Chapter 45
“I’m sorry for dropping by so suddenly.”
“N-not at all.”
The Grand Duchess disliked discourtesy above all else.
She knew very well that arriving unannounced was highly improper, but no matter how much she inquired after the servants of the fallen Count Emeledia household, none could be reached. And the matter she carried was too urgent to entrust to a messenger’s mouth.
So the Grand Duchess had hurried here herself.
She looked at Helene.
The woman was clearly flustered, worried that she might not be able to properly receive such a guest.
That only deepened the Grand Duchess’s sense of guilt.
After whispering a word to her maid Ella, the Grand Duchess turned to Helene.
“I couldn’t come empty-handed, so I had some tea and refreshments prepared. Ella’s tea is the finest in the Empire—you really must try it.”
At her words, Ella entered carrying an ornate three-tiered tray of delicacies. The other maids began setting out steaming water and cups.
Since the Emeledia household had no staff left, the Grand Duchess had naturally ordered her own attendants to handle the preparations. That way, the fallen countess wouldn’t be reduced to the humiliating sight of setting the table herself.
The Grand Duchess’s sharp eye and tact were second to none.
She possessed a charisma strong enough to make anyone tremble, yet at the same time, she had the uncanny gift of putting those before her at ease.
“Th-thank you.”
At her urging, Helene carefully sipped the tea said to be the best in the Empire.
And indeed—it was as the Grand Duchess claimed.
Though the blend was one she recognized, the flavor was deeper, the fragrance more vivid than any she had ever tasted.
“The reason I’ve come today,” the Grand Duchess began, “is to apologize to you, Countess Helene.”
“Pffft—!”
Helene nearly choked on her tea at the sudden declaration. She barely managed to swallow without spewing it everywhere—a small miracle.
“…I must apologize for thinking you insincere at the Sun Fellowship gathering.”
But I was insincere…
Helene froze, wondering if the Grand Duchess knew everything and was testing her. She didn’t dare raise the rose-patterned teacup to her lips again.
“When I saw you during the volunteer work last time, I was truly shocked. I had assumed you were lying to win the favor of the Fellowship.”
The Grand Duchess lowered her eyes, regret evident in her gaze. She had been struck dumb seeing Helene serving so earnestly.
At that time, she had been weary of the noble circles—tired of how no aristocrat ever volunteered without first boasting of it far and wide.
But Helene had told no one. She had even gone so far as to bring her former lover, leading him to repentance and service.
“You even managed to bring your former lover along…”
That “former lover” was none other than Shakia. Helene had introduced him that way to conceal his true identity from the Grand Duchess and Blaine.
Her hand trembled around her teacup at the memory of that forgotten lie.
“From what I hear, even he seemed to repent before the Sun God. I was told he adopted a child from the orphanage.”
The Grand Duchess had witnessed it all with her own eyes.
“Helene, you yourself repented sincerely, and not only that—you brought another soul to repentance as well!”
Her voice rang with genuine admiration.
Helene’s so-called ex-lover looked every bit a street thug—just as Blaine had once muttered, the kind of man who lived off women.
And yet, that “ruffian” had adopted an orphan and given generously in donations.
The Grand Duchess felt ashamed. She had judged by appearances. She had doubted.
All her life she had professed devotion to the Sun God, and yet never once had she striven so earnestly to lead another to repentance.
But now her faith blazed anew.
The two women of the Emeledia household—surely, they were a small miracle sent by the Sun God Himself.
“Th-thank you for the praise…”
“No, I must truly beg forgiveness. If I may excuse myself, it’s because your lie was too perfect. My father always said, ‘Perfection can only be made by falsehood.’ So whenever someone spoke too flawlessly, I could not help but suspect them.”
The Grand Duchess’s father had been none other than General Kelso of the Empire.
Standing over two meters tall, blessed with monstrous strength, Kelso was a war hero alongside the Emperor himself—together they had raised the Hersen Empire into the mightiest nation in the world.
But where the Emperor was hearty and boisterous, General Kelso had been famed for his austere, cynical nature.
His saying—“Perfection can only be made by falsehood”—had become legendary. Nothing in the world was truly perfect; if it seemed so, it must be a fabrication.
Helene, too, agreed with the sentiment.
Her previous life as Han Yena had been a world flooded with counterfeits, where nothing genuine could survive.
And yet—she suddenly recalled the title of this very world: The Perfect Lady Angelina.
So perfection did exist after all…
Angelina’s life had been flawless, just as the title proclaimed. Loved by all, born as if solely to receive love.
Helene had always thought such things possible only for a romance novel’s heroine. But Angelina had truly existed.
A bitter smile touched her lips. She shook off her wandering thoughts and waited for the Grand Duchess’s next words.
“Countess Helene, starting tomorrow, I would like you to come to the Imperial Capital.”
“…What?”
Helene blinked, utterly lost.
The Grand Duchess produced a document.
It bore Helene Emeledia’s name—official proof that she had become part of the Imperial Household.
Stamped with the great seal of the Imperial Family, the paper granted her free passage into the palace and treatment befitting an honored guest.
Such privileges were reserved only for the royal family’s dearest allies, a tiny handful of nobles.
Helene stared at the parchment as if it might swallow her whole.
The Grand Duchess, anticipating her shock, continued her explanation.
“As you know, Lady Liriana has reached the age of twenty-two without ever holding her debutante ball.”
Helene’s head snapped up.
When Liriana had turned eighteen, Raul—her father—learned that he was gravely ill.
They say that when death draws near, people begin to act strangely. For Raul, it had meant announcing he would go traveling despite his failing body.
He left the count’s manor, and Liriana postponed her once-in-a-lifetime debutante ball in hopes of waiting for his return. She believed that when her father came home, the ball could be held at any time.
But that was a mistake.
Raul did return—but not alone.
He introduced Helene as the woman who would become her stepmother.
Helene could still recall the shock in those three pairs of emerald eyes—the daughters who had lived with only their father after their mother Rebecca’s death.
Not long after, Raul collapsed entirely, bedridden by his illness. His physician, Doctor Henry, had scolded him harshly for ever attempting such a journey in his condition.
Raul was so frail he could have died at any moment. He never even held a proper wedding with Helene.
Not that she had cared—back then, she had married only for the Emeledia fortune, not for vows or ceremony.
Their so-called newlywed life had consisted of brief daily conversations by his sickbed.
Perhaps because he feared leaving his daughters behind, Raul would constantly beg her to take care of them.
Helene, of course, had never truly listened. Giving a cat the fish to guard—that was what Raul had done.
And when he died, he left all the Emeledia estate to her.
Liriana, burdened with tending her ailing father, never thought again of balls or society. After his death, with Helene as head of the house, there was no one to look after her.
Instead, Liriana had busied herself with caring for her younger sisters and a household collapsing day by day under Helene’s gambling and extravagance.
And so, without even realizing, Liriana had turned twenty-two.
