My Bratty Wife Novel Chapter 223 - Two Hundred And Twenty Three

Chapter 223: Chapter Two Hundred And Twenty Three

The late morning sun ward the cobblestones of the Chateau Valeré’s charming central courtyard. Servants moved quietly, loading the last of the luggage into the ducal carriage.

"Nine and ten," Irene announced, ticking off the final valise on her ntal checklist. Her voice, usually soft, carried a clear note of finality as she supervised the footn securing the luggage rack. She smoothed down her dress and walked over to where Suzy and Ryan stood near the carriage steps. Ryan was gently helping Suzy put on her soft leather gloves, his fingers lingering on hers for a mont longer than strictly necessary.

"We’re all done, Your Grace," Irene said with a slight curtsy to Suzy. "The last of the items have been loaded."

Suzy smiled warmly at her handmaiden. "Thank you, Irene. You’ve been wonderfully efficient, as always." She turned to Ryan, her expression a mixture of gentle sadness and resolve. "Well, my dear, I believe we are set to leave this little haven."

Ryan offered her his gloved hand. "Then let us not delay, my love." Suzy placed her hand in his, and he assisted her into the spacious, well-sprung carriage. He followed, settling beside her as the footman closed the door with a solid click. With a nod from Ryan, the driver signaled the horses, and the carriage lurched forward, beginning its journey back to Carleton.

Inside, the carriage was comfortably appointed, the velvet squabs soft, the journey smoothed by excellent suspension. For a while, they rode in companionable silence, watching the sun-dappled vineyards of the Valeré estate give way to open countryside. Suzy leaned her head against Ryan’s shoulder, his arm instinctively going around her.

After so ti, she broke the silence. "Ryan," she began, her voice thoughtful, "when do you expect Evan’s body to arrive at Carleton?"

Ryan tightened his hold slightly. "I received a dispatch by courier just before we left the chateau this morning," he replied. "Chief Investigator Hemlock inford

that Evan’s remains will reach Carleton by tomorrow afternoon. We’ll arrange the burial for the day after tomorrow. A swift but dignified affair, given the circumstances."

Suzy nodded slowly. "The day after tomorrow," she repeated. "That ans the annual orphanage jubilee is scheduled for two days after Evan’s burial." She looked up at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes. The orphanage, one of the most cherished charitable endeavors, relied heavily on the auction for its funding. "Will that... will that be too much, so soon after?"

Ryan considered it. "It will be a somber week, no doubt," he conceded. "But the children at the orphanage shouldn’t suffer because of the misdeeds or misfortunes of n like Evan. We will proceed with the jubilee as planned. Perhaps a display of continued normalcy and charity is precisely what is needed." He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "It’s fine, Cassandra. We will manage. Besides, we have postponed it far too much."

She smiled, relieved by his decisiveness and support. "Thank you, Ryan."

The journey continued, the conversation drifting to lighter topics, though the shadow of Evan’s death and the ongoing investigation lingered unspoken between them. Upon their arrival at Carleton, the grand estate seed more imposing than the gentle charm of the chateau. The staff lined the entrance hall, their expressions respectful but subdued.

Irene imdiately fussed over Suzy, helping her alight and ensuring she was comfortable after the journey, guiding her towards the bedchamber. Ryan, anwhile, paused in the main hall, his gaze sweeping over the familiar surroundings. His ducal responsibilities were already settling back onto his shoulders.

He beckoned Davis who had overseen the household in his absence from Carleton. "Davis," Ryan said, his voice firm, "begin preparations for Lord Evan’s funeral. Send out formal invitations to all our relevant family connections and notable friends of his house, if he has any. A notice in the city gazette as well, for public record." He paused, then added, his tone carefully neutral, "And prepare a personal letter to my brother. Inform him of the arrangents and extend an invitation. It is... a family matter."

Davis simply nodded. "At once, Your Grace." He knew the complexities of the ducal family, the strained relationship between the Byron and Evan, and the undercurrents that often ran beneath the surface of noble obligations. He wonders if Byron will attend.

————————-

Byron was engaged in a conversation that was far removed from funerals and family duties. He sat opposite Lord Roger, a portly nobleman with a nervous disposition and landholdings that Byron found particularly... interesting.

"Lord Roger," Byron said, his voice smooth and persuasive, a charming smile playing on his lips, "the parcel of land bordering Blackwood Creek – it’s been lying fallow for years, has it not? An unproductive asset, I would imagine."

Roger fidgeted with the signet ring on his fleshy finger. "Well, yes, Lord Byron, it has. My late father had plans for it, a vineyard, perhaps, but... tis have been difficult." He dabbed his brow with a lace handkerchief. "The soil requires considerable investnt to be truly productive again."

Byron leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Indeed. And investnt requires capital, which, as we both know, can be scarce." He let that hang in the air for a mont. "I, however, find myself in a position to make such an investnt. That particular stretch of land, you see, holds a certain... sentintal value. Moreover, its strategic position along the creek would allow

to expand my own agricultural interests eastward." He paused, his gaze sharpening slightly. "I am prepared to offer you a generous sum, Lord Roger. Fifteen thousand gold coins. More than fair, I believe, for land that currently yields you nothing but taxes."

Roger’s eyes widened. Fifteen thousand was indeed a substantial amount, far more than he had hoped to get if he ever found a buyer. He had inherited debts along with his title. "Fifteen thousand..." he stamred. "That is... exceptionally generous, Lord Byron."

"I believe in fair dealings, especially when sentint is involved," Byron said, though the sentint he felt was more for the potential power the land will offer for his plan than for any connection. He knew the creek could be used as a cover for black market dealings, and controlling more of its frontage was a strategic advantage. "Do we have an agreent?"

Before Roger could formally accept, though his eagerness was palpable, a distinct series of four sharp raps sounded at the drawing-room door. Byron’s smile tightened infinitesimally. That was Elias’s specific signal – urgent and requiring his personal attention.

The door opened, and Elias stepped in, his expression, as always, unreadable. He stood silently by the door, a silent sentinel, waiting.

Byron turned back to Roger, his charming deanor firmly back in place. "It seems my aide has an urgent matter. Lord Roger , shall we conclude this? Your acceptance of fifteen thousand gold coins for the Blackwood Creek parcel?"

"Yes! Yes, of course, Lord Byron! Accepted, most gratefully!" Roger exclaid, relief washing over his face.

"Excellent." Byron rose, extending his hand. "My man of business will draw up the papers this afternoon. A pleasure, Lord Roger."

The two n shook hands. "The pleasure was all mine, believe , Lord Byron," Roger gushed, already ntally spending the gold.

Elias stepped forward. "Allow

to show you out, Lord Roger." He escorted the beaming nobleman from the room.

When Elias returned a mont later, closing the door softly behind him, Byron was standing by the window, his back to the room. The charm had vanished, replaced by a cold displeasure.

"You know better than to interrupt

during a business negotiation, Elias,"

Byron said, his voice a an, low thrum of annoyance, "unless the matter is of the utmost importance."

Elias inclined his head slightly. "My apologies, My Lord. An important letter arrived by ducal courier, accompanied by a formal invitation." He paused, then added the crucial piece of information he knew would alter his master’s mood. "And I have confird that the Duchess Cassandra returned to Carleton Hall with His Grace this afternoon."

Byron, who had been frowning at the intrusion, slowly turned. The ntion of Cassandra’s return to Carleton, to a place more accessible, a place where social obligations would soon converge, caused his frown to lt away, replaced by a slow, widening smile that was both predatory and pleased. "Indeed?" he murmured. "Well, that does change things." His eyes glead. "The letter, Elias. Read it."

Elias produced a sealed parchnt, broke the ducal seal, and began to read in his clear, dispassionate voice:

"Dear Brother,

It is with a heavy heart, though perhaps not a surprised one, that I inform you of the death of Lord Evan. He passed from this world yesterday. I know there was little affection between you, and indeed, much animosity. However, as a scion of the Blackwood family through our father, and as a noble of this country , it falls to us to observe the proper customs. We must be present to pay our last respects, however perfunctory they may feel.

The formal invitation to his burial service is contained within the envelope wrapping this letter. The service will be held at Carleton Hall, the day after tomorrow.

I hope you will find it within yourself to attend.

Ryan, Duke of Carleton."

As Elias finished reading, Byron’s smile was fixed, his mind clearly racing, fitting pieces together. Ryan’s appeal to the "Blackwood family" was a predictable, yet effective, gambit. And Cassandra would be there. At Carleton.

"Excellent," Byron said softly, a chilling satisfaction in his tone. He turned fully, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Elias, get my formal mourning outfits ready. And ensure everything is prepared for the day after tomorrow. It seems I have a funeral to attend."