SMR | Chapter 63

~Chapter 63~

“You’re here, Uncle. I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“No worries. It’s been a while since I had a peaceful break. Ha ha!”

Benedict responded kindly to Cedric, even though he had been kept waiting for thirty minutes.

Of course, his real thoughts were quite different.

‘How dare he make his uncle wait? Arrogant brat.’

For someone of Cedric’s rank, letting an unannounced guest wait half an hour—especially during the busy year-end season—was practically hurrying.

Still, it irritated Benedict.

‘How can he treat me so lightly? After all I’ve done for him!’

Even at gatherings in his own home, Benedict had practically showcased Cedric as the guest of honor. Yet Cedric remained as cold and indifferent as ever.

Clenching his jaw, Benedict worked to contain his resentment.

“Patience. If I want something, I must endure worse than this.”

He sat back down and casually straightened the collar of his jacket, imitating a gesture often made by Rowan.

‘Now then, Cedric. Let me remind you of your father.’

Cedric had always stayed close to Rowan. Their bond had clearly been strong.

And so, Benedict increasingly tried to resemble Rowan—even in small gestures—hoping Cedric might be swayed.

When Cedric glanced briefly at his hand, Benedict felt he’d succeeded. As the butler poured more tea, Benedict accepted it with a calm smile.

Cedric tilted his head slightly and asked, “Is something the matter, Uncle? You seem to have come here in a hurry.”

“Oh dear, were you worried? I just dropped by since we haven’t talked in a while.”

“If you’re taking time to visit now of all times, it can’t be for something casual.”

Cedric’s dry tone made Benedict falter for a moment.

It almost sounded like “If you’re here over something trivial, it’ll be irritating.”

Still, Benedict didn’t consider his reason trivial.

“It’s nearly Holy Week.”

“Yes. The year has flown by.”

“Hasn’t it? And… do you have plans for where to attend this year?”

“I heard you kept your location secret last year, too.”

Cedric leaned on the sofa arm, crossing one leg and sipping his tea slowly.

His mind wandered back to last year’s Holy Week.

He was reminded of last year’s Holy Week—of seeing Harriet stirring soap in plain monk’s robes.

He clearly remembered the look in her eyes when she rejected his financial support.

“I’ve lived without pride until now. And this is the result. So I want to hold on to it now. Why? Is it funny?”

How could he forget that intense glare?

He had never looked closely at her hazel eyes before. They were a mix of green and brown—never striking to him before. But in that moment, they had left an impression.

‘Was I just trying to become her business partner?’

Cedric mused casually before replying.

“People pay too much attention to where I go, so I kept it private to avoid trouble. I plan to do the same this year.”

“You did visit a church in Genoa, though, right?”

“I can’t say. I’m sorry. But I sense there’s a reason you’re asking.”

Cedric already had a pretty good idea what Benedict was after.

As expected, Benedict began to lecture like a thoughtful uncle.

“All great nobles attend church. Religion is an important social activity for us.”

“True.”

“And yet, you haven’t committed to one. That won’t do. Nobles avoid those who seem to lack faith.”

Cedric held back a smirk.

Who among the nobility dares to avoid the Duke of Kailas? But he nodded politely.

Benedict, seeing that, believed his words were getting through.

“You’re head of the family now. It’s time you established ties with a reputable church.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow thoughtfully.

“Hmm… Now that I think about it, I’ve heard good things about Elvinas church…”

“Too crowded. Chaotic. Sure, it’s the biggest, but it lacks depth.”

“Ah, then perhaps Saint Paolo, where my mother attends—”

“Too many meddling women. The ladies’ committee sticks its nose into everything.”

Cedric briefly considered naming every church except the one Benedict attended—Arens church—just to irritate him.

But he was too busy to waste time on such petty games.

Instead, he leaned back against the sofa and shook his head lightly.

“Well, there’s no rush in choosing a church. I’ll decide when the time comes.”

“It’s best to go and see for yourself,” Benedict advised smoothly.

“There’s a big difference between hearing about a place and experiencing it firsthand. Which brings me to the point…”

Ah, here it comes.

“What do you think about visiting Arens Church for this year’s Holy Week? It’s not just because I attend there—it’s genuinely a wonderful place.”

As expected.

Cedric felt almost grateful for how completely predictable his uncle was.

He sincerely hoped Benedict would always remain just like this—a man who made it easy to anticipate and deflect.

“Hmm. There are so many invitations, I can’t give you a definite answer. But I’ll keep it in mind.”

That was enough to light up Benedict’s face.

“Wonderful! I’ll even give them a heads-up so they’re ready for you.”

“That won’t be necessary. No need to make people uncomfortable on my behalf.”

“Come now, modesty is fine—but when you’re a duke, it’s necessary to make others uncomfortable sometimes. People respect and follow what they fear. That’s how it works.”

“Is that so?”

“Exactly! You’re still young—you’ll understand eventually. Just trust your uncle.”

There it was again: “You’re still young,” “You don’t know yet.”

It was clear how Benedict intended to manipulate him—positioning himself as the wiser elder.

Cedric merely nodded in response.

He sipped the fragrant tea—particularly enjoyable today—and let the moment pass.

“Even if I don’t make it, I hope you won’t take offense. I’m sure you’ll understand, Uncle.”

“Of course, of course. But—well, unless something comes up…”

“Naturally.”

Cedric’s easygoing agreement was enough to satisfy Benedict, who decided he’d gotten what he came for.

Cedric did not commit to going anywhere in particular—but a soft promise was better than nothing.

“I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll be on my way.”

“Travel safely. It’s cold today.”

“Thank you for your concern. Ha ha!”

As Benedict left with a cheerful bounce in his step, Gerard—who had stood silently like a statue in the corner—spoke in a low voice.

“Shall we begin preparations?”

He, too, likely guessed Cedric’s real answer from the start.

Cedric answered calmly, as if nothing had happened:

“Let’s proceed with the original plan. Prepare for St. Clarissa Convent.”

“How much should we set for the donation?”

Unfazed, Gerard asked the next question.

“Same as last year.”

“Understood.”

Cedric leaned his head back against the sofa and murmured,

“I wonder where she will go.”

He didn’t realize he was smiling.

***

“It’s snowing. Is it going to pile up?”

In the carriage bound for St. Clarissa Convent, Harriet watched the gentle flurry of snow outside with quiet worry.

Snow in late December was nothing new, but if it started piling up, it would be hard to hire a carriage to return.

‘I can’t ask to borrow the one my great-aunt is using.’

The Pellon household had three carriages. One was under repair, one was being used by Roxsana for errands, and the last one was needed by Trisha to go to church today.

Trisha had offered Harriet the carriage out of concern for the weather, but a noblewoman like Trisha couldn’t possibly take a hired cab.

‘If I can’t get a carriage back, I’ll just have to stay at the monastery a day or two.’

Harriet decided not to stress about it.

Thanks to her early departure, she arrived at the monastery before noon.

“Sister Harriet!”

As soon as Emma opened the door and saw her, she threw her arms around Harriet in a joyful hug.