Chapter 51
“Your way?”
“I’m not your puppet. There are better ways — no need to spill blood, right? The rest you can handle yourself.”
When Alicia finished speaking, the icy expression on her face immediately melted into that of the most pitiful, frightened girl in the world.
Alicia cried out in a voice full of terror.
“My goodness! This was the tea Lady Rebecca kindly gave me the other day because it smelled so nice.”
Tears seemed ready to spill from Alicia’s wide eyes at any moment. Her trembling shoulders looked so woebegone that anyone would have wanted to embrace her.
“Hah!”
Octavio gave a hollow laugh. If there were an award for acting ability, Alicia’s performance would surely deserve first prize — it was that natural.
“Surely your lady didn’t drink any of it?”
Grace wrapped her arm around Alicia’s small shoulders, face full of shock. Alicia shook her head with a worried expression.
“Fortunately, she didn’t drink it. I thought to ask the doctor just in case. I’ve been very sensitive about what I eat lately.”
“My goodness. Thank heaven.”
It was truly a relief. Now that it was been revealed Rebecca was infertile, if something were to happen even to Alicia’s child, Zeplin would surely fly into a rage.
“This is serious. But why would madam be given such tea — a blend made with hard-to-find ingredients?”
Octavio looked at Alicia as if trying to read her scheming. Alicia hesitated, then spoke.
“Actually, I believe it was the tea Lady Fabiola gave her…”
“What? Say that again.”
Hearing the commotion, Zeplin pushed through the gathered servants and came over. Alicia startled and put on her habitual innocent expression.
“Count…”
“Alicia, say it again. What did Rebecca drink?”
Alicia glanced at Octavio, then answered as if reluctantly complying.
“She kept drinking tea that causes infertility. And I believe this was a gift your mother gave to Lady Rebecca.”
Alicia produced a note, proof written in Fabiola’s handwriting. Zeplin stared at the paper, then muttered blankly,
“Infertility…?”
Zeplin felt his mind go numb. It had to be a lie. It had to be. Rebecca can’t bear my child? He clung to the drifting edges of consciousness and shouted,
“Bring my mother… bring that woman before me at once!”
A faint smile appeared on Alicia’s lips and vanished. Octavio, who had already guessed Alicia’s plan, narrowed his eyes. Alicia meant to expel Rebecca from the estate and drag Fabiola down with her. He regarded the country bumpkin girl he’d adopted and taught; the frightened look from last night had long since disappeared from her face.
It wasn’t a plan he loved, but it wasn’t bad either. He finished calculating quickly. Zeplin, in a state of panic, began to yell.
“Rebecca! Rebecca! No! This can’t be!”
“Shh… Count, there are many watching.” Octavio calmed the shouting Zeplin expertly.
“Octavio… bring that woman to me. I must know the truth. There must be a mistake — as usual with that stupid woman’s doings.”
“Yes. I will bring your mother. So calm yourself.”
Zeplin collapsed as if exhausted into Octavio’s arms. Alicia watched Octavio’s hand patting Zeplin’s back with a blank look. Their eyes met in the air; Octavio was the first to smile.
“Water… bring water.”
Fabiola clutched her throbbing head from a hangover and shouted. Last night’s party had been no different from others, yet her hangover felt worse than usual. Perhaps age was catching up; her body didn’t feel the same.
Fabiola staggered out of bed and sat at her vanity. Wrinkled skin and hollow shadows under her eyes greeted her. Time rushing away depressed her. Once she had been praised as a beautiful countess. Now she had to throw money around just to hear anyone call her beautiful — and even then the praise wasn’t sincere. The glory she once had had shifted to Rebecca, that girl. Wherever she went, people spoke Rebecca’s name. The child drew attention even though she shunned high society. Fabiola had to accept that the name of the beautiful Countess of Devonshire now belonged not to Fabiola Devonshire, but to Rebecca Devonshire. That realization drove her mad every night.
She lifted her weary, watery eyes. All that remained to her were Zeplin and the Devonshire money. She would not give those up for anything. Some ladies lived out their days happily watching grandchildren; she was not one of them. To her, grandchildren were yet another rival for Zeplin’s affection and wealth. She hoped fervently that Rebecca had shared the tea she’d gifted with Alicia.
Sounds of a commotion rose from downstairs, perhaps to erase traces of last night’s party. Fabiola sighed and shouted again.
“What are you dawdling for? I said bring water!”
“I didn’t expect you to still be in your bedroom at this hour. Or is this your usual?”
A man with a sharp look, not a maid, slipped through the pink door gap. Recognizing him, Fabiola sprang up.
“Octavio!”
The door closed behind him. Octavio gave her a roving look, leering; Fabiola scowled. No cry from her would do any good — nothing here was truly hers anymore. She hurried to throw on a robe and open it. Octavio watched with pleasure.
“There’s no need between us to make a show of it, is there?” he said.
“We’re nothing to each other,” she retorted.
“That’s disappointing.”
His leering face made her grimace. She turned her back on him at her vanity — she didn’t want to meet his gaze. Octavio’s tidy footsteps clicked closer.
“You were discovered, weren’t you?” he asked.
His steps paused at her words. Fabiola tried to brush out her messy hair as if nothing had happened. Octavio watched her quietly then stepped forward again.
“Our lady’s become quick to notice things. But knowing that, why take such a reckless risk?”
“Don’t call me that!” Fabiola snapped, raising her brush as if to strike. Octavio caught her hand.
“Are you going to hit me with that? Like your father? Cry out that the child of a poor tenant needs such beating to learn a lesson.”
“You….” The brush fell from Fabiola’s hand. Octavio took her trembling hand gently.
“Still so soft. Just like when I first held it.”
“Let go.”
“You could’ve run away with me from the start and avoided this humiliation.”
“You know I didn’t marry by my own will. Aren’t you tired of this talk?”
“No. It’s the most entertaining thing in the world. Every time I bring up old stories, your face contorts so nicely.”
“Shut up. What else do you want from me, pestering me like this? Kill me if you must! Didn’t they say the tea’s effects had been found? Then hand me over to my son as I am. Zeplin will kill me for you. Like when the child killed his father by my hand!” Her voice, crazed, whacked at Octavio’s ear. Her eyes were both sad and angry. Octavio’s brows knit briefly; then, as always, he smiled gently.
He brushed Fabiola’s face with one hand. “I can’t do that. I still love you.”
“Ha! Love? Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no word less suited to you. You never loved me.”
“Fabiola. My lovely Fabi. Love takes many forms. Everything I did for you was love. Even revenge is a form of love, don’t you think?” Octavio lifted her hand and kissed it. She stared at his gesture with disgust, like watching an insect crawl across her skin.
“Nonsense.”
“You’ve gotten coarse with your mouth, Countess. I’m glad I pried you from Zeplin; it’s better your habits don’t spoil him.”
“Hah. I’ve said it before: that child isn’t your son. Stop acting like my father. Enough.”
“Well, only God will know. You aren’t certain either.”
“Shut up! Shut up! No matter what anyone says, my son is of Devonshire blood! A descendant of the great Earl of Devonshire!” Fabiola sprang to her feet and lunged at Octavio; her manicured nails scored his cheek. Blood welled on his face but he only looked more delighted.
“Yes! Only before me do you show that face. I like you raw and unvarnished.”
Octavio’s euphoric expression caused Fabiola to lose heart; her arm fell. She lifted tear-filled eyes and glared at him.
“You’re insane.”
“You made me this way, my Fabiola.” Octavio wiped her tears and kissed her cheek lightly. Her hand trembled noticeably.
“Anyway, there’s no time for this. Your son isn’t in his right mind right now.”
“……”
“Did you plan this and set things in motion?”
“No. You know I don’t look into the future.” Octavio tugged a corner of his mouth into a smile. He seated Fabiola at the vanity, picked up a brush, and continued combing her hair. The matted mess smoothed under his hands like silk.
“Listen to me. I’ll handle everything. It’ll all work out. It will, Fabiola.”
