Chapter 19
He was not dressed stiffly in the style of nobility, with a buttoned shirt, tie, and silk waistcoat, yet he exuded such effortless grace that I could not tear my eyes away from him.
He seemed the sort who would shine brightly even in a pit of dust.
He was a mysterious figure. Never in my life had I seen anyone like him.
Feigning a coy air, Kirhin gave a shallow bow of courtesy. The man snorted with cold cynicism.
Thoroughly battered from head to toe by those sharp words, Kirhin cast an aggrieved look in my direction, forcing me to turn my head away.
Of all directions to look, my gaze collided squarely with a pair of green eyes, and I froze in place. As if waiting for just that moment, the man arched an eyebrow.
His clipped tone was intimidating, yet a far stronger swell of gladness rose within me just because he had spoken to me. Rolling my eyes, I asked with a face every bit as aggrieved as Kirhin's:
At that, the clean line of his lips relaxed as though on the verge of spilling laughter. Then, still weighed with authority, his scolding retort arrived.
Had it been anyone else, I wouldn't have dared respond that way. I had possessed an instinctive certainty that Kirhin would not treat me with cold cruelty.
Of course, underpinning it all was the presence of the man who had draped his cloak over me before leaving.
My eyes widened round at words that seemed to read my thoughts straight from my head. Fixing me with a shrewd, piercing gaze, the man added:
Recognizing it was no idle joke, I etched the advice deep into my mind. Watching my intent expression, he let out a dry smirk, then suddenly knit his brows.
Kirhin's retort, accompanied by somewhat rebellious eyes, made my ears perk up. It was the first time I had heard someone call him by name. Glancing at me, Kirhin suddenly flashed a radiant, crinkled smile.
…He wasn't a priest?
Though I sensed Kirhin watching my reaction intently, I made no effort to conceal my astonishment. Fumbling words tumbled past my parted lips.
Damian tilted his head slightly, planting a razor-sharp glare into Kirhin, who cleared his throat and went out of his way to look in the opposite direction. Still glaring at the side of his head with unrelenting pressure, Damian spoke up:
Even though they were both sons of baronial families, Kirhin was on the verge of succeeding to his title. Had I known even a little more about the ways of high nobility, I would have found it strange that he addressed someone of higher status so casually by a title alone; but I was ignorant. Furthermore, Kirhin's subservient demeanor, perpetually reading his cues, naturally established the hierarchy between them.
When I turned my head, Kirhin gave me a grin.
As I answered with a lowered head, Damian, who was lifting a teacup from the table, scowled. Having expected Kirhin to reject the title as he had earlier, I watched him raise an eyebrow instead, his curious eyes gleaming bright.
Seeing him ask with his arms casually folded, I answered faithfully:
Most housemaids were illiterate. Laurel came to my mind.
Clapping his hands with sudden relish, Kirhin declared:
A cry nearly broke from my lips at those words. Forcing the scream back down my throat, I dropped into a hurried curtsy.
Pfft! The sound of someone spitting out liquid followed, but I could not look right away. The meaning of Kirhin's words simply would not register.
When a choked coughing fit followed, I turned my head slowly to see Kirhin offering a napkin to Damian.
The hood had slipped back during his coughing, revealing a bare face that seized my attention. As he drew a deep breath, gorgeous green eyes narrowed and glittered across his sculpted features. A raspy, incredulous breath trailed out into a grim murmur.
Though the remark bordered on mockery, Kirhin flashed a bright smile and snapped his fingers.
Struggling just to keep up with their conversation, I had to steady myself against dizziness. Damian, observing the beaming Kirhin in silence, curled one corner of his mouth in a crooked smirk. He didn't seem entirely displeased.
A twisted sneer flickered across Kirhin's eyes as he spoke nonchalantly. The relationship with his father had evidently not been good. Glancing at Damian, whose expression oozed complete disgust, Kirhin shrugged.
Though she had only washed away yesterday's grime and put on an oversized gown, she commanded attention.
Luminous, fair skin that seemed to catch the light, clever, cautious contours around the eyes, and a cool gray gaze uncharacteristic of a child made for a striking harmony. The rounded tip of her nose still carried an air of youth, but her features held unmistakable promise for the years ahead.
In an era where a daughter's beauty served as one of a family's greatest advantages, Kirhin had likely judged that she would become a sufficiently promising asset. After all, House Beekman had no daughters.
Lars had intended to curb the scheme, finding the calculation distasteful, but his eyes fell on Lucien, who stood looking utterly bewildered.
From her perspective, it might indeed be a decent arrangement. Nobles had their own tribulations, but it would surely be better than living as a maid in another person's house.
Taking after his father, Kirhin was fundamentally soft on women, so he would not mistreat Lucien. Besides, seeing her earlier, the child seemed fairly clever.
If that cleverness was her true nature, in a few years she might well be twisting Kirhin around her little finger.
Letting out a brief chuckle, he playfully raised a single brow.
Possessing little affection for his late father, Kirhin casually turned his head back to Lucien. Her face had drained of color until she looked almost like a wax doll.
A sudden detail snagged his attention, and Lars furrowed his brow. Kirhin spoke to her in a gentle tone.
Lucien stared at him without so much as blinking her large eyes. Resting a hand lightly on her slender shoulder, Kirhin declared with airy cheer:
“By my authority as head of house, I welcome you into our family. From this day forward, you may carry the surname Beekman.”
