Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Countess Chester, who had stayed up all night enjoying the party and awoke late in the morning, felt a surge of displeasure upon hearing that a guest had been waiting for her since early morning.

Judging from what the butler had told her about last night’s events, she had no reason to look kindly on the young man shamelessly sitting in her parlor.

“Mr. Dautryche.”

Countess Chester glared at James, who was sitting perfectly upright on the parlor sofa, her gaze making it very clear that she didn’t care for him one bit.

Perhaps he had quite the enjoyable night—his finely chiseled face was so polished he almost seemed to glisten, to the point it was no longer just annoying but downright offensive to look at.

Still, she was a Countess in name and rank; she masked her displeasure behind a stern expression. However, the irritation in her voice was unmistakable.

“I’m afraid Miss Blavatsky does not have a private contact number. All correspondence is conducted through the Huckerd & Blavatsky Psychic Institute, or directly in person.”

“Is that so.”

“I hadn’t thought Mr. Dautryche was that sort of man. Tsk. Did you really lay a hand on her?”

“For the sake of Miss Blavatsky’s honor, I cannot answer that.”

James replied curtly. Though he had said he couldn’t comment on what happened, the moment he invoked her honor, he had already as good as admitted it. That fact deeply displeased Countess Chester.

Miss Blavatsky had abruptly left at dawn. And the butler had confirmed that James had exited her room early that morning. It didn’t take much to guess what had transpired between them.

“Let me give you a bit of a warning, Mr. Dautryche. As you know, she is the necromancer I cherish most. If you ever make demands of her that are unrelated to necromancy… well.”

She paused, taking in a deep breath.

“I may have to reconsider my dealings with Dautryche Company. Including the railway land negotiations.”

“…You must care for her deeply, Madam.”

“I do. And more than that, I don’t want rumors spreading that a gentleman behaved indecently toward a lady at my party.”

Her mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

“To think you would approach Miss Blavatsky while Mr. Huckerd is away… And to talk about contacting her? She is not some street girl or courtesan, Mr. Dautryche.”

“Madam. I understand your concern.”

James, his face expressionless, cut in firmly.

“But I’m not seeking to contact her for the reasons you’re thinking.”

He didn’t look away from the Countess’s suspicious glare, speaking with quiet resolve.

“I merely intend to take proper responsibility—as any gentleman should.”

Back at his residence, James immediately instructed his secretary, Philip, to get in touch with Miss Blavatsky of the Huckerd & Blavatsky Psychic Institute. But the only response was that the office phone line had been disconnected and they would need to visit in person.

A successful business disconnecting its phone line?

An unpleasant premonition passed through James.

“We don’t have much time. Call in Attorney Kings immediately. I need to prepare some documents and speak to him right away.”

“Which documents, sir? If you let me know, I’ll prepare them.”

“Hmm… We’ll need a Non-Protection Agreement for an Illegitimate Child.”

“…Pardon?”

Philip stared at him in disbelief. A Non-Protection Agreement for an Illegitimate Child?

That ancient document hadn’t been used since the previous family head, some twenty years ago.

“We’ll also need a marriage registration form.”

“Excuse me?”

First the illegitimate child agreement, and now a marriage form?

James had never so much as mentioned such documents before. He had no known romantic partner, nor were there any ladies he was currently courting.

Yes, he had a reputation for being rather liberal with women, but Philip knew better than anyone how careful his employer was in that regard. He could only gape in bewilderment.

Unaware or unconcerned with his secretary’s slack-jawed reaction, James stroked his chin and continued.

“Also bring a criminal complaint form for bodily harm.”

Philip was now completely lost. What connection could there possibly be between these documents and a psychic institute?

“You want the Non-Protection Agreement, the marriage registration form, and… a criminal complaint?”

“Yes. Use the Dautryche family’s standard format for the Non-Protection Agreement. As for the criminal complaint…”

James furrowed his brow, searching for the right phrasing.

“Something like, ‘Filed for bodily injury, as the suspect forcibly engraved a tattoo onto the body of a person in a weakened mental state.’ That should do.”

“Excuse me???”

Philip’s eyes bulged to their limit.

His employer, James Dautryche—head of the Dautryche family and CEO of Dautryche Company—was claiming that someone had forcibly engraved a tattoo on him?

“S-Sir. Are you saying someone forcefully tattooed you?”

“Yes. That woman did.”

“…What?”

Who was “that woman”? And what did he mean he was the one violated?

“We don’t have time for idle chatter. Go quickly.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

Still unable to make sense of any of it, Philip rushed off to find Attorney Kings.

That damned box. That damned Arthur Granfield.

Rose muttered curses under her breath as she sorted through boxes in the dusty corner of the office.

If that bastard had just kept his pants on, she wouldn’t be rummaging through this pit alone.

He’s thrown away his chance to become the man standing beside the woman who’d saved the world.

Now Mr. Jack Dillan—real name unknown—had taken that honor instead. Serves you right, Arthur Granfield.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

“Cough—cough, cough!”

The dust layered over these boxes was enough to count as a decade’s worth. After sifting through it all, Rose finally retrieved a few work tools.

A worn magnifying glass, a large crystal ball, and an old deck of divination cards.

“Can’t believe I’m bringing these out again.”

Sighing, Rose carefully checked each item.

These were props she’d used back when she was scraping by impersonating a fortune teller, before she and Arthur had opened their business together.

Honestly, once she shut down the office, she’d be financially unstable.

She’d have to give up her reputation in Romberton and start over from the bottom.

“Still, I really don’t want to go back to being a street psychic…”

Working on the streets wasn’t easy. There was turf rivalry, gangs demanding protection money, and worst of all, she’d have to solicit customers herself. As a young woman alone, the creeps and perverts would be inevitable.

Sure, she could shamelessly keep using the name Olga Blavatsky.

But Rose didn’t want to do that.

She couldn’t separate the name Olga Blavatsky from the time she’d spent with Arthur Granfield.

He had worked under the alias Henry Huckerd as her partner, and the two had spent two years building their reputation as a team.

Now, if they split, society would no doubt gossip. Not to mention…

She had to admit something she truly hated: Henry Huckerd was as popular as Olga Blavatsky among the social crowd. He was a crowd-pleasing performer in his own right.

Running into him in the same field? Disgusting. Continuing to use the same name? It would look like she was still hung up on him.

Maybe I should just move to a new city…

But no other city had the demand for spiritual shows and psychic demonstrations that Romberton did. It was the capital and center of the social elite. Even selling socks would be more profitable in Romberton.

Should I use a facial alteration spell and create a new identity? No. Too much mana. I wouldn’t be able to use other spells at the same time.

Changing hair and eye color was one thing—it took very little mana. But altering facial features and maintaining the spell long-term would drain too much; it would affect her actual performances.

No, I need to change the playing field altogether.

She quickly reviewed the country’s geography in her head.

Aside from the more conservative regions, her options were the artisan city of Concost and the up-and-coming industrial city of Linden.

Linden might be a good bet… not many nobles, but plenty of gentry homes. It’s a good place to develop a new market.

Her heart was already leaning toward Linden. She imagined her new life beginning there.

Just as she was lost in her daydreams of starting over—

Knock, knock, knock.

“Miss Blavatsky. Are you in?”