Chapter 592 Ch591 Claudia Hayon Cavendish
Chapter 592 Ch.5 Hayan Cavendish
Porto Porti is exposed to the sun all year round.
No matter whether it is winter or summer, whether it is a cold or a hot wind, this place is always bathed in sunshine. If we have to apply the holy words in the "Book of Eden", Randolph even feels that this place is more beautiful than the blood ink on the parchment. Like heaven.
"'Endless wine, song and joy. He wants His children to come around, children blowing trumpets'... It doesn't say how to blow." Randolph half rolled up his sleeves and wore it like a porter. He wore a mouse gray plaid felt hat, a vest of the same color, and a suspender shirt with brown trousers on his shoulders.
Roland was dressed similarly to him.
But when she was about to come out, she was caught by Beatrice. She used hot iron rings to perm her hair into curls one after another. Her black hair was combed into a messy ponytail - according to the London gentlemen, it was ' How dare you dress like this.
It's just that his skin is frighteningly good, and it always gives Randolph the feeling that a corpse that has been dead for more than ten days has quietly walked onto the street after swallowing a lit candle.
On the other side of Randolph was a young girl.
She wore an airtight ankle-length dress made of thicker fabric than the curtains at Buckingham Palace, a silk scarf around her neck, and a huge hat decorated with ribbons, fruit, artificial flowers and a whole stuffed animal. Bird's light blue sombrero.
The three people walking down the street did not look like characters living in the same season and the same world at all - the two gentlemen seemed to be escorting an expensive specimen of man and nature to somewhere.
That's how many passersby view it.
But they weren't surprised either. There were people like this in the "holiday" port of Brighton. Even if they were heated like a piece of juicy steak after being cut into pieces, they would be wrapped tightly inside and out so as not to let these poor devils take a look.
Even a single glance would cost half a century of dignity.
At this time, a certain group of people in the same class on the street will spontaneously form a group, glance at the "Master" and "Madam", laugh at them in a low voice, and make some jokes that are not very popular.
For example, if a cat has been bored for a long time, a person can only ask another person to help...
——If you observe cats, you will find that they are indeed ‘blessed’.
Solitary animals really don’t need to ask for help, right?
All in all, Randolph only accompanied the girl on the street for a social purpose. In order to shorten this stupid 'date', he even called Roland illegally.
By the way.
The girl's name is:
Claudia Hayan Cavendish.
This girl with deep-set eyes, thick eyelashes, and the purest ocher hair and eyes is the youngest daughter of Jeff Cavendish, the fourth son of the Cavendish family.
"And the most outstanding one."
The girl, who didn't feel any warmth at all, raised her chin slightly.
She always held the brim of her hat against the shadows, exposing only the part under the tip of her nose to the sunlight, allowing the dazzling light to illuminate her full lips and slightly protruding chin, which had lost its childish flesh and had a clear outline.
If the people around her are willing to be rude, she doesn't mind if they glance at the white neck under her silk scarf - some green lines hidden under the skin are like blood flowing.
Randolph had no such interest.
"Yes, Miss Cavendish, of course you are the most outstanding one." The previous topic talked about Jeff Cavendish and his many children, and it inevitably also talked about the careers and careers of these brothers and sisters. Life, the friends you make and most importantly - where you come from.
At this point, they have the biggest gap.
Miss Claudia Hayan Cavendish's mother, Jeff Cavendish's real wife.
She is a girl with a 'license' and the only direct bloodline of the Cavendish family who can sense the 'mystery'.
This is not simple anymore.
(Although Roland felt that it was even more difficult for her to carry a birdcage and a fruit tree on a hot day.)
"There is no doubt, Mr. Taylor. The union of you and me is the best choice at the moment - the best choice for both of us. You have a little scheming, a clever mind, and maybe you have inherited some of the Cavendish blood...I I can’t insult you like this, but I have to tell the truth.”
She paused.
"Some extra 'lucky' parts. And I...I inherited the real 'power' - what Cavendish should really have, the ability to command thunder and fire, a power far beyond the imagination of mortals."
"My eyes have seen both living people and dead people. I can see their souls, and I will also read the decay, and reverse the time that will never look back..."
"Our group of people will have such power sooner or later."
She was proud of her identity. Different from those fragile girls who were lonely and lacked protection without servants, she walked calmly on the streets full of sweat and salty smell, ignoring all kinds of good or bad looks around her, just like in a shopping mall. A regular customer, talking to Randolph.
The pride in her heart is as irresistible as a tsunami, making people shrink and listen, and then worship her.
That's all they can do.
It was all Claudia Hayan Cavendish wanted to see.
——Although she didn't even notice that there was a ritualist beside her.
She didn't seem to have the slightest doubt as to why the young owner of the Taylor family was protected by a bodyguard, but she went out on the street without taking him with her.
Maybe because this land belongs to Cavendish?
At least in her perception, this land still is.
"Ritualist?"
Randolph raised his eyebrows.
At this time, the businessman was holding a small bag of French fries wrapped in oil paper, and Roland was holding a paper bowl filled with the most popular sweet oysters in the area.
Miss Hayon was a little disgusted by the two people's low behavior of eating while walking and getting their fingers full of oil, but for...for...
she still endured it.
And she politely rejected the invitation of the golden-eyed gentleman.
"Thank you, I'm not used to such a gesture on the street... Yes, Mr. Taylor, the ritualist. I think you have heard of this magical name and seen the power of the ritualist - how many rings is your servant?"
"Let me hear how far the Taylor family's ritualist has gone."
Randolph sucked his thumb and index finger, wiped it on Roland's hem, and changed his hand to hold the bag of chips: "Fourth ring, Miss Cavendish."
"Call me Hayon, or Claudia."
"Okay, Miss Hayon. Barton is a fourth ring - but I can't tell you which path he is on... All ritualists have such a tacit understanding, right?"
Hayon didn't rush to speak, and took out a plaid handkerchief from the dark blue square bag and handed it to Randolph - this thin hand was wearing a thin knitted glove, and the original color, neatly trimmed oval nails could be seen.
She handed the handkerchief to the man next to her, with a natural and elegant movement.
At the same time, the education, training and habits in these few short seconds cannot be ignored. The demeanor displayed in an instant contains many fascinating visible or invisible desires.
At least this can be said in Porty Harbor, Brighton.
In London...
It is not worth mentioning.
At the banquet where Randolph was invited, even a servant would comment on the good and bad etiquette and manners.
Not to mention those truly respectable bigwigs, those ladies whose toes have to step on the petals chased by the morning dew every day.
But he did not spoil the fun. He bowed and took the handkerchief and thanked him softly.
This made Miss Hayon even more satisfied.
Satisfied with his politeness and satisfied with her own etiquette - Roland saw that she was more satisfied with herself.
He and Randolph seemed to be two mirrors without facial features. Along the way, it seemed that they only reflected the demeanor of one person, making her sigh all the way that the Father of All Things created her by coincidence, how proud it was.