The Villainous Marquis Is Obsessed With Me

Chapter 77: Encountering An Old Friend

Meanwhile, just beyond the perimeter of the crumbling safehouse, the scouts dispatched to track Mikhail crouched low beneath the dense cover of the briars. There were two of them, their dark cloaks blending seamlessly with the shadows of the forest. Having thoroughly vetted the perimeter and confirmed the nest of conspirators, they slipped back through the thicket to where the remainder of their detachment awaited.

The leader of the squad sat astride his gelding, his posture rigid and commanding as the scouts approached.

"We have located the hidden redoubt, sir," the first scout reported, lowering his hood. "Since we possess the advantage of surprise, should we not move to apprehend them immediately?"

The leader shook his head, his hand resting firmly upon the pommel of his saddle. "No. If it is a fortified hideout, we shall not breach it with ease, and any rash assault will merely blow our cover. I have a strategy in mind, but it will require a measure of patience. As long as we report every moment to the estate."

The two scouts who had conducted the reconnaissance sank down against the mossy trunk of a sprawling oak to catch their breath.

"I know for a certainty that we cannot afford to fail this mission," the first muttered, polishing a speck of dirt from his flintlock. "My good wife would have my head on a platter if I were to lose this post."

"I am thinking more of the coin," the second responded, staring up through the canopy. "With the bonus promised, I should finally be able to mend the leaking roofs at home. The summer rains have been utterly brutal this year. It is becoming frustrating."

"Enough of this idle chatter," the leader commanded, his sharp voice cutting through their complaints as his gaze remained fixed on the path ahead. "Keep your wits about you. We must stay alert."

The two scouts eventually rose to their feet, brushing the forest dampness from their wool trousers, ready to coordinate with their leader on their next course of action.

*****

At the barony, Penelope’s carriage had arrived well past the appointed hour, forcing her to move with haste. Bypassing the grand foyer, she went straight to the master chamber that Lady Genevieve had shared with her father.

The room felt cold, smelling faintly of stagnant lavender oil and neglected hearths. It did not take long for her diligent search to yield results; concealed beneath a false bottom in the mahogany wardrobe lay the very dossier she had been instructed to bring to the parish.

Before stepping away from the wardrobe, Penelope flipped open the leather binding to examine the contents. As she had suspected, this particular log held the exact registry she had been seeking: the official record detailing the birth of Mirabel and her supposed premature phase.

Her eyes narrowed as they traced the bottom of the parchment. This document also bore a formal wax seal, but something about the consistency of the wax and the strike of the crest felt distinctly off, perceptibly clumsy, as if hurried. Frowning, she closed the file. She would leave the technicalities of the forgery for Father Thomas to properly decipher at the parish.

Looking around once more to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything behind, she left.

Penelope hurried down the sweeping stone steps of the manor, where she met Martha, who stood waiting anxiously beside the idling carriage.

"I have found it," Penelope uttered softly, a breath of relief escaping her lips as she tapped the leather binder tucked securely beneath her arm. "Surprisingly, it did not take me long at all to uncover its hiding place."

Martha held the carriage door open, her eyes sweeping the quiet courtyard. "Are we to set out for the parish then, My Lady?"

Penelope gave a firm, determined nod. But just as she was about to step into the velvet-lined interior of the coach, the sharp cadence of a familiar voice cut through the quiet courtyard.

"Lady Penelope?"

Hearing her name, Penelope turned around, her hand freezing on the carriage frame. Her eyes widened slightly as she watched Julian approach. For a fleeting second, she hardly recognized him. The passage of time and the weight of his travels had altered the easy-going youth she once knew.

"Viscount?"

Julian turned to wave off his men, gesturing with a flick of his wrist for them to wait by his own unbranded carriage at the gates. He had merely been passing by the estate when the distinct crest on her coach had caught his attention.

Stopping a respectful distance before Penelope, he lowered his head in a warm, friendly bow, a familiar, easy smile forming on his lips. "It has been a long time, Marchioness."

"Indeed it has," she replied, utterly unable to hide the sheer surprise mapping her features. "When did you return to the province? I was under the impression you had forsaken Aelgard entirely. It is so very good to see you again, Julian."

"Likewise," he replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I would have ventured a visit to the estate much sooner, but I confess I had no desire to find your husband placing a blade to my throat before I could even clear the foyer. You look well, Penelope. Truly. I was just on my way to the town square when I spotted you, so I took the opportunity to pass my greetings."

"I am truly glad you did," Penelope replied, her smile softening with genuine nostalgia.

While she wouldn’t have termed her relationship with Julian as a deep, intimate confidence, the invisible threads of the past bound them tightly. By virtue of her close companionship with William and the simple fact that their childhoods had been spent roaming the same sunlit gardens, she had always viewed Julian with the quiet affection one reserved for an older brother.

But then, with the sudden ruthlessness of aristocratic duty, he had been sent away to the distant northern borders, groomed to assume the viscountcy and rule a troublesome territory in his father’s stead. William had confided in her then that Julian had sworn a bitter oath never to look upon Aelgard again.

Yet there had never been any rancor between the two of them.

Penelope’s gaze lingered on him, a sudden, quiet chill settling beneath her skin. In her previous life, Julian had held true to his word, and he had never returned. It was profoundly shocking, and at times terrifying, to realize just how drastically the tapestry of this present life had altered from the tragic history she had already lived once before.

"Did you come by to see your family?" Julian asked, his gaze drifting past her toward the barony’s entrance, his brow furrowing slightly as he noted the presence of the elite guards stationed there. "I heard rumors of what transpired. It deeply saddens me that I was entirely unable to assist you in your time of need. I mean... I always knew William was a fool, but I never imagined he would go this far. I must apologize for the immense trouble he has caused you."

Penelope shook her head, offering him a gentle, reassuring smile to dispel his solemnity.

"Oh, no, Julian, it is not your fault in the slightest," she insisted softly. "You do not have to dwell on it or carry any guilt. In truth, I am entirely content with this new Chapter of my life. I am incredibly happy, and very well. You don’t need to bother yourself with regrets."

"Had I known I’d run into you today, I would have arranged a small gift for both you and the Marquis. But I shall think of something and send it over."

"What are you going to do at the town square?" Penelope asked.

"Just settling some tedious administrative matters regarding my father’s northern properties," Julian replied smoothly, his expression a perfect mask of aristocratic boredom. "A few local merchants owe the estate some overdue tallies, and I find they are much more cooperative when a Viscount pays them a personal visit. And perhaps, if time permits, I shall find a decent tavern to wash down the dust of the road."

He glanced down at the leather file tucked securely under Penelope’s arm, his eyes lingering on it for a fraction of a second too long before snapping back up to her face with a warm smile.

"But what of you, Marchioness? It seems you are a woman on a mission today. I would hate to detain you from your errands."

Penelope smiled, adjusting her grip on the document. "I am merely heading to the parish to consult with Father Thomas on a few charity matters. Nothing that cannot wait a moment longer, but I should probably not keep the good Father waiting indefinitely."

"Ah, a noble pursuit as always," Julian said, stepping back and offering another impeccable bow. "I shall not keep you then. Do take care on the roads, Penelope. The weather looks temperamental, and the paths outside Aelgard can be quite unpredictable these days."

"Thank you, Julian. It truly was wonderful to see you," she said warmly, finally stepping into the carriage.

Martha followed quickly behind her, shutting the door. As the carriage rumbled to life and began its journey toward the parish, Penelope looked out the window to wave goodbye. Julian stood in the courtyard, watching them depart with a friendly smile.

Once they were gone, Julian felt some sense of relief upon seeing her again.

That meant he only needed to worry about William now, and figure out where his foolish brother had suddenly vanished to.