Chapter 3
The Perfect Groom Candidate
Warm sunlight streamed gently through the windows.
In the midst of the cluttered room filled with an overwhelming amount of luggage, Ariel pulled a volume of classic literature from the bookshelf.
As she carefully opened it, the scent of old paper — aged by years untouched — brushed against her nose.
“It dried too well.”
Pressed flat between the pages was a blue forget-me-not, preserved far too beautifully for something so unnecessary. Ariel stared silently at the flower that had once bloomed vividly in her memories before suddenly snapping the book shut at the sound of a knock behind her.
“Are you ready to set off in search of the perfect groom?”
Turning toward the overly excited Margarete, Ariel forced the corners of her lips upward.
“I suppose so.”
Avoiding her mother’s gaze, she slipped the book quietly between her luggage and fastened the bag as though nothing had happened. Perhaps Margarete interpreted the action as determination to secure the highest possible value in Kelt’s marriage market, because a deeply satisfied smile spread across her face.
“I can’t tell you how reassuring it is that Valentin agreed to accompany you.”
At the mention of the beloved cousin and childhood friend who had wandered in and out of Milton Abbey since they were young, warmth softened Ariel’s green eyes.
Though it vanished just as quickly at the words that followed.
“He seems to have quite the network in Kelt. I’m sure he’ll introduce you to many excellent gentlemen.”
Instead of answering, Ariel merely smiled bitterly. Leaving her daughter behind, Margarete continued enthusiastically barking orders at the servants.
The loading of the carriage was already busy enough as it was.
But Margarete, whose thoughts were entirely consumed with reaching the capital as soon as possible, could not hide her impatience.
“If only Milton Abbey had a railway connection, we could reach Kelt Central Station in no time!”
A pleasant symphony flowed from the polished mahogany gramophone.
Within the music-filled room, Leonardo lounged deeply against a wingback chair, long legs crossed atop the ottoman.
Rustle.
The soft sound of thick documents turning page by page blended between the elegant melodies of the violin.
Resting his chin against one hand, Leonardo reviewed the papers with calm, sunken eyes.
Devonshire owned countless businesses. Their influence stretched across the entire continent alongside the family’s long history, and now their reach was extending farther into the world itself.
“Hm.”
A low murmur escaped his closed lips — the sort of sound he made whenever thinking deeply. Yet to anyone watching, it would have been impossible to notice he was troubled by anything at all. Leonardo’s expression remained perfectly serene.
The subtle tapping of his foot to the rhythm of the three-four waltz revealed that even while concentrating, he had not stopped appreciating the music.
Making decisions — large and small — was as natural to Leonardo as breathing itself. Countless people moved according to the thoughts formed inside his mind, and many fortunes rose or fell depending on the conclusions he reached.
Exerting that kind of influence was only natural to him.
Devonshire was that sort of name.
That sort of position.
It was then that a knock sounded at the door. Expecting his diligent secretary Daniel to arrive with yet another report, Leonardo lifted his head — only to blink several times in surprise.
A gentle smile slowly formed at the corners of his lips.
Setting the report in his hand atop the thick stack of documents on the side table with a light tap, he straightened his half-relaxed posture and rose from his seat.
“Please, remain comfortable.”
Isabella lightly waved off her son’s formal courtesy. Though she knew perfectly well that he would behave according to his own wishes regardless.
Leonardo crossed the room toward the reception sofa and table. Though his pace resembled a leisurely stroll, his long strides carried him there quickly.
With elegant movements, he offered his mother a seat. Only after Isabella had sat down did he take the seat opposite her.
It seemed she had business to discuss.
Pretending not to notice what she held in her hand, Leonardo spoke naturally.
“Would you prefer tea?”
“You’ve been showing an awful lot of interest in the spice and tea trade lately.”
Tea, between a mother and son who both preferred coffee. Isabella scolded him lightly, and Leonardo merely answered with a soft laugh.
And not just spices and tea.
Leonardo intended to involve himself in anything capable of increasing Devonshire’s wealth in pace with the rapidly changing age.
If it made money, he would do it.
“This is Hakkens’ newest composition, isn’t it?”
Recognizing the symphony flowing through the drawing room, Isabella smoothly shifted the topic.
“Yes, Mother.”
“To think a poor commoner became a court musician thanks to you. His life truly changed.”
“It was Mr. Hakkens’ own effort that kept his God-given talent from rotting away.”
There was not the slightest trace of false modesty on Leonardo’s face.
He truly believed it.
Passion for art. That burning sincerity.
Music, paintings, sculptures, theater — every act through which humanity expressed the limitless depths hidden within themselves held value in his eyes. The act itself was beautiful.
A man willing to do anything for profit — the wealthiest noble in the empire — yet also the most powerful patron in an art world that consumed endless money.
If that was not irony, what was?
Still, among artists, there was hardly a noble more well-liked than him.
“Business and patronage are all well and good, but perhaps you should take interest in other matters as well.”
“What do you mean?”
Curiosity flickered within his blue eyes as they shifted more openly toward the object in Isabella’s hand.
This time, she did not hide her intentions.
Several portraits of young ladies were placed atop the table.
“…An impressive selection.”
A hollow laugh slipped between Leonardo’s lips as he skimmed over the familiar faces — some boringly recognizable, others vaguely remembered from newspapers.
Daughters of noble houses. Princesses of foreign kingdoms.
One by one, he met the eyes of the beautiful women painted in the portraits, yet no particular emotion surfaced within his blue gaze. They were all undoubtedly lovely women.
But he knew what lay beneath the paint.
“I hope the artists were properly compensated for increasing their value.”
“Leo.”
Isabella’s voice turned stern at his mockery, but Leonardo did not so much as blink.
“The profits gained from marrying into Devonshire are astronomical. If a painter can achieve that with a brush, isn’t it a remarkable accomplishment?”
“It would benefit us as well. Both names would become even more glorious.”
“I wonder.”
Leonardo’s brief response carried unmistakable skepticism.
Clearly, he was recalling the engagement that had collapsed last year. Isabella’s expression also cooled as she remembered it.
How dare they.
Neither of them spoke the name aloud, yet both naturally thought of the Ritztern family — the ones foolish enough to attempt deceiving Devonshire.
“In any case, think it over.”
As if assuring him that this time would be different, Isabella left the portraits behind as she rose from her seat.
“You’re leaving already?”
“I have an appointment this afternoon.”
Leonardo nodded.
Though she now spent most of her time secluded in Chessmore instead of dominating Kelt society as she once had, Isabella still possessed influence and connections that could not be ignored.
After politely wishing her an enjoyable afternoon among the noble ladies, Leonardo once again stretched out across the sofa, crossing his long legs.
His blue eyes swept over the portraits once more.
Mining rights here. Maritime trade expansion there. Acquisition of a construction company over there.
Looking at it again, perhaps this required more serious consideration after all.
The imperial audience ceremony marking the beginning of the social season had finally arrived.
Among the ladies gathered at the imperial palace like blooming flowers, Ariel nervously rubbed her stiffening fingertips together.
Would she do well? Could she avoid making mistakes?
She had checked her reflection countless times while dressing in perfect formal attire, but if she were to trip over the long satin train trailing behind her, everything would be ruined.
“You are the most beautiful woman here today. Trust my judgment.”
Margarete clasped her daughter’s hands reassuringly.
Unfortunately, it only had the opposite effect. Though her mother looked composed on the outside, Ariel could feel through their joined hands that Margarete was just as nervous as she was.
Well.
No one had anticipated this day more eagerly than her mother.
Presenting her masterpiece upon the marriage market in a way that surpassed every other noblewoman — that was Margarete’s greatest dream in life.
And, admittedly, a rather ordinary dream for a noble lady.
Following the guidance of a palace attendant, Ariel stepped forward. The ostrich feathers adorning her hair swayed softly with each movement.
The towering ceilings. The intricate sculptures decorating every corner. The visibly nervous young ladies and their guardians.
Taking in the passing scenery with trembling eyes, Ariel finally stopped at her designated position. As she released the carefully gathered train draped over one arm, a long wave of white satin spilled elegantly behind her gown.
“Lady Ariel von Rosenberg, daughter of Countess Margarete.”
Just as she inhaled deeply to calm herself, her name rang loudly through the hall.
The enormous gold-trimmed doors swung open from both sides, brilliant light pouring through the entrance.
And into that dazzling world, Ariel took her very first step.
