maybe…
The Marchioness shut her eyes tightly and shook her head.
“…I’m overthinking.”
She exhaled and opened the velvet box in her hands.
Inside was a necklace—shaped like half a heart.
Count, are you trying to die~