Chapter 7
[I fear I was a significant burden to you.
Regardless, you were there to catch me during my tumble from the window, and you even ensured I reached my quarters safely. I am truly grateful. If it would not be an imposition, I would be honored to host a meal as a token of my appreciation. Might we convene tomorrow at Rochez on Driblue Street? My schedule is entirely flexible, and as I know Sir Kishin is a man of great responsibility, I am happy to defer to whatever hour suits you best. Please arrive whenever your duties allow.]
Kishin kept the parchment hidden from view. However, with Dernick’s persistent attempts to peek at the elegant script, he eventually provided a blunt summary.
“She has requested a meeting for tomorrow.”
A low, mocking whistle escaped Dernick’s lips.
“Quite the feat. A single moment of chivalry and you’ve already ensnared the heart of such a stunning woman.”
Dernick didn’t bother asking if his friend intended to show up. Their long history of friendship provided the answer. Kishin was not the type to attend.
It was evident this noblewoman—the one involved in the arms trade—was likely a stranger to the capital’s social circles. Had she been a local, she would have surely heard the whispers regarding Kishin.
Kishin Hayward was famous for his indifference; he had turned away every lady who had ever sought his favor. By Dernick’s count, the tally of rejected suitors had surpassed seventy.
A long soak in a heated bath had restored some function to Classie’s legs, though her movements remained heavy and lacked their usual grace.
Anna entered with a cane intended for indoor use, her expression clouded with unshed tears.
The lingering trauma from the catastrophe nine years prior remained a deep physical and emotional scar for Classie. It infuriated Anna that people often twisted the incident into cruel gossip for their own amusement. Seeing the physical toll on Classie’s legs always brought a sharp ache to the maid’s chest.
Noticing the moisture in Anna’s eyes, Classie forced a bright, lighthearted tone to shift the mood.
“Anna, didn’t you think that gentleman who carried me was exceptionally handsome?”
The tactic proved effective. Anna’s sorrow vanished, replaced by a sharp, critical look.
“Good looks are a poor currency, my lady. They say the palace guards are filled with scoundrels and nothing more. You shouldn’t waste a single thought on a man like that.”
Classie felt a twinge of guilt as she leaned on her cane. She had already sent the invitation.
Earlier, while alone in the hidden chamber, she had discovered Kishin’s black wallet. She had spent a long time agonizing over what to do. The physical act of taking the wallet and tucking her note inside had taken mere moments, yet she had spent nearly twenty minutes paralyzed by indecision before committing to the act.
She harbored no illusions. Kishin’s assistance hadn’t been born of personal interest; it was the reflexive courtesy of a knight aiding someone in distress.
She expected her letter to be discarded, following the pattern of every other time she had reached out to a man.
Yet, she had written it anyway.
There was something about him she found compelling.
It went beyond his striking appearance. She admired his steady nature—the sense that he possessed an internal anchor that kept him grounded.
Despite that silver-haired companion’s immediate accusations of theft, Kishin Hayward had remained entirely unruffled, refusing to be swayed by such petty claims.
That quality had left a mark on her.
The arrival of Merran cut her reflections short.
“Anna, please don’t mention that officer in front of Merran.”
Classie grabbed Anna’s sleeve urgently as the maid prepared to greet their guest.
“Goodness, my lady! I certainly should mention him. Both you and Lady Merran suffered because of those men. And yet here you are, praising his looks? She deserves to know the truth.”
“Anna, I’m begging you!”
It took a sincere, desperate plea before Anna finally gave a reluctant nod.
“Very well. I shall simply mention that some guardsmen performed an inspection.”
Classie exhaled, her tension easing.
She wasn’t sure if Kishin Hayward would turn her down, but if a rejection was coming, she wanted it to be his choice—not the result of Merran’s interference or her niece’s habit of claiming everything for herself.
When they descended the stairs, they found Merran draped in her heavy coat, looking thoroughly annoyed. She was clearly still in the dark about the full scope of the day’s events.
“I can’t believe the day I’ve had,” Merran snapped the moment she saw them.
“The palace guards were here as well. It was quite a shock for everyone,” Anna replied, her voice laced with irritation.
Classie watched Anna nervously, her heart hammering against her ribs.
To her relief, Anna kept her word, omitting any mention of the handsome officer or Classie’s fascination with him.
“How is my aunt? Is she holding up?”
Merran finally turned her attention to Classie after finishing her tirade about the guards.
She gave Classie a sharp, clinical look. Once she decided Classie wasn’t in any immediate danger, the concern vanished, replaced by a lecture.
It was obvious Merran felt no remorse for her own actions. In her mind, the only error was Classie’s failure to wait for her.
Anna, failing to see the underlying malice in Merran’s tone, nodded along cheerfully.
Even Karen, Merran’s own attendant, stood silently in the background, offering a supportive nod to her mistress.
Classie felt a tightness in her throat.
She had attempted to explain Merran’s pattern of sabotaging her romantic prospects to Anna before, but the maid had always dismissed it.
Anna had once told her that Merran was simply being protective—that she loved Classie with the intensity of a mother and that such devotion should be viewed as endearing.
Classie hadn’t known how to argue then.
She remained silent now as well.
“I’ll see that some food is sent up for you, Merran.”
When Classie reached the kitchen, the house was quiet, save for a single servant dozing at the table.
Rather than waking them, Classie began quietly searching the pantry herself.
The clatter of a tin eventually roused the servant, who started awake.
“My lady? Can I help you find something?”
After preparing a light tray, Classie returned to her room. She chose to bathe and dress without assistance.
By then, the stiffness in her legs had vanished completely; she felt agile enough to dance if she wished.
She selected a vibrant yellow dress and paired it with a delicate, sophisticated wrap. Looking at her reflection, she felt a surge of confidence in her appearance.
She woke the coachman before the sun had even crested the horizon. He looked at her through bleary eyes.
“My lady? Are you planning to catch your death in this cold?”
A sharp look from Classie was enough to silence him. He moved to the stables without another word.
The carriage ride was freezing. Classie shivered, repeatedly blowing on her fingers to keep them from numbing. Though winter had only just begun, the pre-dawn air was biting.
By the time the carriage reached Driblue Street, the sun had risen, but the temperature had not.
The restaurant, Rochez, was still locked tight.
Classie waited inside the carriage for half an hour, her eyes fixed on the entrance. When a worker finally appeared to open the doors, she climbed out and gave the driver his instructions.
“You may tell the household I am out, but you are to tell no one where I am. Is that clear?”
“Not even Lady Merran?”
“Not even Anna.”
“I understand, my lady. Your secret is safe. When should I return for you?”
Once the carriage pulled away, Classie entered the building.
The dining room was empty. The staff looked puzzled to see a woman of her standing arriving at such an early hour.
She took a seat directly facing the door, ensuring she would be the first thing anyone saw upon entering. Since she had no idea when Kishin might arrive, she settled in for a long wait.
Kishin had not sent word to decline the invitation.
He had learned through experience that being polite with persistent women was a mistake; a single, cold silence was often more effective than a dozen gentle refusals.
By the morning of the meeting, Classie had completely slipped his mind as he focused on his duties.
It was actually Dernick who kept track of the time.
At five o’clock, as the workday ended, Dernick sought him out.
“Aren’t you supposed to be meeting that lady today?”
The memory of the timidly penned note resurfaced, but Kishin didn’t waver.
“I have no intention of going.”
“Are you absolutely certain? Not even for a moment?”
Dernick pressed him, but Kishin’s expression remained stony.
“If your curiosity is so overwhelming, go yourself.”
Kishin turned back to the stack of reports on his desk.
“You know what? I think I will.”
Dernick’s immediate agreement caught Kishin off guard. He looked up, a frown deepening on his face.
“You’re being serious?”
He had only said it to get Dernick to leave him alone.
Dernick smiled, lifting a pendant from beneath his shirt. It was a ring belonging to his old friend Mary, which he had worn as a necklace for a decade.
“That woman is Mary’s younger sister. And the girl from yesterday, Merran? That’s Mary’s daughter.”
“So, she’s the sister of the woman who helped you. You’re going to settle a debt of gratitude?”
Dernick gave a noncommittal shrug.
“Either way, if you aren’t using the invitation, I’ll take your place.”
Kishin considered this for a moment.
“Do as you wish.”
Dernick was often a magnet for chaos, but he was also a man who never forgot a kindness. Kishin trusted that he wouldn’t cause trouble for his benefactor’s family.
After learning the location, Dernick was surprised to hear there was no set time.
Classie had simply promised to be there.
He assumed she would have given up hours ago. Most high-born ladies would have waited an hour at most before leaving a message and departing in a huff.
He stopped to buy a large bouquet, mostly as a peace offering, fully expecting to find an empty table.
But she was there.
The moment he stepped inside, he saw her.
She was impossible to miss—not just because of her beauty, but because of the staggering tower of thirty empty plates stacked on the table in front of her as she worked her way through a piece of cake.
“How long has she been eating?” Dernick whispered to a waiter, hiding behind his flowers.
“She was here before we even turned the sign over this morning,” the waiter whispered back, looking weary. “She said she was waiting for someone. If you ask me, she’s been stood up.”
“And she’s just been ordering food the whole time?”
The waiter gave him a look that suggested the sheer volume of food was the least strange part of the situation.
Dernick didn’t care about the bill or the diet. He lowered the flowers and began walking toward her.
