Please Support My Revenge - Chapter 36

Lobelia meticulously perused the intricacies of the contract before her. Although she had feigned deliberation, there was never a doubt in her mind about her ultimate decision.

Fortunately, Viscount Rohan’s eagerness to divest himself of Mine Number 9 spared her any unwelcome surprises within the contract’s provisions. A smile played upon Lobelia’s lips as she absorbed the sum she was to pay for the acquisition of the aforementioned mine.

Seven hundred million mennich.

Ordinarily, unearthing a plot of land from its dormant state, delving deep enough to strike veins of gold, and tunneling through bedrock requires an exorbitant expenditure, easily exceeding two billion mennich.

Considering that Evelentia had already painstakingly conducted the arduous excavation, leaving only the imminent revelation of the coveted gold veins, seven hundred million mennich was a bargain beyond belief.

“But for Viscount Rohan, the prospect of unloading a seemingly worthless mine for such an immense sum must be nothing short of a dream.”

Lobelia allowed Viscount Rohan to revel in his blissful anticipation.

“It appears there are no irregularities within the contract.”

“Very well, then I shall affix the definitive seal within a few days,” Viscount Rohan responded promptly.

“However, kindly grant me a mere five days’ respite. I must seek the Count’s approval and present a formal report before I can wholeheartedly proceed with the sale of Mine Number 9!”

“Five days?”

Lobelia queried, a hint of bewilderment seeping into her voice.

“That seems remarkably swift, does it not?”

A peculiar thought had taken root within her. Even if one were to dispatch a message via the swiftest of trains, traversing the distance between Merdanion and the capital and returning would surely consume no less than a week’s time. Yet a mere five days? Had a high-speed locomotive materialized unbeknownst to Lobelia?

“Ah, that explains it,” Viscount Rohan interjected, almost unwittingly. “The Count himself is scheduled to visit Merdanion in the near future. I intend to personally apprise him of the matter at that time.”

“You mean… the Count himself shall grace us with his presence?”

Lobelia’s voice betrayed a tinge of astonishment.

“He will, indeed, be accompanied by Miss Aina and his consort.”

Maintaining an air of composure, Lobelia pretended to peruse the contract, lest her quivering gaze give away her inner turmoil. As her eyes trailed down the words imprinted upon the parchment, her thoughts grew increasingly convoluted. Undeniably, such an event had no place within the confines of the original narrative.

When Aina had first embarked upon her foray into the realm of mining, the dialogue had hinted, ‘This shall mark my inaugural visit to Merdanion.’

“Why has the narrative taken such an unexpected turn?”

Lobelia’s mind raced, desperately seeking answers, until a singular realization struck her like a lightning bolt.

“Could it be? Have I deviated from the original narrative?”

People are interconnected, their actions intertwining like a delicate dance. When one person veers off their expected path, the ripples of influence extend to those around them.

And so Lobelia contemplated how her knowledge of the original tale had enabled her to topple conventions left and right. In the original story, she was a wicked antagonist who said, never entangled in a contract romance with Jade, never gracing Countess Dora’s lavish soirées, nor assuming the role of the Empress’s confidante.

“Aha! My actions have reverberated through the lives of Malon and Aina as well.”

Yet, the purpose behind their imminent arrival in Merdanion eluded her grasp, shrouded in mystery.

“Ah, there’s something to unravel.”

With her thoughts neatly arranged, Lobelia lifted her head, a mask of unwavering determination adorning her features.

“Very well then, I shall bide my time.”

“Remember, even a spoken agreement is binding. Let not your heart falter!” Rohan Jazak’s words echoed, a testament to his restless unease, as if he sought reassurance in Lobelia’s unwavering resolve.

Lobelia pacified Rohan Jazak and bid him farewell, swiftly summoning Johann to her side.

“Sir Jereminus, we shall be occupied for the next five days.”

“What task lies ahead?” Johann inquired, his curiosity piqued.

“We must uncover the enigmatic motives that bring Viscount Evelentia and Aina to our fair city of Merdanion.”

And so, for the ensuing four days, they embarked on an audacious quest, employing every conceivable method to unearth the truth. Unfortunately, their discoveries were limited, revealing only the tantalizing tidbit that, upon Marlon and Aina’s arrival, they would be honored guests at a grand soiree hosted by none other than Lady Evion, Viscount Evion’s radiant wife.

***

Just as Marlon neared his arrival in Merdanion, an ominous message reached his ears.

“I would be delighted if Miss Catherine could attend the soirée,” said Viscount Rohan, handing out a formal invitation to the prestigious event hosted by Baroness Evion.

Fortunately, Merdanion was a realm where even the aristocracy mingled with prosperous merchants, indulging in the revelries of high society. The bustling city of Dranad was accustomed to welcoming unfamiliar faces at its lavish gatherings, never flinching in surprise.

“Fear not, Miss Catherine,” assured Lobelia. “The splendors of this place shall shield us, and the rendezvous of nobility and commerce will render your presence inconspicuous. You shall fare well.”

Lobelia had initially declined the invitation multiple times, yet Viscount Rohan’s unwavering persistence proved unyielding. It appeared he harbored intentions of introducing Lobelia to Marlon amidst the grandeur of the soirée.

Indecision plagued Lobelia’s thoughts. However, considering the risk of appearing peculiar if she declined further, she eventually succumbed and accepted the invitation. “Are you certain about this?” asked Joachim, his concern palpable.

“What troubles you?” replied Lobelia, her countenance serene.

“The possibility of encountering Count Evelentia,” Joachim confided, his worry etched upon his brow.

Ah, Lobelia mused, reminiscing about the countless instances when Joachim had fretted over her mistreatment in Evelentia’s clutches. Surely, his apprehension stemmed from the fear of her falling victim to further hardships should she cross paths with Marlon.

“Fret not,” she assured him. “I shall disguise myself and partake in the revelry. Save for the moment of introduction, I shall strive to evade the gaze of Count Evelentia.”

Lobelia’s firm words brought a smile to Joachim’s face.

“Your disguise is near impeccable; none shall recognize you,” he proclaimed, offering solace.

With utmost meticulousness, Lobelia meticulously perfected her transformation. She stood before the mirror, minutely adjusting each strand of her silver tresses, ensuring not a single one dared betray her ruse. A touch of translucent powder was deftly applied, preserving the delicate constellation of freckles on her porcelain complexion.

Draped in attire befitting her station, Lobelia eschewed the customary gown. Instead, she adorned herself in regalia more suited to her bourgeois status, complete with a hat, gloves, and an elegant cane.

“Perfection achieved. Let us rise,” Lobelia declared, her preparations finally complete.

With Joachim by her side, Lobelia emerged from the threshold of the hotel. A procession of carriages awaited, their interiors prepared to accommodate the esteemed guests of the soirée.

Joachim deftly secured a carriage for their journey, ready to kneel in customary fashion. However, Lobelia, with an air of solemnity, halted his motion.

“Not today,” she uttered, her voice laced with gravity. “Today, by all appearances, I am no lady. It will only attract unwanted attention.”

In truth, few spared them a glance as the bustling crowd busied themselves locating their own carriages. Yet Joachim pressed his lips together, a silent protest building within him.

Shaking her head, Lobelia dismissed his concerns. “Truly, it will be fine.”

“Very well,” Joachim conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. Lobelia cocked her head, gently taking his hand as they ascended into their carriage.

As Joachim closed the door and signaled to the coachman, the carriage set forth, propelling them toward the grand soirée.

Baroness Evion, possessing one of the few noble villas in Merdanion, held the distinction of being able to host such gatherings. Thus, despite her modest baroness status, she could summon an array of prominent socialites to her event. Whenever esteemed nobles ventured to Merdanion for business, Baroness Evion’s villa stood as the sole suitable venue for social engagements.

“You understand that the moment we step out of the carriage, you must feign ignorance of my presence,” Lobelia reminded him.

“Of course, although some may recognize my face,” Joachim replied, his features unaltered beneath the disguise. He had chosen to await her outside rather than venture into the grand hall.

The carriage came to a halt, and Lobelia, accompanied by Joachim, alighted before Baroness Evion’s resplendent villa. The baroness had poured her utmost care into its construction, resulting in a spectacle of opulence.

Lobelia bid farewell to Joachim and ventured into the villa alone. Weariness resonated in the guard’s voice as he timidly announced her arrival, “Miss Catherine Hayard…”

Most attendees paid the guard’s announcement no heed, a boon for Lobelia, who sought to avoid attracting undue attention. Positioning herself by the wall within the party, she sidestepped interactions with others. As a passing attendant offered her a glass of sparkling water, Lobelia realized that she had become an inconspicuous observer, akin to a flower adorning the wall.

“She is not adorned for dancing; she is a true wallflower indeed,” Lobelia mused, a wry smile gracing her lips.

Lobelia adjusted the intricate lace on her formal gown, her eyes scanning the lively atmosphere of the grand soirée. She sought out the familiar faces of Marlon and Aina, her heart pounding with anticipation.

“Why haven’t they arrived yet?” she wondered, a hint of impatience tugging at her thoughts. Though higher-ranking individuals typically made fashionable late entrances to noble gatherings, the herald’s boisterous announcements indicated that Marlon and Aina’s turn was still far off.

Having finished her sparkling beverage while awaiting their arrival, Lobelia moved gracefully, delicately placing her empty glass on a nearby table.

“Isn’t it tedious to attend a party and cling to the wall?” a voice suddenly addressed her.

Startled, Lobelia turned her head, finding herself face-to-face with a tall, charismatic man sporting navy blue hair. He positioned himself strategically, preventing her from evading his presence.

Lobelia frowned in displeasure, surrounded by the wall and this audacious stranger.

“And who might you be?”

“Patience, my lady. Allow me to introduce myself. The man spoke nonchalantly, unperturbed by Lobelia’s initial reaction. “I am Theodore, the heir to Count Regritina.”

He presented his lineage as if it excused his impertinence, his audacity evident in his every word and action.

“I arrived early to attend to some business matters, but had I known I would encounter a woman as captivating as yourself, I would have hastened my arrival,” Theodore declared, his gaze shamelessly lingering over Lobelia’s form from head to toe.

Examining her attire, he mistakenly assumed Lobelia to be a lower-ranking noblewoman. This presumption only heightened her annoyance, an emotion she had grown accustomed to whenever subjected to such offensive advances.

Yet, Theodore remained oblivious to Lobelia’s disdain, seemingly unaware of the possibility that his behavior might offend anyone.

“I would love to dance with you. May I ask which noble family you belong to?” Theodore continued, undeterred by Lobelia’s obvious lack of interest.

For a brief moment, Lobelia contemplated the most fitting approach to dismissing Theodore’s unwelcome advances. Officially, she posed as Katherine Hayard, a member of the middle class. Therefore…

“I believe there has been a misunderstanding. I am but a commoner,” she asserted, her tone steady.

“What?” Theodore’s features contorted in disbelief upon hearing Lobelia’s words.

“If you insist, my family name would be Hayard, but it is likely unfamiliar to you. It fell from grace several generations ago,” Lobelia clarified, her words laced with a hint of finality.

Theodore’s countenance twisted into a mask of fury as the realization hit him—he had set his sights on a commoner, a daughter hailing from a once-prosperous family that had fallen into ruin.

“Have you played me for a fool?” he seethed, his anger barely contained.

Lobelia, taken aback by the sudden turn of events, could only offer a bewildered

“Yes?”

How could Theodore accuse her of deceit when he had been the one to approach her, unleashing a barrage of impertinence? Her mind whirled, struggling to find coherence amidst the chaotic encounter.

During her time serving as Aina’s maid, Lobelia had not concealed her commoner status, yet that had not deterred Theodore’s advances. So, why was he reacting in such a manner now?

Just as she was contemplating her next course of action, a comforting presence gently rested a hand on Lobelia’s shoulder. A familiar voice, rich with familiarity, graced her ears. In a moment of astonishment, Lobelia turned to face the source.

Standing before her was Eylan, his pale blue locks and striking golden eyes an enigma of beauty. Without hesitation, he asserted, “I apologize, brother, but this woman is my partner.”

Lobelia’s heart skipped a beat, grateful for Eylan’s timely intervention. She found solace in his protective presence, a comforting shield against the turbulence of the encounter.