~Chapter 111~
“But… I didn’t see anyone outside the window.
Ah, maybe because of the snow?”
“No, that’s not it. Even though there are plenty of foolish men here, they all keep one rule — they don’t touch married women.”
“But I am married.”
“If the husband isn’t right beside you, it doesn’t count.”
“And I’m even pregnant?”
“They think winning over women means acting bold — like they’re ready to take responsibility for the child too! That’s just how people here think.”
“I see…”
“That’s why I told everyone you and Lord Nathan are husband and wife. That’s why they’re leaving you alone.”
If that was the village’s mindset, then telling people they were siblings would never work. Ancia nodded, recognizing Bianca’s wise decision.
“A white lie. You handled it well.
Thank you.”
“And I also told them Madam is my sister.”
Did she really need to add that?
Ancia couldn’t bring herself to ask, because Bianca’s eyes were sparkling with too much excitement.
Since Ancia didn’t object, Bianca looked even more hopeful.
“So… if we go out together, can I call you sister?”
Seeing Bianca’s pleading eyes full of pure excitement, Ancia burst out laughing.
After fainting and waking only to learn she was pregnant, she found herself trapped by snow with no way home.
In another situation, it would have been frightening and hopeless. But Bianca’s silly affection and Nathan’s gentle kindness made Ancia laugh with ease.
“Doesn’t Bianca look more like the sister?”
“No, Madam, you are the sister.”
“Alright then, do it.”
“Th-thank you! Madam, I’ll only call you sister outside. Thank you so much!”
Was it really that exciting for her?
Watching Bianca repeat “sister” over and over, Ancia couldn’t stop smiling. Nathan, who had been quietly listening, also laughed warmly.
Though winter grew deeper, the eastern lands still had mild afternoons. In the Leslie estate garden, the flowers were blooming brightly as if giving their last show before fading.
The gardener, Paul, checked the flowers carefully and set aside a few perfect ones without blemish. Soon, Mary entered the garden, glanced at the basket of flowers, and gave a small nod.
Even after Ancia had gone, Mary’s duty was to clean her room and prepare scented sachets with flowers from the garden.
That basket of flowers also served another purpose — to secretly carry important letters or notes into the estate.
Mary, carrying the basket as naturally as possible, was an important messenger.
Recently, large Northerners had been lurking around the Leslie estate. They seemed to think they blended in, but of course they didn’t. With their rough faces and big builds, even when they tried hiding behind trees or pretending to be passersby, every servant could tell who they were.
They hardly seemed like the fierce warriors rumored to slay monsters. Still, the servants stayed cautious, watching with polite smiles.
Soon after these Northerners appeared, word spread through the count and countess: Ancia and Nathan were missing, and the Leslie family was being blamed.
“Young Master Nathan would never do such a thing. Running away with a weak lady? These ignorant Northerners know nothing.”
Still calling him “Young Master” in her heart, Mary peeked into the basket. Today, there was a letter. She promised herself it would never be discovered — but froze when she saw the name on the envelope.
It was signed clearly: Nathan Leslie.
Clutching the not-so-thick letter, Mary quickened her steps. She had to deliver it to the Count immediately. To avoid suspicion from the Northerners watching, she pretended to study the flowers as she walked.
As soon as she entered the estate, her pace grew hurried.
Ding~ Dang~
Startled by the sudden sound of the bell, Mary dropped the basket. Luckily, everyone’s eyes were already on the noisy entrance. She quickly snatched up the letter and flowers.
From the gate, confused voices rose:
“What’s that?”
“That flag… isn’t that Gwinted?”
“They’re not just watching anymore, they’re actually storming in? Even if he’s a Duke, does he think he can treat the Leslie family this way? Outrageous!”
The servants, who had been swallowing their frustration, began grumbling. But soon, the thunder of hooves grew louder, and their anger turned to fear.
“They… they’re really coming in!”
“Tell the Count!”
The servants scattered, shouting.
Mary, hearing the hoofbeats closing in, panicked and searched for a hiding spot. Was this letter going to bring disaster?
The terrified scream of a guard at the gate reached her ears.
The infamous Northerners had arrived — and leading them, the terrifying Duke of Gwinted himself. He didn’t even pause for manners, pushing straight into the estate.
Without hesitation, Mary threw the letter into the nearest fireplace. Scattering some flowers nearby, she collapsed to the floor just as the grand doors slammed open.
Dust and light burst in as the Duke’s black-armored knights entered in perfect formation. Their silent movements were so precise it chilled the air. Only the groans of fallen guards broke the stillness.
Thud. Thud.
The ground itself seemed to shake as a tall figure dismounted. With the light at his back, he looked like a shadow — and his cold gaze fell on Mary, still trembling on the floor.
“I sent a letter ahead, but it seems it hasn’t arrived. Judging by the poor welcome.”
The low, heavy voice crushed the air around her. Mary shrank back.
“I’ve come to see the Count and Countess. Lead me to them.”
“Wh-who shall I say is—” Mary stammered, trying to follow the rules. But when she lifted her eyes and met his cold blue stare, her blood froze.
Any mistake and her head would roll. She couldn’t breathe.
“Richard Gwinted. I’ve come to reclaim my wife.”
Mary trembled, tears streaming unchecked. Just locking eyes with him filled her with terror.
Yet at that moment, she thought of Ancia. How could her dear lady live with such a frightening man — and still send such tender letters? Mary’s grief gave her just enough courage to move.
“Th-this way, sir. I’ll lead you to the reception room.”
Other servants had already run to alert the Count and Countess. Mary tried not to look at him as she shakily walked ahead.
As she passed him, a voice softer than before brushed her ears:
“The same scent I always smelled from my wife…”
Was it possible that even this terrifying man showed a gentler side to her lady? Mary tried to shake off her fear and keep walking.
Upstairs, Countess Hilda had been watching everything. Normally decorative but always polished, her sword was already in her hand. If not for her husband Logan Leslie’s restraint, she would have marched straight to the reception room.
Instead, the Count and Countess, accompanied by their knights, calmly reached the reception area. Servants and guards lined the hallway in tense silence.
With a warm smile, Hilda nodded at them.
“Our rude guests have ruined the garden path. Please begin repairs. It will be difficult, but I trust you’ll manage.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Relieved by her calm words, the servants dispersed to their tasks. But once alone, Hilda’s jaw clenched with visible fury. Logan, though equally angry, kept his expression stern and dignified.
When the doors opened, the bright reception room was filled instead with black armor. Gwinted’s knights crowded the space like a wall of darkness.
In the center, a tall, handsome man sat with his eyes closed, deep in thought. Even when the Count and Countess entered, he didn’t move.
Hilda stepped forward first. Though her footsteps were silent, Richard surely knew she was there. Still, he ignored greetings and spoke bluntly:
“As long as I take back my wife, I’ll erase all else as if it never happened.”
Then he opened his eyes. The darkness within them was overwhelming.
“I’ll forgive everything. Even your son’s safety will be guaranteed.”
The chilling obsession and rage in his gaze spread through the room like frost.
Terrified maids stepped back. The knights of Leslie stood firm, ashamed of their fear.
Crash!
Hilda slammed a teacup onto the table, shattering it. The shards flew, one even grazing Richard’s cheek — but he calmly caught it in his gloved hand and set it back down.
The room went silent, all eyes on Hilda as her furious voice rang out:
“Isn’t forgiveness our decision, not the Duke’s?”
