To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 13 - Marquis Havisham’s Dinner Party

Chapter 7. Marquis Havisham’s Dinner Party

The club was a social venue for Swinton’s noblemen, and once they joined a club, they rarely changed it. The thresholds to enter such a club were high, defined by family, wealth, connections, and the qualities of the members themselves. Joining a club usually became the foundation for one’s social life moving forward.

However, there was a reason Marquis Havisham had changed clubs.

“The water in Saintree has gotten a bit murky lately.”

Jonas, the second son of Count Cottenham, had recently settled in Swinton, as he was about to be engaged to the Campbell family’s daughter. Coincidentally, he had chosen ‘Saintree,’ the same club Dorian frequented, as his platform to enter Swinton society.

Dorian, who loathed royalists, had no qualms about leaving Saintree. It wasn’t difficult for someone like Havisham to be welcomed anywhere.

The Count asked,

“Shall I introduce you to the place I go?”

“No need.”

Dorian replied with a smile.

Dorian hadn’t been born to inherit the title of Marquis. Originally, his older brother, Daymond, would have become Marquis of Aspen, and Dorian would have inherited a few of the family businesses, eventually marrying a suitable young lady from a respectable family.

However, when Dorian was twenty-four, his older brother died, and at twenty-five, his father passed away. He unexpectedly inherited a title he had never thought would be his.

For someone as accomplished as Dorian, managing an entire region and being responsible for the family was no easy task. Especially considering that the Havisham family had once fallen out of favor with the king, Dorian had to be cautious not to get ‘marked’ again.

This constant need for caution made Dorian a sharp observer. His naturally cynical personality made him difficult to get close to.

Because of this, people often said that the two men closest to Countess Fairchild were like oil and water.

‘Foolish man.’

This was Dorian’s assessment of his brother-in-law, who was unnecessarily handsome and dressed flamboyantly, making him shine as a dazzling figure. Dorian couldn’t help but glare at him.

He reflected on the short letter from his sister:

[I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the dinner. I had to return to Rochepolie suddenly. I’ll contact you once I arrive.]

Though it was a short note, Dorian instinctively felt something was wrong. His sister never missed a dinner, especially one where she played the role of hostess for her unmarried older brother.

<Dorian, you should get married too. People keep asking me to introduce them to Marquis Havisham. Do you know how hard it is to avoid women with daughters?>

<I’m trying, but there’s no suitable woman to be Lady Aspen.>

In Dorian’s eyes, Deirdre wasn’t just the best lady of Swinton. She was someone deserving of being crowned queen.

Such a perfect girl married someone like Fairchild, who only looks impressive on the outside. And it was all arranged by the king himself.

Christian’s intentions were obvious.

‘He wants to pressure Havisham this way.’

Although Christian was a dictator, his sense of balance was exceptional.

He knew that if the Havisham daughter married a centrist or a member of the parliament faction, it would cause trouble later. So, he preemptively arranged for her to marry Fairchild. If the Count remained single, the name of Princess Sabrina, who was locked away in Strasbourg by the king, would continue to haunt the kingdom, and Christian wanted to eliminate that possibility as well.

If it hadn’t been for Christian’s command, Deirdre could have chosen any man she liked.

‘Poor Deirdre.’

Dorian couldn’t feel good about his sister’s situation, even though her marriage appeared perfect to others. The youngest sibling, who had been doted on by their father and two older brothers and raised like a princess, truly deserved to marry someone better.

…The guy is the second richest man in the kingdom, after Leonhart.

…His face is tolerable enough.

…He seems to lavish money on Deirdre and lets her do whatever she wants.

But still, he’s too foolish. He had heard he’s so cowardly, he doesn’t have a single weapon he knows how to handle.

Thinking about ‘weapons,’ Dorian shifted the topic.

“Lord Rochepolie, did my beautiful sister like the gift I sent her?”

“Ah, Fars, you mean?”

Count Fairchild explained to the curious guests, “A horse bought from Farslan,” before turning back to Dorian.

“That horse was unusable. It was so wild that it almost threw Deirdre off.”

It was Dorian who had taught Deirdre how to ride. When she was little, she was a tomboy and always wanted to do what her brothers did. As a result, she became quite good at riding and even shooting.

Dorian laughed.

“Isn’t that a bit of an exaggeration, Count? Deirdre has never fallen off a horse.”

The Count’s silver-gray eyes glinted.

“Maybe. But if that horse tries again, I’ll learn how to shoot and aim between its eyes.”

* * *

The Whitmore Club, while known for its taste in cigars, was one of the three oldest clubs in Swinton. It was relatively young compared to the other two, and one of its distinguishing features was that its political stance was the most moderate.

Being moderate meant being open to other opinions. For example, recently, the club decided not to expel Count Darnell, the father of Viscount Ian Darnell, who had been rescued by the ‘White Rose Brigade.’

They deemed it unfair to bar him from the club just because his son was a political criminal while the title hadn’t been revoked.