Chapter 17
The only elder of the Winfield family, Lady Winfield, now fifty-two, lived in a house that didn’t quite suit her status.
The entire house consisted only of a small first floor with her room and a sitting room, and an attic space meant for a maid. In fact, the small glass greenhouse next to the house looked even more spacious by comparison.
When Benedict knocked on the door, a maid came out. The expression on her face, torn between confusion and discomfort, suggested she was troubled about having to turn him away again like the day before.
So Benedict quickly spoke up.
“Please tell the lady we need her to verify the contract with us.”
Mimicking the formal tone of an adult, he said this with a show of seriousness. The maid, unable to muster a proper reply, simply guided them to the sitting room.
Now finally inside the house, Benedict glanced proudly at Lucien as if to say, See?
“If we hadn’t brought the contract, we would’ve been turned away again today.”
“Are you really planning to show that to the lady?”
“Of course. It already has legal effect, doesn’t it?”
He clutched the envelope containing the contract with a determined face.
Soon, someone knocked on the sitting room door, and it opened. Lucien stood up, following proper etiquette.
As expected, Lady Winfield, who slowly stepped through the open door, was the very woman Lucien had met at the gravesite.
That’s her…
She really was Benedict’s grandmother—Emma Winfield.
When Emma noticed Lucien, her eyebrows twitched slightly in surprise, but she didn’t acknowledge her directly.
Or perhaps, she simply didn’t have the energy. She looked even paler than she had at the graveyard. Perhaps she hadn’t been eating properly.
“…I’m sorry, Duke. I’m not feeling well…” Cough.
She sat on the sofa across from them, speaking with a cracked voice. Lucien glanced at Benedict.
Just moments ago, Benedict had been full of resolve, ready to shove the contract in front of his grandmother and corner her into agreement.
But now, faced with her pale complexion and frail condition, he seemed flustered.
He couldn’t manage a proper response to her words, simply fidgeting with the envelope containing the contract.
To be honest, Lucien wasn’t surprised by Benedict’s reaction.
Even if Emma had been healthy and sitting across from him, Benedict likely wouldn’t have been able to present the document so easily.
Benedict was kind. That was evident in the warmth and generosity he had always shown Lucien.
Though desperate circumstances had pushed him to create a cruel plan, actually carrying it out was a completely different matter.
“You said you had something to say about the contract?”
As the uncomfortable silence dragged on, Emma broke it. It seemed the maid had relayed Benedict’s message properly.
“Y-yes. Ah…”
Benedict forced himself to raise his head and speak stiffly—but in his nervousness, he accidentally held the envelope upside down.
The contents spilled out, fluttering to the floor of the sitting room.
“…!”
The papers scattered at the lady’s feet.
No matter how long ago it was, there was no way she wouldn’t recognize her own marriage contract. Realizing this, Benedict felt as if his heart dropped to the floor.
Only now did he understand how cruel this act had been.
He had been prepared to push this reminder of the past onto a fragile woman still suffering from old wounds. How shameful of him.
But he couldn’t excuse it by saying, That wasn’t my intention. Emma was already reaching out, her fingers trembling, about to pick up the documents.
Seeing her shaking fingertips, Benedict was sure she had already grasped the nature of his disgraceful plan.
What do I do?
Even amidst his confusion, he couldn’t help but feel pained by the trembling in Emma’s hands, and the way she bit her lips hard enough to hurt.
Though thinking such things was hypocritical, given that he had caused them.
“Wait!”
Just then, Lucien let out an involuntary shout as Emma’s hand neared the papers.
Until now, Lucien had been quietly observing, unsure of what to say or how to speak in such a tense situation.
Her outburst was instinctive, and even she was surprised by it—but the timing was perfect.
When Emma paused and looked up from the papers, Lucien quickly continued.
“We came here because we have something to say to you, Lady Winfield!”
Benedict grabbed her arm in protest, perhaps thinking she was about to deliver the cruel message in his place.
“Yes, I heard it was about the contract,” Emma replied.
“That’s right.”
“…I always knew this marriage would one day come back to choke me.”
Emma murmured somberly, as if recalling a distant memory.
Her husband, Roscoe Winfield, had been a quiet man.
Emma had found comfort in his silence.
Perhaps it was because she had grown up among parents, a half-sister, and terrifying relatives who constantly threw harsh, cutting words at her.
Roscoe had also been handsome and gentlemanly. She had fallen in love with him quickly.
When she became pregnant, she truly felt happy for a time.
But then, one day, she came across a letter from the royal family that changed everything.
It was a letter pressuring them to marry, sent before their wedding.
Emma already knew the king had overseen their marriage, so that wasn’t surprising.
What shocked her were the veiled threats in the letter:
If you wish for Miss Amelie Lockridge’s safety, you should proceed as instructed.
Amelie Lockridge—Emma’s half-sister.
The beautiful girl adored by their parents and servants alike. Bright, full of life—the exact opposite of quiet Emma.
Naturally, Emma was always the one considered inferior.
And then…
The day she realized that even her husband, her only safe haven, was no different from the rest.
That was the day her already fragile heart began to rot.
I found a house with a greenhouse. Why don’t you recuperate there for a while?
The message Roscoe brought to her sickbed pushed her into despair.
“Are you casting me out?”
“No.”
“Lies! You… you never loved me. You married me for Amelie, didn’t you? Do you think I don’t know that?!”
She didn’t even know what answer she expected when she asked that final question.
Perhaps, she had hoped for a denial.
“That’s true.”
But what she got was confirmation.
She had stood up from her sickbed and packed her things herself.
The image of the baby in the nanny’s arms lingered before her eyes—but she forced it away.
Sadly, the child wasn’t the result of love, but the fruit of a contract. She couldn’t just take him with her.
Still, she had no intention of spending her life with a man who loved her sister.
So, she left the ducal estate behind.
Coming out of her thoughts, Emma slowly nodded.
“…I will accept the terms, Your Grace.”
“N-no, I…”
Even after getting what he wanted, Benedict couldn’t speak properly. As he floundered, trying to find words with both hands,
“It’s not just the contract that remains,”
Lucien gently took his hand and placed it back on his lap as she spoke firmly.
“I don’t know what happened to you, Lady Winfield, so I’ll only speak about what I found.”
She pulled a small packet of seeds from her bag and placed it neatly on the table, making sure the side with the plant names and dates faced upward.
“It was one of the only belongings found on the late Duke’s shelf.”
Her eyes scanned the seed packets one by one and paused at a date written below.
Benedict had said it was the day the former Duke died—but Lucien wondered if it might mark something else as well.
It didn’t seem likely that a man who lived so frugally would store rare seeds in expensive packets just to commemorate his own death.
And as it happened, she’d just seen that date on one of the documents that had fallen to the floor earlier.
It was the day the marriage contract had been signed.
