As Anthony had promised, just a day after that fateful annual meeting at Whitman Manor, the family departed for the Whitman Earldom. Located on the southern edge of the Boleus Empire, the journey would normally take much longer, but with the aid of teleportation pads, it was reduced to about a week's ride. With their business in the capital now behind them, it was time to focus on the next phase of their plans.
They paused at inns along the way to rest properly and give their horses time to recover. Despite the seriousness of their true mission, Bettina—or rather, Mary Jane—found herself thoroughly enjoying the journey. For the first time, she truly grasped how vast and alive the world beyond the imperial capital was. There were people and plantations, lively markets and sweeping landscapes, animals both wild and tame. It was one thing to read about medieval life or watch it on a small TV screen; it was another to live and breathe it. And here, in this strange new world, she was doing exactly that.
It was a wonderful experience, of sights, sounds, smells, and taste, made even more amazing with Anthony and Jason accompanying her and making sure she was always comfortable.
The sun had begun its lazy descent by the time their procession approached the Whitman family seat— a huge, elegant estate flanked by broad stone columns, high-arched windows, and gardens neatly trimmed by seasoned caretakers. Nestled atop a green knoll that overlooked the silvery bend of the Arwell River, the Whitman family seat stood in grand defiance of time. True to its legacy, the estate radiated quiet grandeur, every cobblestone and weathered turret a testimony to generations of Whitman wealth. Bettina had expected something colder, perhaps more austere, but what greeted her was dignified and well-maintained.
The late afternoon sun cast golden lines across the gravel driveway as the Whitman carriage pulled to a gentle stop.
Anthony stepped out first, cane in hand, his gait steadier than days prior, though he still moved with measured caution. Turning around, he offered his good hand to Bettina who followed him down, her gloved hand shielding her eyes from the glare. Jason bounded out last, full of energy, his wide eyes darting about with wonder.
"You'll like the east gardens, Mother. There's a marble maze Father used to get lost in when he was my age."
Anthony chuckled, leaning on his cane beside her. "I did not get lost. I was...strategically navigating."
Bettina laughed softly, her gloved hand resting on Jason's shoulder. "I'm looking forward to seeing you both reenact that moment."
Jane and Nanny Jones, along with a few household servants and armed knights, followed behind. As they reached the circular courtyard, a butler appeared to open the grand doors. Moments later, the former Right Honorable Earl of Whitman, Lord Marcus Whitman, emerged with slow but sure steps, his silver hair neatly combed, his spine still straight despite his age.
Older, yes—but not infirm. His posture remained upright, his hair had turned completely silver, and his eyes still held that calculating gleam Anthony had grown up under. His eyes, sharp and assessing, landed first on Anthony, then on Bettina, and finally on Jason, who was, surprisingly, holding his stepmother's hand quite familiarly. Lord Marcus' eyebrow rose a little at that picture of relaxed closeness between two people who were rumored to have bad blood with that woman. He wasn't expecting this at all.
"So," Lord Marcus said, voice graveled but strong, "the prodigal son returns, with his… family in tow."
Anthony offered a respectful nod as he slowly climbed up the steps and approached his father. "It's good to see you, Father. We thought it time to visit."
Lord Marcus nodded once, eyes flicking to Bettina. "And Lady Whitman. I believe it is your first time here at the main seat of your husband's legacy. I trust your travels were smooth."
Bettina curtsied politely. "They were. Thank you for receiving us, Lord Whitman. Your home is beautiful."
"It's stood the test of time. That's more than I can say for most things these days."
Jason ran up to his grandfather, completely ignoring decorum. "Grandfather, do you have horses here? Or a pond? Or a sword I can touch?"
A slow, almost amused exhale escaped Lord Marcus' nose. "We have all three. Perhaps not in that order."
Anthony's face cracked into a relaxed smile. "Come, I'll show you the model ship room. But first we must go upstairs and refresh ourselves."
Servants came to take their bags, and one of the senior housekeepers approached Bettina with a respectful bow. "Lady Whitman, if it pleases you, I can prepare a separate room for you."
Bettina blinked. Her gaze slid to Anthony, who turned to meet her eyes with soft warmth, giving her the space to decide. She gave a quiet smile and said with calm certainty, "That won't be necessary. We'll share the Earl's chamber."
The housekeeper dipped her head, trying not to show surprise at the famously estranged couple sharing one bedroom. "As you wish, my lady."
After changing their travel-worn clothes and refreshing themselves, they allowed Jason to be entertained under Jane and Nanny Jones' watch while Anthony used the cover of showing Bettina around the estate to begin their covert search. It is time for them to complete their investigation.
They started in the south wing library—slightly dusty but organized, its dark wood shelves crammed with leather-bound volumes and scroll cases. While pretending to admire old maps and ledgers, Anthony tugged on drawers and tested floorboards. Bettina scanned behind books for oddities.
Not finding anything of note, the two of them continued on around the estate's main halls and wings, Anthony casually pointing out his favorite haunts and regaling Bettina with his childhood mischiefs for the benefit of those who might overhear them. Bettina, though fully aware of the seriousness of their covert operation, still thoroughly enjoyed learning more about her husband's young antics. She honestly wished they were just there to deepen their bond and not for any other reason.
On the other hand, beneath Anthony's casual demeanor, his eyes lingered on odd architectural additions—faint cracks sealed recently, baseboards slightly misaligned, paint that had dried too quickly. He remembered every corner of this place, and that memory guided him to the eastern wing's old, forgotten study.
After hours of searching, they finally found something. There, tucked within stacks of dusty books in a locked cabinet, was an envelope with a broken seal—addressed to Lord Marcus from one of the recently arrested directors. Bettina took out the old paper within with care. On the parchment were coded references on false shipment manifests, implicating the director further and suggesting Lord Marcus' full awareness of the company's darker dealings.
But what's more, there was another, smaller piece of parchment folded within the envelope.
The handwriting was familiar. Bettina leaned in.
The letter, signed only with an initial "V", read:
-----000-----
"Delay was unavoidable. The Sutherland situation is now permanently resolved. Their only progeny was left alone. She's young—she'll forget. I've handled the investigation and paperwork. You owe me for this."
-----000-----
Anthony studied the first letter they'd found again. It was from Director Pembroke. "This will tie Father directly to at least one major player. It's something."
Bettina's face paled. "And this smaller letter? It's referring to my parents, isn't it?"
Anthony nodded grimly. "And 'she'... you."
They exchanged a look—anger and sorrow swirling beneath their calm expressions.
Anthony held out his hand to her, and together, they went back into the main building, to ensure they would not be missed.
They returned just in time for dinner.
Lord Marcus presided at the head of the long dining table, with Jason seated beside him, regaling his grandfather with tales of his mother's toy shop and her 'magical stamp.'
Dinner was a surprisingly civil affair. A long oak table in the candlelit dining hall bore silver dishes of roast duck, glazed carrots, and wine-dark gravy. Bettina and Anthony played their parts well, engaging in just enough casual talk to maintain the illusion of a simple family visit, thanks in large part, to Jason's presence.
"I saw a tapestry with a sea dragon!" Jason exclaimed. "Grandfather, did you fight one?"
Lord Marcus chuckled, deep and genuine. "Alas, no. But your great-grandfather claimed he once speared a kraken off the northern coast."
"Whoa...!" Jason's eyes gleamed.
Bettina smiled, noting how Anthony observed his father with quiet scrutiny throughout the meal. Lord Marcus, for all his iron-willed reputation, responded to Jason's enthusiasm with surprising warmth.
By the time dessert was served, a citrus custard with sugared fruit, the weight of secrets lingered beneath their words—but remained unspoken.
Later, Jason was led away by Nanny Jones to a tower bedroom he had proudly chosen. As night settled, Anthony and Bettina retired to their shared chamber—a warm space with burgundy drapes and a gently crackling hearth.
Anthony stood by the window, watching the moonlight spill over the gardens. He turned to Bettina and noticed her hesitation by their appointed bedroom's threshold. "If you're uncomfortable," he said, gently, "I could take the couch. Or even ask for a second bedroll from the servants. We don't have to—"
Bettina exhaled slowly, and a small, rueful smile curled her lips. "It's not that. I'm just not used to this being so... quiet."
Anthony stepped closer and reached out to take her hand. "It doesn't have to mean anything more than rest tonight. But if it helps... I'm glad to have you here beside me."
She relaxed at his words, letting him guide her further into the room and look out the window with her this time.
As they gazed out into the dark, she leaned into his side, his arm opening to cradle her more securely beside him. A part of her still can't believe that she now has someone she can lean on. Someone as strong and as reliable as Lord Anthony. It was a wonderful feeling.
"We have enough to confront him, don't we?" she asked softly.
"We're close," he murmured. "But... there might be more buried here. He's clever. He wouldn't leave direct proof in plain sight. We should look around just a little bit more tomorrow."
"Yes, there must be something else we might find," she agreed.
And when the hour grew late, and the fire dimmed, Anthony stood, offering her his hand once again.
This time, Bettina took it without hesitation, allowing him to lead her to bed—not out of romance, but out of shared resolve and earned trust.
They lay side by side beneath the heavy canopy, her fingers wrapped gently around his.
"Whatever we find tomorrow," she whispered, "we face it together."
He looked at her then—softly, fiercely. "Always."
*****Resist no more, for fate is wise*****
Morning sunlight streamed gently through the tall windows, illuminating the elegant and luxuriously appointed guest chamber where Bettina and Anthony lay entangled in an exhausted sleep. His arm was wrapped protectively around her waist, her face tucked close to his chest. The exhaustion of travel and the intensity of their quiet investigations had left them both depleted, and they'd surrendered to sleep fully clothed, atop the thick covers.
"Papa! Mama!" Jason's voice pierced the morning stillness, accompanied by the creak of the heavy oak door swinging open.
Bettina stirred first, blinking awake, only to realize her position. Her cheeks flushed a deep rose as she found herself looking closely, almost kissing it really, at Lord Anthony's warm and bare chest. Panicked at being discovered thus, she gently, but as quickly as she could, tried to free herself from Anthony's arm.
Anthony groaned sleepily and tightened his hold around her waist. "Five more minutes," he mumbled, voice husky with sleep. "Unless the manor's on fire."
Jason stood at the foot of the bed, hands on his hips, a cheeky grin on his face. "Grandfather says he wants to show us the whole estate! You're going to miss it if you keep cuddling."
Anthony cracked one eye open and gave Jason a mock scowl. "You little traitor. I thought you were on my side."
Bettina slipped out from under his arm and sat up, hastily smoothing her hair. "Jason, a little knock first next time, please."
Jason shrugged. "Sorry. But you both looked comfy. It's not like I've never seen Papa hug you."
With the help of their attendants and valets, they bathed separately, changed, and descended for breakfast shortly after, joining Lord Marcus in the formal dining room. The former Earl sat tall and still dignified, dressed in a tailored charcoal-gray coat with a navy cravat, silver threads laced subtly into the cuffs.
"Morning," he greeted them, with a nod that was curt but not unfriendly. "The weather is fair today. I've arranged for a tour of the estate grounds. We'll take the eastern path first—through the gardens and past the vineyard. We can dine by the lower orchard."
"The orchard?" Jason's eyes lit up. "Can I pick something?"
"If anything's left after the recent harvest," Lord Marcus said, a flicker of dry amusement in his voice. "But yes."
Anthony met his father's eyes. "Thank you. That sounds… nice."
The morning passed pleasantly, the group strolling through the vast Whitman estate under a sky of pale blue and drifting silver clouds. The temperature was crisp, like early autumn, despite the official calendar date—it was due to the ancient magical barrier that protected the region's crops from frost and ruin. Bettina admired it quietly, noting how the sunlight dappled golden against the frost-free rose bushes still clinging to blooms.
Lord Marcus spoke sparingly, but Jason—clutching his hand more than once—kept him talking with innocent questions. He asked about the rows of grapevines, now trimmed and bundled for winter, and the massive carved sundial in the courtyard garden.
"This was your grandmother's favorite spot," Lord Marcus said, pausing before a marble bench beneath a sprawling sycamore. "She used to paint here."
Jason touched the smooth stone reverently. "Did you love her?"
The older man was still for a moment. "Yes," he said, quietly. "Very much."
Lunch was laid out on a white-clothed table near the orchard. The servants kept their distance, allowing the family a rare sense of privacy. Bettina sat with Jason, laughing as he tried to feed her a piece of dried fruit with sticky fingers. Anthony watched them both with soft eyes, then glanced at his father.
Lord Marcus, watching too, looked oddly thoughtful.
Jason piped up suddenly. "Grandfather, Papa told me that doing the right thing matters more than just doing what works. Is that true?"
The former Earl turned his gaze to the boy, and something subtle shifted in his weathered features.
"Yes," he said after a pause. "Even if you learn that too late, it's still true."
Bettina turned her eyes away, pretending to focus on pouring water into Jason's cup. The words had weight.
Their talk continued throughout their morning snack, with Jason leading the conversation and Anthony occasionally asking about estate matters.
Later in the walk, Jason darted ahead toward an overgrown structure along the outer edge of the estate. "What's this old building?" he called.
"Just storage," Lord Marcus replied absently. "It's been locked up for decades."
Anthony exchanged a brief glance with Bettina.
Jason pushed at the rusted handle. "It's stuck. Maybe we can get a key later?"
"Maybe," Anthony said. He crouched to help Jason back down the steps.
As the afternoon waned, the group returned to the manor, the mood warm and strangely peaceful.
Lord Marcus didn't say much, but before retreating to his study, he paused at the top of the stairs. "You're all welcome to stay as long as needed. I'll have a servant prepare hot cider for the evening."
"Thank you, Father," Anthony said, his voice carefully neutral.
When evening fell, Jason was tucked into bed early, sleepy from all the walking. Bettina and Anthony, alone again in their shared guest room, sat by the small hearth.
"I didn't expect him to be… like that," Bettina said softly, stirring her tea. "Not quite apologetic, but…"
"He's shifting," Anthony said. "Jason's the only one who could've done that."
They were quiet for a time, staring into the fire. Then Bettina gave him a hesitant smile. "Thank you for sharing this with me. Even if we don't get anything that we came here for... this day mattered."
Anthony reached over and took her hand. "We'll get something. For your parents. For our son. And maybe," he said, with a glance toward the hallway where Lord Marcus had disappeared, "for him too."
She leaned her head against his shoulder, the firelight dancing across both their faces as they wait for the rest of the household to fall asleep.
Later that night, after Jason had been tucked into bed and the estate had gone quiet, the Earl and Countess of Whitman prepared for a different kind of activity, the same way they did every night since they arrived.
In the privacy of their bedroom, behind the changing screen, Bettina was pulling on a pair of dark trousers, the hem brushing against her ankles. It was the same trousers she'd worn before which surprisingly fit her perfectly. She had borrowed one of Anthony's dark linen shirts, which was slightly loose on her shoulders but tucked neatly into the waistband. She walked out of the screen once she was almost done changing.
As she fastened the buttons, Anthony, who was also donning a dark coat, turned toward her—and smirked.
"You know," he said, taking in the sight of her, "if women wearing men's clothes is what brings about social reform, I'll personally draft the petition."
Bettina snorted and gave him a light swat on the arm. "Your shirt is too big. Don't flatter yourself."
"Not too big in the right places," he murmured with an exaggerated waggle of his brows, earning a glare that quickly softened with amusement.
Their banter fell into silence as Anthony took a small lantern from his traveling case, muffled it with a handkerchief to dampen the light, and quietly opened the door. They crept down the hallway, the thick carpets masking their footsteps, and made their way to the attic of the western wing. The last room within the estate that they haven't searched yet.
The air grew dry and thick as they ascended the narrow stairs. Inside the attic, dust floated in the air like lazy snowflakes. They went through old trunks, discarded portraits, broken furniture, and other relics from past generations that sat under sheets.
Anthony lit the lantern just enough to cast a warm halo as they searched. After a long search, it was Bettina who noticed a floorboard that didn't sit quite flush. With Anthony's help, she pried it open—and inside lay a small velvet pouch.
Inside the pouch was a brass key, old and ornate. Not the kind used for rooms within the manor, but something older and forgotten.
"This looks... important," she whispered, turning it in her palm. "It's been hidden too carefully."
Anthony took it, inspecting the shape. "Not a door in the main wing. Possibly the back cellar or outbuilding."
"This might also go to one of the outbuildings," Bettina whispered, inspecting the patina.
Anthony's eyes widened. "Could it be the old storage building that Jason noticed this morning?"
They exchanged a look and quietly descended back to the main floor, covering the lantern once again, and slipping outside into the chilly night. The temperature was crisp but bearable—protected as the land was by the Empire's seasonal wards.
Carefully traipsing about in darkened corners to avoid detection by any passing knight guard, they finally reached the storage building. It stood far to the back of the estate, past the outer herb gardens and hedge line. Jason had spotted it earlier—a squat stone building with moss-covered tiles and a warped wooden door.
Anthony inserted the brass key and turned. With a soft click, the lock released, and they shared a look of triumph before he finally removed the lock and turned the knob.
The door groaned as they pushed it open.
Inside, time stood still. Shelves sagged under the weight of old crates, broken tools, and discarded documents. They moved slowly, brushing off dust and cobwebs, opening trunks and crates, and searching through books.
"Maybe there's really nothing here," Bettina stood up from her crouching position and faced Anthony. "Maybe this room is just like any other storage place. Maybe what we have gathered so far is everything that could be found."
"We haven't seen everything in here yet, Betty." Anthony walked over to her, gingerly avoiding anything that might trip him. "Let's give this room one last careful look and, tomorrow, we'll have a talk with Father, alright?" He turned from her once more to start rummaging on a crate he just opened.
"Anthony," Bettina whispered, still looking at him. "Are you ready? If we uncover everything—if your father truly is guilty—are you ready to see him fall?"
He stopped. He didn't answer at first. Then, gently, he went back to her and took her dusty hand to raise it to his lips.
"I wasn't. Not for a long time. But now...with you beside me? I am. Justice must be served, Betty. I would do this for anyone that Father might have victimized, advertently or inadvertently."
She leaned in, resting her forehead against his. "Then let's uncover it. Together."
Bettina was ready to call it a day until she pulled open a low trunk hidden under a moth-eaten tarp at the very corner of the storage room.
Beneath layers of folded cloth and yellowed scrolls, her fingers found it—an old, black leather-bound ledger.
She lifted it carefully, the weight of it unmistakable. Something about it made the hairs in her spine stand up. Some instinct telling her that this must be it. Its spine was cracked, its cover warped with age, but the pages inside were intact.
Anthony opened it slowly. Inside were columns of numbers, dates, coded entries—marked with initials that matched what they'd seen on earlier documents, some flagged with brownish-red ink, which was unmistakably blood that had dried up. It was clearly a secret account book.
They exchanged a quiet, heavy look.
"Now, we have more than just clues—we have a record." Bettina whispered.
Anthony nodded, closing the book gently. "And perhaps it is now time to talk to Father."
They returned to the manor in silence, hearts pounding not from fear, but from the weight of truth steadily coming out into the open.
-----***-----
A/N: I'm so happy you're reading Mary Jane's story up until now. More adventures and perils are coming up for our plucky Countess (darn those true villains!) so let's keep on reading, okay? If you'd like to support me, feel free to buy me a coffee for only $1 below:
https://ko-fi.com/villainessnerireyes