To The Traitor in My Bed - Chapter 57 - The Refined Tastes of a Bachelor

Chapter 29. The Refined Tastes of a Bachelor

Dorian Havisham, the Marquis of Aspen, had plenty of time.

Five years ago, upon the sudden death of his predecessor, the previous Marquis, Dorian had inherited the title, and at that time, he was indeed incredibly busy.

Like many old families, the Havisham family owned a vast amount of land and real estate, inherited from their ancestors, that required meticulous management. It took nearly three years just to get a handle on the exact locations and figure out the proper way to manage them.

As the new Marquis of Aspen, Dorian’s training under his father only lasted about a year, following the death of Daymond, the son who was originally meant to inherit the title. So when he became the Marquis, the burden placed on his shoulders was immense.

However, as he diligently carried out his duties to ensure the Havisham name did not bring shame, and after marrying off Deirdre, he began to find some time for himself.

Since Christian had murdered the previous Marquis—which Dorian firmly believed—Dorian had given up on any aspirations of entering politics or business to serve the royal family and elevate the family name.

In fact, he had abandoned the life goal that most noble men in Antwerp aspired to.

Having witnessed his family fall apart overnight, he also lost interest in marriage. Of course, as the Marquis, he had to one day produce an heir to continue the Havisham legacy. Now at thirty, he knew it was time to find a bride and settle down.

But what use was it to marry a beautiful lady from a wealthy family, raise children who would be adored by everyone, if it could all be destroyed by the whim of a mad tyrant? Dorian never wanted to experience the loss of something precious due to one word from a mad king again.

Deirdre, of course, had experienced the same thing. But as the son inheriting the family line and the daughter giving birth to the heir to another family, her position was entirely different.

For this reason, Dorian poured his remaining time into his hobbies.

Recently, he had developed an interest in Farslan culture. The mysterious country across the sea was entirely different from Antwerp in terms of climate and culture, with unfamiliar plants, animals, food, and materials used to make clothing.

Among the investments Havisham had made, long-distance trade was one, and though the variables were large and the profitability wasn’t particularly good, it was still a good thing to have five cargo ships under his name.

Three of those five ships spent nine months a year traveling diligently between Farslan and Antwerp, all for the pleasure of this young Marquis’s personal indulgence.

One day, friends who had become interested in the Marquis’s extravagant hobbies asked him to show them some of the exotic items from that mysterious country. This marked the beginning of Dorian’s foray into small-scale import trade, with the most popular item being horses from Farslan.

While he wasn’t the only merchant dealing in Farslan’s horses, Dorian, as Marquis Havisham, had the wealth to build grand ships designed to provide the horses with the perfect environment, even going so far as to station the best veterinarians and stablemen from Antwerp on board.

Dorian, dressed in a Farslan silk gown, would occasionally sip from a brass hookah made in Farslan as he read letters from eager customers begging him to sell them just one horse.

“Sir Mark Hartley… He was Fairchild’s secretary, right? He could’ve asked through Deirdre.”

He put down Hartley’s letter and unfolded the next one. As he checked the signature, a frown appeared on his face.

“Jonas Cottenham… What’s this idiot? He’s a royalist.”

Dorian had moved from Saintree to Whitmore nearly ten years ago because of Jonas Cottenham. He couldn’t stand the sight of Count Knox’s son acting as if he was someone important, especially when it came to his precious horses. There was no way he’d sell one to him.

Jonas Cottenham must have known full well why Marquis Havisham had left Saintree, and yet here was Jonas Cottenham asking him to sell a horse. He could only assume that Cottenham had either an incredibly thick face or was an utter fool.

Even worse, his brother was none other than the man Dorian loathed: Sir Lysander Cottenham.

“Did he not hear about what his brother did to Deirdre? What an idiot.”

He was about to throw Jonas Cottenham’s letter into the pile of ones that weren’t worth responding to, but the frustration overwhelmed him, and he crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. The crumpled paper hit the chest of the butler, who had just entered.

“…Lord Aspen.”

The butler cleared his throat politely. Dorian quickly lowered his hand.

“Ah… sorry. What’s the matter?”

“Lady Rochepolie has come to visit.”

“Deirdre?”

He brightened up at once.

When he went downstairs, Deirdre was wearing a bright blue dress and matching hat. She had cinched her slim waist with a silk ribbon, emphasizing her delicate figure, and looked every bit like a young lady just debuting in high society.

Dorian thought his sister’s beauty and taste were unmatched in the kingdom.

With a beaming face, he greeted her.

“Deirdre, if you walked out on the street like that, every man passing by would fall in love with you. When did you return? I thought you’d be in Rochepolie all winter.”

She smiled in response.

“Just came yesterday. It’s so nice to see you, brother.”