The Evil Ladies Form An Alliance

CHAPTER 22: A Doting Father

A man of immense stature and unwavering composure, Duke Matheus Hawthorne carried himself like a fortress. His presence was that of an unyielding wall—strong, stoic, and unshakable. His turquoise-blue eyes, sharp as a falcon’s, scanned his surroundings with an almost predatory awareness, and his silence carried the weight of authority. To those around him, he was the epitome of noble strength: untouchable and dignified, a man who seemed impervious to sentiment.

But beneath that imposing exterior lay a heart that softened at the thought of his daughter. She was the singular thread of warmth woven into the fabric of his otherwise steely resolve.

For a moment, the Duke stood frozen, his turquoise-blue eyes glinting with unspoken emotion. His lips parted, but no words came. His formidable stature seemed to shrink, not from weakness but from the weight of affection he could no longer contain.

“Valerie…” he whispered, his voice trembling ever so slightly, betraying the depth of his longing. He moved toward her, his usual deliberate grace replaced with a barely restrained urgency.

When he finally stood before her, the distance between them gone, the icy veneer of the Duke melted away entirely. He reached out, his large hands trembling as they cupped her face, as though he needed to reassure himself that she was truly there. His turquoise eyes softened, shimmering like the ocean at dawn, and a rare, tender smile curved his lips.

“My dear daughter,” the Duke said, his deep voice laced with emotion, the stern authority it often carried replaced by a rare tenderness. “You’ve grown even more beautiful since the last time I saw you.”

Valerie’s lips curved into a playful smile, her emerald-green eyes sparkling with mischief. “Of course, Father,” she said, her voice lilting with pride. She cast a quick, knowing wink at the bewildered butler, Alex Owell, who stood frozen nearby, silently witnessing the unexpected reunion.

"Everyone here takes excellent care of me," she added with a hint of theatrics, her tone light but laced with unspoken layers. Then, with a graceful step forward, she reached out and wrapped both hands around her father’s long arm, leaning on him like a child reunited with a beloved guardian. “Ah, Father,” she continued, her voice softening, “come with me to the garden. I want to show you the Marquess’s recent gift. Even with all the responsibilities on his shoulders, he never forgets to spoil his fiancée.” Her words were pointed yet carried an air of nonchalance, as though testing the waters for her father’s reaction.

Duke Hawthorne’s expression flickered ever so slightly—a faint shadow crossing his turquoise-blue eyes—but he allowed her to lead him, his usually unyielding posture softening in her presence.

Behind them, Alex Owell remained rooted to the spot, still processing the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded. Moments ago, a maid had rushed into his office, breathless, to announce the Duke’s sudden arrival. And now, standing there, Alex felt as though the very foundation of his understanding of the Lady and her father had shifted.

The other maids exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to make of the Duke’s unexpected visit and Valerie’s casual demeanor. Yet Emma, always calm under pressure, stood among them with a bright, knowing smile lighting up her face.

“Don’t worry,” Emma said confidently, her voice steady as she reassured the nervous gathering. “The Lady has a plan.”

Alex turned to her, his usually composed face betraying a flicker of doubt. His amber eyes, sharp and assessing, narrowed slightly as he addressed the maid. “What exactly is going on, Emma?”

Emma clasped her hands together and responded, “There’s no need to worry, Mr. Owell. The Lady sent a messenger bird to the Duke yesterday.”

The maids, who had been whispering among themselves, froze. One of them stammered, her voice tinged with panic, “I-Is it about the Lady and the Madam? Didn’t the Lady promise not to involve the Duke in that matter?”

“No!” Emma interjected firmly, shaking her head. “The Lady wouldn’t go back on her word. She contacted the Duke to ask for his assistance with the estate’s supply issues. Nothing more.”

Despite her explanation, Alex’s brows furrowed deeper, his amber eyes gleaming with skepticism. His voice dropped, cold and steady. “The Lady?”

“Yes,” Emma affirmed, though a slight tremor crept into her voice. “The Duke cares for the Lady deeply.”

Alex’s gaze hardened further, his tone edged with an icy sharpness. “If the Duke cares for his daughter so much,” he began slowly, “then why did he allow her to be betrothed to the Marquess? Surely, a man who loves his daughter wouldn’t consign her to a life of convenience over care.”

“You’re wrong!” Emma blurted, her voice rising in defense. “It’s because… because the Second Prince…” Her words faltered as she realized she had said too much. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she stumbled back a step, her face blanching with regret.

Alex’s piercing gaze bore into her. “The Second Prince?”

Emma’s voice wavered as she struggled to recover. “I-I mean, it’s just that… the Duke wished to protect the Lady. That’s why he agreed to the engagement, to ensure she wouldn’t be entangled in the royal family's problems…” She trailed off, visibly distressed.

Alex straightened, his expression unreadable as he regarded the flustered maid. “It’s fine,” he said at last, his tone calm yet distant.

He turned his gaze toward the retreating figures of Valerie and the Duke.

“Let’s just hope,” he murmured, almost to himself, “that whatever the Lady is planning… is truly for the benefit of House Henstone.”

The next morning, the tranquility of the Henstone manor was disrupted by the thunderous arrival of a grand carriage. Its glossy, ebony frame bore the crest of the Synaze Merchant Group—two golden hawks intertwined around a shield. The sight alone left the staff frozen in awe, their whispers carrying an undercurrent of disbelief.

The courtyard buzzed with activity as a team of workers began unloading crate after crate from the carriage. Each was marked with the unmistakable sigil of the Ducal house of Hawthorne. The sheer volume of goods was overwhelming, and Alex Owell, the ever-composed butler, found himself uncharacteristically flustered.

“Wh-what is going on?” Alex stammered, his sharp amber eyes darting from the crates to the men unloading them with military precision. His normally stoic demeanor cracked under the weight of confusion.

As the maids gathered in clusters at a respectful distance, their murmurs filled the air. Emma, however, stood apart, her arms crossed and a triumphant smirk lighting up her face. She watched the unfolding scene like a proud orchestrator admiring her masterpiece.

A messenger dressed in formal attire approached Alex, bowing slightly. “Sir,” the man began, his voice calm and authoritative.

Alex straightened, his brows knitting in suspicion. “Will you please enlighten me?” he asked, his tone sharp despite his bewilderment. “I am Alex Owell, the butler of this manor, and I currently manage all its affairs.”

The man nodded respectfully. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Owell. I am Hans Morton, from the Synaze Merchant Group.”

Alex’s eyes widened in shock, and an audible gasp rippled through the onlookers. The Synaze Merchant Group was a renowned supplier to the imperial palace itself, a merchant house directly tied to the powerful Duke of Hawthorne. Alex, a man rarely caught off guard, stood momentarily speechless.

As he struggled to form a response, the soft rustling of skirts announced a new arrival. Valerie stepped into view, her delicate blue eyes gleaming with quiet authority. Emma trailed behind her, beaming with pride, casting Alex a knowing look that seemed to say, "I told you so."

“Mr. Morton,” Valerie greeted the merchant with poise.

The man immediately bowed deeply, his respect evident. “My Lady,” he said, his voice steady. “I am here under the orders of the Duke.”

“Thank you,” Valerie replied, her voice calm but resolute.

Hans continued, his tone carrying the weight of importance. “Additionally, I am instructed to inform you that Viscount Seddy is under investigation. We will update you on the progress as soon as possible.”

Valerie’s eyes narrowed, her expression hardening. “Thank you, Mr. Morton. Please convey this message to your master. . .show no mercy to the Viscount. Whoever dares insult my man will never hold their head high in society again.”

Hans inclined his head with a solemn smile. “Of course, My Lady.”

Turning her attention to Alex, Valerie’s demeanor softened slightly. “Butler,” she addressed him, her voice carrying its usual command, “I will be going out today. Please oversee everything here in my absence.”

Alex, who normally wore a mask of professional detachment around the Lady, felt his stern expression soften. A faint smile graced his lips as he inclined his head. “I will, My Lady,” he replied, his voice quieter but filled with a rare warmth.