Chapter 53
53
The Master of the Bird
“Every time I see this, my heart aches, Matthias.”
Riet clicked her tongue as she opened the door of the display cabinet. Matthias wasn’t one to indulge much in alcohol, but the cabinet in his room was always stocked with fine liquors.
“Leaving it like this is no way to treat good liquor.”
Riet grinned cheekily as she pulled out a bottle and sauntered back to the table. As always, Matthias wore an utterly indifferent expression, no matter what she did.
The music flowing from the phonograph mingled strangely with the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. Riet filled the glasses the servant had brought and handed one to Matthias. The graceful motion with which he accepted it mirrored the melody of the piano piece filling the room.
Riet leaned back on the sofa as if reclining and scrutinized Matthias as though he were some intriguing stranger. He sat lost in thought, staring at the rim of the glass in his hand. The little canary, now as much a fixture of this bedroom as anything else, fluttered happily around him.
‘Your cousin is a gentlemanly demon.’
The reputation of Captain Herhardt she’d heard at the social club floated across his face.
Matthias had never spoken of his time serving on the front lines overseas. It didn’t seem like modesty so much as him attaching no particular meaning to it. Instead, tales of Captain Herhardt’s exploits had spread from the lips of the other noble officers who had served alongside him.
Riet hadn’t participated in that war, but she could picture the Matthias they described as vividly as if she’d seen him herself. A peculiar demeanor—neither swept up in youthful hot-bloodedness like other young soldiers, nor steeped in the boredom of mere duty. Those who spoke of Matthias, who systematically carried out his tasks without denying the accomplishments or pleasures that came with them yet assigning no special significance to them, all arrived at the same conclusion.
‘So…… I don’t really get him.’
Riet knew better than anyone that this utterly deflating statement was the most perfect description of Matthias von Herhardt.
‘I really don’t get him.’
The moment people muttered that, they would sigh in unison, just as Riet was doing now.
I don’t get him.
Even after a lifetime of observing Matthias von Herhardt, it was the only conclusion Riet could draw about him. Like how mixing all the beautiful colors together yields only white in the end, Matthias was the same.
Noble aristocrat. Exemplary heir. Good cousin. Honorable soldier. Each facet was distinct, yet when combined, nothing emerged.
Some praised Duke Herhardt for suppressing and tempering himself in service of his duties, but Riet was skeptical of that view. As far as she knew, there had never been anything in Matthias that needed suppressing in the first place.
Duke Herhardt and Leila Llewellyn, of all people.
Riet let out a puff of laughter through liquor-wet lips. Only then did Matthias look at her. The canary was now perched demurely on his shoulder. It might have been annoying, but Matthias didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
“How long do you plan on playing master of that bird?”
“Until I feel like stopping.”
Matthias replied without a hint of hesitation and took a sip of the liquor he’d been holding. The bird, which had fluttered up with a soft whir, returned to his shoulder and rubbed its beak against his suspenders.
“And when might that be?”
“Who knows.”
Matthias set down his glass and leaned obliquely against the armrest. The onyx buttons adorning his cuffs caught the firelight and gleamed.
“Aren’t you curious about anything? Like why I showed up in Arbis or what I plan to do?”
“Nope.”
Matthias answered indifferently, as if hearing the most pathetic nonsense imaginable. Riet dropping by Arbis unannounced and staying for weeks was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Anyway. What a pain you are.”
Riet laughed loudly and downed the rest of her liquor in one go.
Desire, perhaps?
She pondered as she watched Matthias intently.
It seemed the most fitting assumption. A man’s desire to possess a pretty woman. It was close to instinct, after all. Even without emotions, instincts wouldn’t simply vanish.
But why that orphan, of all people? Duke Herhardt, who had been utterly unmoved by women far more beautiful and noble.
The more she thought about it, the deeper she sank into a maze, so Riet decided to leave it at that. The bird, darting erratically over the table, flew straight to Matthias with a quick flutter at his short whistle.
Watching the scene, Riet tried calling it with a longer, more elaborate whistle of her own. It merely tilted its head on the back of her hand, showing no sign of approaching.
“What’s this? Even birds know their master?”
A hollow laugh escaped her. For a fleeting moment, she recalled the woman who had stared at her with eyes full of wariness.
It didn’t seem like it would be that difficult. A woman who was easy for a doctor’s son and for Duke Herhardt wouldn’t suddenly be hard for him alone. And if he was the Matthias von Herhardt she knew, he’d discard that woman before getting entangled in any affair with his cousin—just as Claudine wanted.
“How about we go hunting this weekend?”
Riet asked as she refilled her glass. Matthias, who had paused in thought, gave an unexpected reply.
“Go alone. I’ll have them prepare everything.”
“What?”
Riet’s eyes widened as she looked at him. Unless her memory was failing her, Matthias had never once refused a hunting invitation.
“You’re serious?”
Before she could press in disbelief, a knock echoed through the room. It was Butler Hessen.
“Mail that arrived today, sir.”
He approached Matthias’s side holding a tray with a parcel and letters.
At this hour, for something as trivial as this, the butler himself.
Riet watched them with a bored gaze. From the butler’s tightly pressed lips, she read the signal for a third party to withdraw.
“Then, see you tomorrow, Your Grace.”
Riet waved lightly and left Matthias’s bedroom with her glass in hand. Only after his footsteps faded did Hessen speak.
“The parcel has been returned.”
“Returned?”
Matthias took the small box Hessen offered with a slightly awkward expression. It was from an unfamiliar place, sent by an unfamiliar name.
“Who’s it from?”
“A relative of mine, sir. I used that name and address as per your orders.”
“Orders? Oh.”
Matthias recalled the instruction he’d given Hessen last week: to send Leila Llewellyn a fine pen. Realization dawned, and suddenly everything made sense.
“Sir……”
“I understand.”
Matthias cut him off in his usual tone.
“Leave me.”
Hessen stared at Matthias’s fingertips, which tapped lightly on the clutched box, then obeyed without further explanation or questions.
Once the door closed, Matthias stood with the box in hand. The torn wrapping paper of the returned parcel drifted into the fireplace flames.
Inside the revealed box lay a single note and the pen, neatly arranged. Matthias read the note he held between his fingers carefully.
On second thought, it was my fault that I lost the pen.
Tripping, failing to gather my things properly, not retrieving it in time—all of it was my fault, so there’s no need for Your Grace to take responsibility.
Since there’s no reason for me to accept it, I’m returning it.
Leila’s note contained only that impudent declaration, without even her signature. As Matthias reread it several times, his eyebrow arched. The corner of his mouth curved, and a dry laugh escaped him.
The flickering flames devoured the crumpled note. The box and the pristine pen followed suit.
Self-mockery, anger, humiliation, and derision flashed across Matthias’s face in succession as he watched. When those sharp emotions tangled into one, his expression vanished. All that remained was a face that seemed serene and calm at first glance, shadowed only by the dancing firelight.
Class had ended early, but Leila only grew busier.
It was the day of the school’s board of trustees meeting. The building was so small and dilapidated that expansion was needed, and that was the agenda for today.
Leila was in charge of preparing the meeting room. She arranged chairs and desks for the attendees and set out simple writing supplies and notepads.
“Miss Llewellyn, all done?”
Teacher Grever approached with quick steps and asked. Leila gave the room a final once-over and nodded with a smile.
“Yes, all set.”
“Then let’s go, quick. The patrons are arriving.”
“Already?”
Leila hastily straightened her appearance and followed Teacher Grever. Luxurious carriages and automobiles carrying the patrons were filing through the school gates.
Leila shook her head slightly, denying the ominous premonition that flashed through her mind. She had checked the list of attending patrons several times, and the Herhardt family wasn’t on it. Still, her heart raced anxiously—probably because of that matter weighing on her mind.
Several days had passed since she returned the gift. The duke hadn’t mentioned it at all. Nor had he come to interrogate or harass her as before. Leila, who had been on edge fearing another such ordeal, was finally starting to relax. She might have bruised the duke’s pride, but it was something that had to happen eventually.
Even if she was ignorant of matters between men and women, Leila had a vague intuition at her age. She could gauge the duke’s desires and the harm they might bring her.
She hated it all.
The duke, his desires, the repercussions of those desires—Leila hated every bit of it. She didn’t want to get swept up in the affairs of a world that had nothing to do with her anymore. She didn’t want to get hurt. By returning the gift, she had conveyed her feelings, so the duke must understand now. That proud man’s silence surely meant acquiescence.
Leila smoothed her chest slowly and took her place at the very end of the line of staff waiting to greet the patrons. Autumn rain fell, making the air quite chilly. She’d worried the weather might keep attendance low, but fortunately, all the promised patrons showed up.
Leila fulfilled her duties with bright smiles and polite bows. Once the meeting started, she’d serve tea, wait quietly, and see the patrons off again, bringing her first board meeting to a successful close.
After the last noble lady entered the entrance hall, the principal turned. Just as the other teachers were about to do the same, another car pulled up through the rain.
The principal turned back with a stunned expression, which soon bloomed into an ecstatic smile.
“Good heavens! Your Grace!”
Leila’s lips, prepared for another smile and greeting, began to tremble.
No.
Leila shook her head in denial of reality and lifted her anxiously quivering eyes. There, she saw without a doubt that man—Duke von Herhardt. He stood ramrod straight under an umbrella held by his attendant.
His gaze, scanning the lined-up teachers one by one, halted on Leila’s pale face.
Their eyes met, and the duke smiled. It was a smile that seemed almost gentle at first glance.
