SMR | Chapter 71

~Chapter 71~

While building her business and earning money, Harriet had forgotten why she started making money in the first place.

‘Come to think of it… I still don’t know why my uncle came all the way to the monastery to take me back. It must’ve been something important.’

Of course, she had no doubt it was for John’s benefit—not hers. After all, her uncle had ignored his dying brother and sister-in-law just to take the title and estate for himself.

“When Viscount and Viscountess Listerwell’s ship started to sink, he turned the other way.”

 “It looked like he didn’t even try to save them.”

 “I suspect he had already decided to take over the family when they were dying. Leaving you behind at the monastery was the final part of that plan.”

Those words from Baron Villey echoed in her mind. The anger and resentment she had tried to bury started rising again.

Yes—Harriet hadn’t come back to Genoa just to be independent. She had to avenge her parents.

“I understand. I’ll keep that in mind.”

She nodded, accepting Trisha’s advice.

Trisha must have noticed her expression because she added with a rare bit of softness,

“If you’re really that upset, treat yourself to a glass of champagne in private.”

“Yes… I think I will.”

It still stung a little, but Harriet knew what she needed now wasn’t comfort—it was realistic, grounded advice. And for that, she was grateful.

***

Harriet was feeling a little down. As the bright afternoon sun poured through the windows, she impulsively decided to go out.

“Maybe I should really buy that nice champagne and celebrate a bit,” she thought.

“To Seviol Street?”

“No. Take me to Payton Street today.”

“Oh? Do you have an appointment?”

The coachman was surprised she chose a different destination, but Harriet simply didn’t feel like going anywhere crowded where she might be recognized. Payton Street had plenty of good wine shops, too.

As the carriage moved along and leafless trees passed by, Harriet stared out the window, quietly blaming herself for forgetting about her parents’ deaths even for a little while.

When they reached the entrance to Payton Street, she straightened her clothes and took a deep breath.

‘Thinking sad thoughts won’t help anything. I just have to stay focused from now on. I’ll be okay.’

She encouraged herself. No one else would comfort her—so she had to do it herself.

When she got out of the carriage, her face was confident and proud, just like always.

She walked into a wine shop her father used to visit often. The owner had changed, but the shop was still the same. It brought back warm memories of her childhood, running around beside her dad.

“Welcome. Is there anything you’re looking for?”

A young man came out from behind the counter and politely asked.

He looked quite a bit like the old shop owner.

“Did your father used to run this place?”

“Oh! Yes, he did. Were you a customer back then? I don’t think I’ve seen you before…”

“Ah, I came here a few times when I was little.”

She smiled and looked around. She didn’t know much about alcohol and wasn’t sure what to buy.

“I have something to celebrate. Could you recommend a good champagne?”

“Do you have a flavor or aroma preference?”

“I like something sweet, with fruity smells. Is that too childish?”

“Not at all! Many people prefer sweet champagne. Do you have a price range in mind?”

Harriet knew wine prices could vary a lot, but she didn’t know what the differences were—or what price range would be right for her.

“How much is the best-tasting champagne you have?”

“Haha! That’s hard to say. Taste is subjective. But if you want to know what the most expensive bottle is, I can tell you that. It’s right over here.”

He pointed to a bottle inside a glass display case.

It was a dark green bottle wrapped in gold foil from the neck to the top, with a simple orange label. Even Harriet, who didn’t know much about wine, recognized the name: Van Ribel.

“How much is that?”

“40,000 dirham.”

“What? For one bottle?”

“Yes. And to be honest, that’s not even considered extremely high-end. We mostly sell items meant to be enjoyed—not just collected for decoration.”

Spending 40,000 dirhams on a drink you just drink and finish was something Harriet could hardly imagine.

 Even when her father was alive, he had never spent that much on expensive liquor.

“To be honest, Lady, I wouldn’t recommend the Van Ribel,” the shop owner said kindly.

 “You said you’re celebrating something important—shouldn’t the event itself be the highlight, not the drink? I’d suggest something tasteful but less extreme, like Hastings or Odello…”

The shopkeeper was doing his best to recommend good champagne, but Harriet’s eyes stayed fixed on that bottle inside the glass case.

It wasn’t about the price.

It was because the vintage year of that champagne was 1866.

The year she began losing everything—her parents, her home, her old life.

It wasn’t something she should cling to just because of a bottle of champagne—but even so, Harriet raised her chin and pointed.

“I’ll take that one.”

“Pardon? You mean the Van Ribel?”

“Yes. That one and the Hastings you mentioned earlier. One bottle of each, please.”

“Lady… are you sure?”

“Of course. I can afford it. Please just wrap the Van Ribel nicely—it’s a gift.”

Seeing how calm and confident she was, the shopkeeper still looked like he wasn’t sure if this was okay—but he obeyed and carefully took the bottle out of the case.

It was a new experience for Harriet—to write 40,250 dirhams in her checkbook and sign her name below it.

‘I actually spent 40,000 dirham in one go.’

Though the champagne she was keeping for herself only cost 250 dirham.

‘Great-Aunt told me to spend money on something productive, after all.’

Harriet held the neatly wrapped champagne in her arms and climbed back into her carriage.

“Shall we return home now?”

“Yes… but stop by Duke Kailas’s estate on the way.”

Again, the coachman gave her a surprised look—but he didn’t say anything and quietly drove toward the Kailas estate.

***

Inside Cedric’s quiet study, the only sounds were the flipping of papers and the scratching of a pen.

He had just finished reviewing the estate’s reports and was about to move on to the next document when there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?”

A butler entered, looking slightly troubled.

“Your Grace. There was a small disturbance at the gate. A visitor tried to deliver a box without revealing its contents and was refused by the guards.”

“Is that really something I need to hear about?”

“Well… sir…”

Cedric finally looked up at the hesitation in the butler’s voice.

“The person causing the disturbance… is Lady Harriet Listerwell.”

Cedric froze with his water glass still halfway to his lips.

“…Did Lady Harriet request a meeting today?”

“No, sir. She only wanted to leave a gift. But as you know, everything entering the manor must be checked thoroughly. When the guards insisted, she refused to open it.”

Cedric slowly set his glass back down.

Ever since the war ended, militants from the defeated Kingdom of Firma—still angry that Kifren had been absorbed into the empire—had made repeated assassination attempts on Cedric, the war hero.

Because of that, security had become extremely strict. Anything entering the estate had to be pre-declared and fully unwrapped to check its contents.

Harriet probably didn’t know those rules.

“So? What did you do?”

“Well… since she’s not a stranger, we’ve seated her in the guest waiting room for now…”

Cedric glanced at the clock.

“Do I have any other appointments today?”

“No, sir.”

“Then escort Lady Harriet to the reception room.”

“Yes, sir.”

The butler quietly left the room.

But as he walked toward the waiting area, his expression was slightly puzzled.

‘If it had been anyone else, His Grace would’ve turned them away immediately…’

Cedric almost never broke protocol to meet with unannounced visitors. The only exceptions were if the matter was urgent, related to the imperial family, or if it was someone very close to him.

The butler wasn’t quite sure if Lady Harriet counted as one of those “very close” people—but it seemed the duke did.