Chapter 23

Even Lizzie, who knew very well how Rickman had treated Agnes, grew anxious and tried to convince her not to go back to him.

And that was before Agnes had said a single word about her decision.

In truth, Agnes herself was surprised by what she had chosen.

It was, after all, the simplest possible way to achieve the thing she wanted most.

If she just signed that marriage registration, she could become Noah’s mother again.

But Dylan spoke as if it were the most obvious thing in the world that she would reject Rickman’s offer.

He set his teacup down and crossed his long legs. The pose, instead of looking lazy, was graceful like something painted into a masterpiece.

He nodded with quiet composure.

“You made the right decision. Returning to the Count’s estate would only lead to the same misery again. I knew you were not the type to make such a foolish choice.”

“I am surprised by my own decision, but it seems Your Grace thinks too highly of me.”

“Yes. I believe you are a wise woman. That is not a compliment I give often.”

His confidence would have sounded arrogant coming from anyone else, yet Agnes found herself smiling faintly.

If Dylan had such faith in her, she could find the courage to act.

She gathered her resolve, pressing her fingers against her skirt.

She had carefully composed her thoughts all the way back in the carriage, yet her lips still trembled now that she was about to speak. She didn’t want to disappoint him.

But wasn’t silence the very thing that would disappoint him most?

“Your Grace, please use this marriage registration form.”

If she were speaking to Rickman, he would have mocked her immediately, saying women shouldn’t speak of such things, calling her foolish.

But Dylan stayed silent, patiently waiting to hear whatever she wanted to say.

Agnes swallowed dryly and continued in a steady voice.

“I have heard that in noble trials, public opinion matters more than anything. Whatever they may think in private, nobles value marriage as sacred and believe a true gentleman must be faithful to his wife. This document will prove just how little Count Overhen respects that ideal.”

Banishing a disobedient wife was only a small scandal among nobles.

But trying to take her back with nothing more than a piece of paper was proof of how impulsive and disrespectful he truly was.

“If this becomes known, Count Overhen’s reputation will crumble. It might not be enough to win full custody, but it will be the perfect start to shaping public opinion in our favor. However…”

Dylan tapped the envelope lightly with his fingertip.

“How likely is it that he has already foreseen this? If he has prepared a countermeasure, that would change everything.”

Agnes let out a quiet laugh.

“Rickman would never imagine such a thing. He might even be telling his servants to clean my old room right now.”

Dylan’s eyes narrowed.

He had never thought well of Rickman, but he had assumed the man possessed at least the intellect of an average noble, having inherited his title at a young age.

Agnes soon cleared his doubts.

“I have spent years learning how to appear obedient when humiliated. No one in the world could pretend better than me. He will never see this coming.”

This was a rebellion unlike any other.

A quiet revolt only someone who had endured a degrading marriage could create, and it was a weapon she could wield only once.

Dylan, through her words, could glimpse the weight of the life she had lived.

Instead of pitying her, he smiled, as if cheering for her defiance.

“Very well. We will proceed as you wish, my lady.”

* * *

During the social season, countless parties were held across the capital. The streets swarmed with servants carrying invitations from one noble house to another.

But not every party was treated the same. Some were modest affairs with only family and close friends. Others were grand, like miniature versions of the Imperial banquets themselves.

Among them, none rivaled the gatherings hosted by Marchioness Norris.

The Marchioness was a bold, spirited woman beloved by people of all ages.

Had she not been born into nobility, she might have built an empire with her own hands. She was clever, adaptable, and always in tune with the latest trends.

She had even been granted the honorary title of Mirceta by the late Emperor, a distinction reserved for his dearest friends.

Even after his death, that title made her one of the most sought-after hosts in the Empire.

Rickman, of course, was among those invited, and he gladly accepted.

As always, he intended to enjoy the evening by flaunting his appearance, wealth, and intellect before the other nobles.

He was not particularly interested in slipping behind curtains with strange women, but he took delight in the longing and admiration directed his way.

With a practiced smile, he greeted a familiar young lady nearby.

“It has been a while, Lady Hardin. The book you recommended last time…”

“Count Overhen. My daughter has had too much to drink. I worry she may behave improperly, so we’ll be leaving now.”

Before Rickman could finish his sentence, Viscountess Hardin whisked her daughter away into the crowd. The girl’s face was perfectly sober.

Rickman straightened his brows, suppressing a wave of irritation.

Her attitude annoyed him, but surely the fault did not lie with him.

The woman was probably just hiding some family problem.

There were plenty of ladies still gazing at him with admiration. Now that word of his divorce had spread, even more families would be eager to approach him.

He lifted his shoulders confidently and took a cocktail glass from a passing servant.

His next target was Baron Weger.

Though low in rank, the Baron had risen through sheer business acumen, rebuilding his once-impoverished family through his own success. Rickman admired that.

They were both capable men, equals in ambition and refinement.

The Baron had visited the Overhen estate several times in the past, their families spending time together.

They had grown distant recently, though not because of Rickman but because of Agnes.

Rickman had no intention of letting the world see his son’s muteness, but Agnes kept arranging playdates with the Baron’s son, claiming that Noah needed companions his own age to open up.

Pathetic excuses, in his mind.

He had reluctantly distanced himself from Baron Weger since then, but now the situation had changed.

“Baron Weger.”

Rickman approached with an easy smile.

The Baron flinched, then let out a hearty laugh.

“Count Overhen, what a surprise. I heard your recent investments are thriving. You should have let me in on it. I am almost offended you did not.”

Rickman smiled thinly.

That was better. Whatever had happened with Lady Hardin clearly had nothing to do with him.

The envy shining in the Baron’s eyes was the reaction he wanted.

“I have simply been very busy lately. Next time, I’ll be sure to include you.”

“Always so generous. Ha ha. So, what brings you to tonight’s party? Looking for a new Countess, perhaps? I could introduce you to a few ladies…”

“That will not be necessary.”

Rickman cut him off firmly.

“I have no need for a new Countess.”

“Really? But I remember you saying your child needs a proper mother figure.”

“There was a misunderstanding with Agnes. We will be reconciling soon.”

The Baron’s face went pale.

“Ah… but I heard that…”

“You mean the rumor about her marrying the Duke of Vasteron? That is not her wish.”

“I… I see.”

Rickman spoke with such confidence that the Baron seemed utterly confused.

“Then things must be… complicated for you right now. It’s just that…”

The Baron opened his mouth to say more, but his eyes darted past Rickman’s shoulder and he froze.

“Baron?”

“Haha, how embarrassing. Suddenly I’m not feeling well. Please excuse me for a moment…”