SMR 43

~Chapter 43~

As expected, the Duke of Kylas’s estate was overwhelmingly grand. While the Count of Pellon’s mansion was no small place, this was on an entirely different scale—almost worthy of being called a palace.

At the end of the day, it’s still just a house people live in.

Harriet tried to calm her nerves before they got the better of her.

When the carriage arrived at the entrance, a footman with striking looks approached and politely offered his escort.

“Lady Listerwell’s audience is scheduled to begin promptly at 11:30. Allow me to guide you to the waiting room first.”

Following behind him into the mansion, Harriet was surprised to see so many people coming and going through the ground-floor lobby.

They all appeared to be distinguished nobles in their own right—chatting among themselves or being led somewhere else by other footmen.

The atmosphere was starkly different from the quiet, guest-less halls of the Pellon estate.

“Are all these people here to see the Duke?” Harriet asked in a hushed voice.

The footman replied with a courteous smile, “Some are here to see the Dowager Duchess or are retainers of the house, but yes, most have business with His Grace.”

“Oh…”

Harriet felt a little embarrassed.

To think she had assumed getting an audience with the Duke wouldn’t be difficult—how naïve she’d been.

She’d merely been lucky. The Duke stood near the very top of the imperial hierarchy, meeting with countless people and making important decisions every day.

If she missed today’s opportunity, she might never get another chance to speak to Cedric about business or investments again.

“Please wait here for a moment.”

The reception waiting room, while not particularly large, was elegantly decorated—good enough to be mistaken for a sitting room.

On one wall hung portraits of the first Duke and Duchess of Kylas. The moment Harriet laid eyes on the previous Duchess, she realized just how much Cedric resembled his mother.

He takes after her completely. Looks like all he must’ve inherited from Rowan Kylas was his military bearing.

Rowan Kylas was, admittedly, handsome enough to justify the rumors that Princess Jeremiah had once loved him passionately.

But compared to Cedric, who exuded a kind of calming aura, Rowan had a colder, more detached impression.

The couple in the portrait didn’t appear particularly affectionate.

Their story was well-known among the nobility:

A princess who pursued him one-sidedly, Rowan’s inability to refuse a royal proposal and while Rowan hadn’t dared refuse, he also never returned her feelings.

In an attempt to stir his jealousy, the Princess had taken lovers—but Rowan had simply pretended not to notice.

Eventually, disappointed and heartbroken, she gave up on love and began replacing her lovers as she pleased.

And yet, they never divorced. That’s the real mystery.

Harriet couldn’t understand what meaning there was in a marriage without love, trust, respect, or even the slightest care.

Was this just how things worked among the elite? So long as an heir was produced, did the rest of the relationship not matter at all?

But then again… Cedric Kylas, born between the two of them, is still praised as the rightful master of this household. Maybe it really doesn’t matter.

The imperial family hadn’t wanted to marry the princess off to a mere viscount’s second son, so they’d granted Rowan the dukedom.

But everyone knew the real owner of the title and fortune was Princess Jeremiah.

And perhaps because of the couple’s distant relationship, the imperial family had always treated the Kylas duchy more like an extension of the royal line.

Cedric himself was so thoroughly imbued with royal blood that no one would’ve questioned it if someone claimed the Princess had borne him on her own.

When Rowan was Duke, many had subtly looked down on him. But ever since Cedric inherited the title, the attitude toward House Kylas had grown noticeably more deferential.

In any case, he probably didn’t have a normal childhood.

It was a world Harriet could hardly imagine.

She did feel some pity for a child who had to grow up amidst parental strife, but in Cedric Kylas’s case… it somehow seemed like he had always been the way he was now, even as a child.

As she tilted her head, trying to picture his childhood, the door on the opposite side of the room clicked open.

An older man entered and approached her.

“Thank you for waiting. Please come with me.”

“Ah—yes!”

So startled that she forgot all of Roxana’s lessons about graceful manner, Harriet shot to her feet.

Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it might make her nauseous, but she clenched her teeth and followed the man—who seemed to be the butler—into a drawing room.

“Please wait here. His Grace will be with you shortly.”

He clearly knew who she was, but he didn’t show the slightest sign of recognition. He remained unfailingly polite and respectful—nothing like the guard at the gate.

The sofa was comfortably soft, and on the left side of the marble table sat a neatly arranged inkwell and pen.

The placement made its meaning clear: it was positioned conveniently for the host to use.

Every agreement made in this room must be made on the Duke’s terms.

Harriet forced a bitter smile. How many people had truly managed to sway Cedric Kylas’s heart in this very room? No, since she’d gotten this far, the contents must have already been cleared by his assistants—perhaps that meant the chance of a successful negotiation was higher than she thought.

Still, she might just end up being one of the rare examples who failed.

Am I… doing something completely ridiculous?

Would the Duke of Kylas, who invested in massive ventures, really care about something as small as selling a few bars of soap?

Her mind felt blank.

At that moment, the door on the opposite side opened, and a tall man entered.

Just by the way his blond hair reflected the summer sunlight, she knew immediately it was Cedric.

Harriet stood and waited for him to approach before curtsying. Cedric simply watched her for a moment before asking,

“I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of matter would bring the person who claimed to be so firm about not tarnishing my name to request an audience.”

Harriet barely managed to pull her lips into a smile, forcing the corners of her mouth upward.

He’s been holding that against me.

Before she could even open the business proposal, there was no way she could snap back at him. But the strange animosity she felt toward Cedric made it hard for her words to come out sweetly.

“I was worried that, given the involvement of Sir Julian, your reputation might be tarnished. I apologize for not considering that you might feel disrespected despite your good intentions in helping me.”

The sarcastic edge in her words implied she had quickly made way for him, yet he didn’t seem to understand. Both she and Cedric knew the subtext, but neither could openly address it.

Cedric, however, seemed to find it amusing. He let out a chuckle, his face breaking into a grin.

So that’s what his smile looks like when he genuinely enjoys something.

Harriet had seen Cedric smile before—back when they had met from a distance—but it had always seemed more like a polite gesture, a mask of sorts. Now, however, his smile seemed genuine.

Though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, there was something about his demeanor that felt different, warmer.

But she wouldn’t let herself be fooled by his relaxed appearance.

He’s probably someone well-versed in such contracts and dealings, so this behavior might be calculated.

Determined not to let herself shrink in front of him, Harriet clenched her teeth. Cedric gestured for her to sit.

“Please, have a seat. There’s no need to stand and talk when I’m not in such a rush.”

His movements as he sat on the sofa were graceful, even dignified. Perhaps it was just her perception, but he certainly appeared to carry an air of nobility in everything he did.

Harriet straightened her back slightly and pushed her chest forward, trying to look more confident.

“I kindly ask that you disregard any past rumors about me—whether they’re from the monastery or the Vanderbilt parties. I am here today solely to discuss business.”

Cedric’s crimson eyes flickered with interest. He didn’t respond verbally but simply nodded slightly in acknowledgment.

She didn’t like being put on the defensive like this, but what could she do? It was clear that the one who needed something was her, not him.

“Before we discuss the business itself, I would like you to sign a non-disclosure agreement.”

“And what exactly is it that you want me to keep secret?”

“Though it might seem trivial to you, there are details in this business proposal that only I am aware of. Don’t other entrepreneurs ask for such things?”

If word got out about the high quality of Saint Clarissa Monastery’s products, other entrepreneurs would likely offer better terms and try to snatch up the deal. She had already signed an exclusive contract to prevent that, but there were no guarantees in business.

Cedric didn’t answer her question. Instead, he signed the non-disclosure agreement she handed him without hesitation.

“Well then,” he said with a hint of amusement in his voice, “I’d now like to take a look at the contents of this business proposal that requires such secrecy.”