My Mistress Became My Wife (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 80

The carriage carrying Lily departed from Earl Brayden’s Mansion. Harold, who had been staring fixedly at the receding back of the carriage, turned and walked toward the garden instead of the mansion. The ground was damp from the rain that had fallen all night. Though his once immaculately polished shoes were now stained with mud, Harold paid no heed and walked further inward.

After walking for a while, Harold stopped at the spot in the garden visible from the window of the mistress’s bedroom where Lily had stayed. Harold scanned every corner of the shrubbery thoroughly, but there was no sign of any statue anywhere.

It was rare for anyone to place a statue in a garden meant for mental tranquility in the first place, as people were often startled, mistaking such statues for real humans.

Yet Lily claimed she had seen a statue in the garden—specifically, one shaped like a human—and that sounded both strange and eerie. Harold had come here out of mere suspicion, but the complete absence of any statue, despite his thorough search, made it even more unsettling.

Could it be… a real person?

If so, it meant someone had entered Earl Brayden’s Mansion last night.

While it was common for vagrants to squat in abandoned houses in commoners’ districts, Royal White Street was not such a place. Not only could vagrants never enter this street, but more importantly, Harold had already inspected both the mansion and the garden while Lily was bathing. At that time, he found absolutely no trace of anyone having been there.

True, he had only done a quick sweep and hadn’t searched every nook and cranny like a mouse hole, but even so, it was odd that he hadn’t sensed any presence at all. After all, Harold had immediately sensed the presence of Coleman Jonas and the maids when they entered the mansion through the back gate and had gone to greet them himself.

Even now, he instantly noticed Dillon and Coleman Jonas arriving and turned around. Dillon approached him from the garden entrance, grumbling all the way.

“Again with something already, Captain? It’s barely morning.”

“Nine in the morning hardly counts as ‘barely morning.’ You wake up much earlier for training, don’t you?”

“That’s during training. Rest is for resting.”

Despite his complaint, Dillon’s clothes were slightly dusty, and he was dressed in training attire—clearly, he’d practiced swordsmanship in the open field early that morning. Yet he still grumbled. Harold chuckled softly and gave an order.

“I suspect someone infiltrated the mansion last night. I’d like you to look into it.”

“Huh?”

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