Chapter 37

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 37

Chapter Title: The Disappearance of Lady Hardy

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“Give her back to me, Viscount Hardy.”

Baroness Baden skipped the formal social greetings and cut straight to the chase. She knew full well it wasn't composed or ladylike, but she resolved not to care. Life had its exceptional moments, and having Walter Hardy right there in front of her was precisely one of them.

“What are you talking about, Baroness?”

Walter Hardy, who had been staring at her with the dazed face of a drunken fool, let out a scoffing laugh as he shot back. His disheveled attire, hair greasy with oil, and sallow complexion—somehow, in the time since she'd last seen him, he'd aged busily into what looked like her own peer.

“Exactly what I said. It means I'm taking Erna back with me.”

“Hah...”

“I don't want that sweet girl spending even one more day by the side of a father like you, who's ruined her reputation like this.”

“Listen here, Baroness. If you knew whose grace it is that lets you still cling to that house, you wouldn't be spouting such nonsense.”

“That house you claim to have saved for my sake? I don't need it.”

Baroness Baden straightened her neck proudly and laid down her ultimatum.

It had been a decision made amid tears the day she learned how Erna was being treated in the city. The two servants felt the same. The countryside estate was the cherished foundation of their entire lives, but nothing in this world could be dearer than Erna.

“Do whatever you want with the house—keep it, sell it, I don't care. Just hand Erna over right now.”

With each word delivered firmly and deliberately, Baroness Baden wrapped up the speech she'd rehearsed countless times on the long journey to Schwerin. The order, the tone, the expression, the posture—every element was flawlessly executed. Now all that remained was for this man to release Erna, her granddaughter whose name alone brought tears of longing.

“You don't mean... you really came here looking for Erna, Baroness? This isn't some jest—you're serious?”

Walter Hardy's suspicious gaze turned gravely serious as he eyed her. The viscountess seated beside him looked the same.

“So, Erna didn't return to Burford. That's what you're saying?”

“What are you talking about? Erna returning to Burford?”

Baroness Baden's voice trembled faintly as she asked in confusion.

Walter Hardy felt the alcohol clear from his head in a flash, letting out an incredulous scoff. It seemed the old woman truly had no idea where Erna was. She wasn't the type to smuggle the girl away and put on such a flawless act.

Which meant this insolent girl had actually run away!

He turned wide eyes to his wife beside him. Brenda Hardy stared back with equal bewilderment.

They'd learned of Erna's disappearance that morning after the storm had passed. It started with the wail from Erna's maid as she brought breakfast to her room.

Erna Hardy was gone.

Walter Hardy, who had been drinking until dawn, heard the news in a drunken stupor. It was absurd, but he didn't pay it much mind. The only place that girl could go was that backwater village anyway.

He planned to drag her back soon enough, straighten out her behavior properly, then marry her off to some low noble—or if that didn't work, sell her to some titleless upstart. But he never imagined Baroness Baden would show up at this house, of all places, demanding Erna back.

Erna Hardy was gone.

Now he had to take it seriously. Suddenly, his throat burned, and his head began to throb. Watching him quietly, Baroness Baden gasped as if to the heavens, her voice breaking into a sob as she shot to her feet.

“Are you saying Erna has disappeared, and you—a father—have no idea where your own daughter is, just sitting here guzzling liquor, Walter Hardy?”

Her sharp rebuke echoed through the Hardy family drawing room. The servants, who had been glancing sideways at the old countrywoman decked out in her outdated dress, gaudy brooch, and corsage, froze in an instant at the sheer force of her fury.

“To think I ever considered sending Erna to a wretch like you as her father! I was a fool. Utterly foolish!”

Pouring out curses at Walter Hardy with fiery rage, Baroness Baden somehow steadied her trembling legs and stormed out of the drawing room.

“Ma'am! What about the young lady? Where is Miss Erna?”

Mrs. Greve, who had been pacing the hallway anxiously, rushed up with a tear-streaked face. Baroness Baden, barely catching her breath, gripped the woman's hand tightly with her sweat-slicked palm.

“The constable... I need to see the constable first.”

“Pardon? The constable, ma'am?”

“She's gone. Disappeared.”

Baroness Baden's blue eyes welled up with tears as she looked at Mrs. Greve.

“Our Erna... she's missing!”

Unlike the languid south, where the atmosphere of a resort town hung thick in the air, the north was far more bustling and dynamic. Schwerin, with its port serving as a hub for trade ships crossing the great ocean and its vast commercial district, could rightly be called the most prosperous financial city not just in Lechen, but across the entire continent.

Biern flung open the window facing the harbor and stepped out onto the balcony. Beyond the towering masts of galleons piercing the sky stretched a cloudless blue expanse— a quintessential Schwerin summer day, with no trace of the recent storm anywhere in sight.

Glancing at the still-closed bedroom door, Biern let out a soft chuckle and turned his gaze to the view beyond the railing. The townhouse, nestled in a residential area adjacent to the financial district, offered excellent prospects and location.

This house had originally belonged to a bankrupt businessman and came up for distress sale last spring. Its owner, swindled by an investment fraudster who swept through the city, had put it on the market below market value to raise quick cash.

Biern bought the townhouse without hesitation. It was close to the bank, perfect for staying nearby on business trips, and if it didn't prove useful, he could always resell it at a profit. No reason to waver—and now, it had turned out to be an excellent decision in every way.

“Your Highness.”

Biern, enjoying the cool, refreshing sea breeze, turned at the voice from behind. Mrs. Fitz stood there with her usual stern expression and unyielding gaze fixed on him.

“The patient is ready to receive visitors now. Shall we go?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Biern offered a smile and his thanks, acknowledging her efforts.

On the night he brought Erna to this townhouse, he had sent the coachman to fetch the grand duke's physician and Mrs. Fitz. It was a decision based on trusting his own people above all. And they had proven worthy of that trust. Though there had been a minor friction with Mrs. Fitz, of course.

Good heavens.

Upon hearing the brief explanation of why the lady of House Hardy was lying here in such a state, Mrs. Fitz had gone pale and could only murmur those words over and over. She seemed unable to accept that a gentleman had turned a wager over money into such a spectacle with a lady involved.

Good heavens, Your Highness!

She had scolded him just like the nanny who used to chide the troublesome young crown prince in his childhood. It suddenly felt fortunate that he was now old enough to avoid punishments like copying prayers. At that moment, Mrs. Fitz had looked like she could have assigned him a hundred recitations. Thanks to it, though, she was now tending to Erna Hardy with even greater care—a net positive in the end.

Leaving the balcony, Biern lightly knocked on the door to the bedroom connected to the small drawing room.

“...Yes!”

The sounds of bustling activity stopped, followed by a tiny response.

“Come in, Your Highness.”

It was a voice clear and soft as a bell.

Erna had been staring down at her own hands for minutes now, knuckles white from gripping them so tightly. After exchanging thanks and a few ritual pleasantries, she could think of nothing more to say.

“Have some tea, Lady Hardy.”

Just as the ticking clock and her irregular heartbeat became unbearable, Biern mercifully broke the silence first.

Erna gasped reflexively and lifted her trembling eyes to him. Biern sat with one leg crossed over the other, holding his teacup. The ordinary cup looked like a child's plaything because of his large hands. Recalling how those hands had firmly cradled her face three nights ago amid the pouring rain, Erna flushed slightly and dropped her gaze.

It was an elderly woman who had introduced herself as Mrs. Fitz who told the feverish Erna—conscious after a full day of delirium—where she was. It still felt like a dream, devoid of reality.

I have no authority to decide, miss.

Every time Erna hinted at leaving, the woman repeated the same response.

Speak with His Highness.

No matter what she said, the conclusion was always the same.

Unable to ask permission outright or even slip away in secret—given she could barely sit up— all Erna could do was wait for the prince who held the authority. And today, he had finally come.

“Thanks to Your Highness, I'm feeling much better now. Thank you.”

Setting down the teacup she'd been fidgeting with, Erna ventured cautiously.

Biern regarded her with eyes holding a detached curiosity. Her face still bore traces of illness and injury, but at least her gaze sparkled as brightly as before—far better than that night.

His eyes traveled down her flushed cheeks and lips, slender nape, pausing at the ribbon on her dress neckline. The memory it evoked from that rainy night brought a smile to Biern's lips.

He had stripped off her hat and cloak, but Erna was still soaked through. He couldn't just let her lie down like that, so he propped her against the sofa first. That's when Erna's eyes flew open wide amid her groans.

Your wet clothes need changing. You'll catch your death like this, Lady Hardy.

At Biern's slow, firm words, Erna startled and clutched the front of her dress.

I—I'll do it. I'll handle it. Let me.

Stubborn even in that state, Erna insisted.

Figuring she'd make a huge fuss at the slightest touch as if molested, Biern decided to back off. He brought a towel for drying and a trunk of clothes to the sofa's side—that was the extent of his help.

Biern leaned against the closed bedroom door, listening for her movements. Sounds of a fall, a small groan, and slow rummaging through luggage filtered through the irritating patter of rain.

Five minutes.

Biern checked his pocket watch after setting his own line in the sand. If she clung to such pointless stubbornness by then, he'd risk being called a molester. And he did. But when he opened the bedroom door exactly five minutes later, what he saw was utterly unlike his expectations.

Erna lay collapsed on the sofa in her nightgown. Astonishingly, every button was fastened, and the neckline ribbon perfectly tied. The neatness of that knot was such that he marveled anew at how even a mere ribbon could embody human resolve and conviction.

Chuckling, Biern scooped her up and laid her in bed. And until the physician arrived at dawn, he kept watch by the side of the foolish, proper lady.

“Um... Your Highness?”

Erna hesitated before speaking again. Biern nodded to show he was listening.

“I'm truly grateful—and so sorry—for receiving such great help from you again and again.”

Her rote, repeated courtesies were tedious.

“I can't impose any longer, so I'll take my leave now.”

Her predictable show of humility was equally so.

“I don't want Your Highness caught in another awful scandal because of me, and I need to find my friend too...”

“Friend?”

Biern cut her off with a slight furrow of his brow.

“Ah. Pavel.”

At the name he whispered, Erna's eyes widened. Meeting her confused gaze head-on, Biern offered a smile that was almost gentle.

“Right? Pavel Roer. The promising artist from the academy who tried to elope with you, Lady Hardy.”