Chapter 403: The Matchmaker Count

Phillips still sat at the long table, murmuring to an empty chair.

The Helvetian Clock ticked steadily, and the tea poured for his father gave off a very faint wisp of steam.

Richard stood in the doorway for a moment.

It wasn't that he hadn't prepared words of comfort, but upon entering this room, every single sentence felt superfluous.

What Phillips needed right now wasn't comfort; it was the person who was supposed to be sitting in that empty chair.

That was something Richard could not give.

"I'll head down first," was all he said in the end.

Phillips didn't turn around, merely raising the hand holding the teapot in acknowledgment.

Richard backed out and gently pulled the door shut.

The fourth-floor corridor was cooler than the room. Once that lingering warmth dissipated, he realized his back was slick with sweat.

Constance was still waiting by the stairs.

"How is he?"

"Drinking tea," Richard said.

Constance looked up at him.

"He won't listen to anyone today. We'll try again tomorrow. By then, that pot of tea will be stone cold."

The young woman lowered her head, murmuring in agreement.

Going downstairs, Richard was met by the overpowering scent of lilies.

There were too many funeral wreaths; the heavy, stifling fragrance completely masked the smell of coal smoke and wax.

Servants were taking down the black draperies on both sides of the mourning hall one by one. With each piece removed, the room grew a fraction brighter.

His grandfather stood on the right side of the foyer, speaking with a gentleman.

The gentleman was quite tall, with less white at his temples than Gerard. His black gloves extended just past his wrists, and a mourning band was wrapped around his arm.

His posture was relaxed, and he stood half-turned, leaving his listening side turned toward his companion.

The moment the Still Water of Richard's mirror-condensing technique brushed against him, it bounced right back.

A Major Adept.

Constance followed him down the stairs, coming to a halt a half-step beside the gentleman. She kept her eyes lowered in silence.

"Count, this is my grandson," Gerard said. "Richard Williams."

Richard immediately understood.

His grandfather had addressed the man as "Count."

A Count who could make Constance stand by him so respectfully, especially at the Phillips family funeral, was most likely Count Blackburn.

"Hello," Richard said, bowing slightly.

The Count gave him a nod. It was inappropriate to smile at a funeral, and he offered no handshake.

"I have a rather unremarkable niece studying in Cheltenham. She attended the last Debate Week and has mentioned you quite a few times since returning."

Richard stood perfectly still.

The praise was lofty, yet seamlessly delivered.

It elevated him while casually slipping a Blackburn girl into the conversation.

"You flatter me, Count," he said, bowing again.

"No need to be so modest." Count Blackburn shook his head.

"Second in the Cicero Cup, first in the Debate Week preparatory session, second in the summer seminar.

"Gerard, all the luck of your lineage has been pooled into this boy."

Gerard didn't respond, only pulling the brim of his hat down a little.

"Count, young people cannot withstand too much praise."

"It isn't praise; I'm simply used to stating the facts first."

Count Blackburn suddenly changed the subject. "What do you plan to do regarding your grandson?"

His grandfather, holding a cup of barely touched tea, glanced at Richard.

"He takes after his mother. He has a mind of his own; even as his grandfather, I can't dictate his choices."

"Let the children make their own decisions."

Count Blackburn turned sideways and reached out a hand to his daughter.

"Constance's marriage was also arranged by me personally.

"I think highly of this boy, so I will overstep and say a word."

Constance took a booklet from her small handbag and handed it over with both hands.

The booklet wasn't large. It had a dark chestnut calfskin cover with the Blackburn family crest embossed in the bottom right corner.

The Count opened it and held it out to Richard.

"Take a look. At your age, there are some things you should start considering."

Richard took it and flipped it open.

The first page featured a half-length portrait of a young woman with light brown hair pinned back and a string of pearls around her neck.

A line of exceedingly small text was printed beneath the portrait.

"Cordelia Blackburn, twenty years old, Practitioner of the Scholar path. Excels in rubbing collation and ritual recording."

Turning the page, the second portrait showed a red-haired girl in profile. The artist had meticulously captured the hint of a smile at the corner of her eyes.

"Viola Blackburn, nineteen years old, Practitioner of the Hunter path. Has passed the field qualification review of the Branch Office."

He flipped to the third page, the fourth... page after page, all of them young women.

Blonde hair, chestnut hair, holding a lyre, walking a hound.

Beneath each portrait, their age, tutelage, and chosen path were annotated in extremely neat, small lettering.

They were undeniably beautiful, all of marriageable age, and all Practitioners on the mystical side.

Richard's fingers paused on the edge of the paper.

Clement's list of unsold auction items, the collections in Donner's back room, those defective goods in Tobin's narrow alley...

Every item delivered to his hands came with a slip just like this: era, origin, material, ether condition, remarks.

He almost reached out to touch the corner of Miss Viola's portrait on the second page to see if a serial code was embossed on the back.

Realizing what he was doing, he pulled his hand back.

"This is..."

"These are all daughters of my family. Every one of marriageable age is in this registry.

"You don't have to make a decision now. Just taking a look will give you an idea for the future."

Gerard turned his face toward the two pots of lilies by the door, adopting a posture that clearly said this had nothing to do with him.

Richard cast a sidelong glance, meeting his grandfather's eyes perfectly.

The message was crystal clear: Make your own decision; if the sky falls, I'll catch it.

Richard closed the booklet and handed it back with both hands.

"Count, thank you for your high regard," he said.

"I haven't even turned eighteen, and I only reached the Signature rank half a year ago.

"If I agreed to this right now, the only thing I could offer is empty words."

"The young ladies of your household deserve a much more solid promise."

The Count took the booklet back. His expression remained unchanged.

"Our family has plenty of patience for these matters. Take your time to consider it."

The words were spoken gently, but something about them felt slightly off.

"By the time you touch the threshold of Minor Adept," the Count added.

"This registry will still be here. By then, a few of the faces inside might have changed, but the family crest will remain the same."

"I am grateful for your profound kindness, Count," Richard said.

Only then did Gerard slowly interject.

"Count, my grandson is a bit too literal in his studies; he doesn't know how to speak in circles."

The Count nodded at the two of them. "I've met far too many who speak in circles; they're the ones I can never remember."

After a few more pleasantries, they bid each other farewell and parted ways.

Constance hurried out after her father.

One of the two pots of lilies in the foyer was carried away.

As she passed by Richard, she threw him a fleeting glance. Her eyes held something indescribable.

It looked like an apology, but also like a flash of commiseration.

Her own marriage had originally been settled by a registry just like this one.

Only when the carriage left the street of the Phillips estate did the rain begin to fall.

The wheels rolled over the wet flagstones, producing a sticky, peeling sound all the way.

Gerard took off his top hat.

"What are you thinking about?"

"I'm thinking about who did the typesetting for that booklet."

Gerard shot him a look.

"Age, origin, specialty—not a single detail was left out," Richard said.

"Add one more column for preservation condition, and they could be sent straight to the auction house."

The old man let out a muffled chuckle.

He stopped halfway, probably remembering that he had just come from someone's funeral.

"The Virtuoso ancestor of the Blackburn family walked a tradition that involved reproduction."

Gerard rotated his top hat a half-circle on his knee.

"The Ancestral Spell Technique passed down also leans in this direction. Therefore, for hundreds of years, the thing this family loves to do most is blend their bloodlines with others."

"The wider they mix it, the deeper their network of connections roots itself within the Empire."

Richard recalled the small text at the bottom of each page in that booklet.

Age, Rank, specialty—written as clearly as a cargo manifest. The person writing the manifest obviously knew exactly what they were writing.

"Their family doesn't force anyone," Gerard continued.

"There's no need to force it. If it doesn't work this year, they'll come back next year. If not next year, they'll come back in ten years.

"If one generation fails, they wait for the next. His earlier remark about their family being in no rush was the absolute truth."

"Has our family received it before?"

"Three times," Gerard said.

"Once the year your mother was seventeen, once the year your aunt was nineteen, and there was another time in the early years when one was submitted for your uncle."

"How did Mother answer?"

"She read the registry from cover to cover, not missing a single page, and then dutifully wrote a reply.

"She said she was unworthy of such a high-standing family. Her handwriting was beautiful, and her wording was completely flawless."

Raindrops drummed on the carriage roof, growing dense for a while before thinning out again.

"What about Aunt?" Richard asked.

Gerard's mouth twitched. He was stifling a laugh.

"Your aunt was nineteen that year, only a few years into her undergraduate studies in the Department of Classics.

"She took the booklet back to her room and locked her door for the entire night.

"The next morning, she placed it on my desk and asked me to return it just the way it was."

"You returned it?"

"I returned it," the old man said. "She had taken a red pen and corrected it from cover to cover."

Richard was a bit confused.

"Isn't there a line of Latin inscribed at the bottom of every page in that booklet, featuring pretty sentiments like 'endowed with both talent and beauty'?"

"She said the ablative case in those epigraphs was misused in three places, the subjunctive mood was misused in two places, and one sentence quoted Cicero completely backwards.

"She circled all of them in red pen and wrote annotations in the margins.

"And on the blank space of the last page, she left a line of text."

"What did it say?"

"She suggested that before their noble house prints it next time, they should hire someone else to proofread it."

Richard couldn't help but laugh out loud. After laughing, he felt that laughing on a day like today was a bit inappropriate.

Gerard didn't mind at all.

"The old Count Blackburn, the father of the one we met today, specifically wrote a letter over after receiving the booklet."

"To demand an explanation?"

"He wasn't as petty as you'd think. He actually thanked our Isabella.

"He said those three ablative cases were indeed wrong, and it had been printed like that for forty years without anyone pointing it out."

The carriage turned onto Chelsea Road, the branches of the trees washed shiny by the rain.

The old man put his top hat back on and straightened it.

"In my life, I have made decisions for your mother and the others on many matters.

"But I never made the decision on this one, and today is no different."

Richard watched the retreating shadows of the trees outside the window.

"Grandfather, I don't want to think about these things for now."

"Then don't think about it," Gerard said.

After a while, he suddenly spoke up again.

"However, there are a few girls in that booklet who really do look quite nice."

Richard was speechless. "..."

"If you really catch a fancy to one, you don't need to hold it in," his grandfather added slowly.

"The Blackburn family's pedigree is right there, but our family isn't bad either.

"My old name still carries enough weight to put in a good word for you."

Richard didn't take the bait, turning his head to look out the window again.

His grandfather let out a low chuckle and stopped teasing him.

The carriage fell quiet for a while.

The rain grew heavier again, drumming steadily against the roof with a rhythm that made the eyelids grow heavy.