Chapter 7
As expected, Lady Everchen was furious. She practically screamed in rage.
Lord Everchen also stared at his daughter in disbelief, eyes wide as if he couldn’t recognize her.
He held back his shrieking wife with one arm, putting on a show of fatherly authority.
“Agnès.”
“Yes, Lord Everchen.”
Her calm, confident tone made him stiffen.
“I never imagined that you, of all people, would behave so foolishly! I must have overestimated you. I’m disappointed.”
The word disappointed made Agnès’s golden eyes dim for a brief moment.
Seeing that, Lord Everchen felt a strange sense of relief—until he realized the truth.
She wasn’t upset because she had disappointed him.
She was disappointed in him.
And just like that, he could tell—whatever little respect she had left for him had just died.
“How dare you—”
He pointed at her, face red with anger, but Agnès didn’t even blink.
“Count Overhan used to say something similar,” she interrupted evenly. “He often said he was glad he didn’t have in-laws who meddled. That my parents were convenient—because as long as he paid them, they’d never complain. You were so helpful to my marriage, Father.”
Lord Everchen froze. Her golden eyes were sharp and bright, like a full moon in a clear night sky.
“You—how dare you talk to me like that!”
“Fortunately, His Grace the Duke doesn’t care about things like that. I suppose he just likes me that much.”
“Oh, how shameless!” Lady Everchen shrieked.
“Shameless? Coming from the woman who crawled into another man’s bed while married?”
“Agnès!”
The entire drawing room echoed with Lady Everchen’s cry, but Agnès didn’t flinch.
Her back stayed straight, her voice steady and cutting.
“Just make sure to prepare a proper dowry. When I married Count Overhan, maybe you didn’t care because Count Paulla only wanted a young bride and said he didn’t need money—but if people hear that you sent your daughter into the Duke of Basteron’s household without a dowry, what will they think?”
She tilted her head thoughtfully, then smiled sweetly.
“You’d be too embarrassed to attend any parties, and no young lady would ever want to marry Harbor. Even if someone did, they wouldn’t expect much of a dowry, right?”
“Agnès! How dare you mention Harbor’s name!”
Lady Everchen’s shrill voice filled the room again, and Agnès calmly lifted a hand to cover one ear.
Her faint frown and the curve of her face looked so much like her late mother that Lord Everchen’s breath caught.
That beautiful, intelligent woman who had always made him feel small…
Agnès looked just like her now—eyes filled with weary contempt.
“Call me whatever you want,” she said coldly. “Soon you’ll be calling me the Duchess of Basteron.”
Lady Everchen turned crimson, pointing and shouting incoherently, while Lord Everchen paled and slumped into the sofa.
Agnès rang the bell, and within moments, servants entered and all but dragged the couple out.
Lady Everchen’s exit—kicking and yelling—looked remarkably similar to the day Agnès herself had been thrown out of Count Overhan’s mansion.
She stood by the window, watching as their carriage hurried away.
Down below, one of the servants said something to them, and both parents scrambled into the coach, leaving as if chased.
“Ha…”
A hollow laugh slipped from Agnès’s lips. Her face stayed expressionless.
To think that the people who had made her shrink all her life could be removed so easily—it felt strange.
There was satisfaction, yes, but also emptiness.
She hated herself a little, too, for how easily she’d changed—how quickly she’d learned to use power the same way they once used it on her.
But it was the right choice.
For Dylan’s sake, she had to make sure the Everchens wouldn’t try anything reckless.
Otherwise, they would keep pestering the Duke for money and favors.
All she wanted from Dylan was help to rescue Noah—to give her son a safe home where he could grow up free from pain.
She wanted nothing more.
She mustn’t want more.
“Did I do the right thing?”
She turned from the window to address the two people standing quietly nearby.
One was Gaveline, the Duke’s young butler.
The other was Sharon, the head housekeeper.
Sharon looked older—her hair streaked with gray—but her calm presence carried warmth and quiet strength.
She had once been Dylan’s nursemaid, and there was a steadiness in her manner that came from years of caring for others.
She smiled gently and said,
“You did perfectly, my lady. Look at them scurrying off. They won’t dare bother you or His Grace again.”
Gaveline, however, spoke up more stiffly.
“I think… it may have been a bit excessive.”
He was the picture of an elite servant—gray hair neatly combed back, collar buttoned tight, shoes polished to a shine.
Everything about him was precise, disciplined, and proud.
“You’ve not yet had your wedding, so invoking the Duke’s authority may appear somewhat premature,” he said coolly.
Sharon elbowed him in the ribs.
He let out a soft grunt—“Ugh”—but didn’t take back his words. His stern eyes remained fixed on Agnès.
She didn’t dislike it.
Loyalty that strong was admirable.
Besides, from his point of view, it was only natural to be wary of her.
A “flawed” woman, newly divorced, becoming the wife of the man he served—it must have felt wrong to him.
So she smiled and accepted his words gracefully.
“I see. I’ll be more careful next time. Please continue to guide me in the future.”
Her composure made his perfect posture falter just a little.
“…I wouldn’t presume to instruct the future Duchess.”
“He just means he’ll serve you faithfully,” Sharon said quickly, giving him another discreet nudge. “He’s a good one—clever and loyal. His Grace trusts him completely.”
Agnès chuckled softly and nodded in understanding.
If this had been Count Overhan’s house, she might have scolded a servant for insolence.
But here, she was the newcomer—she had no right to command yet.
“Anyone His Grace values must be an excellent person,” she said kindly.
“Oh, my lady, you can speak comfortably to us,” Sharon said.
“Not yet. I’m not married to His Grace, and it would be improper to forget my manners. We’ll change things little by little.”
Her voice was gentle, but her words held quiet dignity.
Sharon smiled, but Gaveline remained stiff, his expression unreadable.
Unbothered, Agnès asked,
“By the way—where is His Grace? I didn’t see him at breakfast.”
“He went to the Imperial Palace to see His Majesty,” Gaveline replied. “I believe it’s to formally report the upcoming marriage.”
“Thank you, Gaveline. Do you know when he’ll return?”
“He may not return today. His Majesty is quite fond of him, and sometimes… keeps him longer than expected.”
Agnès blinked in surprise.
The rumor said Dylan had once fought his brother, the Emperor, for the throne—and lost, cursed in the process.
But perhaps that wasn’t true after all.
“I see. When he comes back, could you please let me know? I need to speak with him.”
“His Grace is a very busy man, so even if he does return—”
“Of course she can see him,” Sharon cut in quickly, laughing. “Don’t mind the butler, my lady. He only knows how to say the proper thing. The Duke may be busy, but surely he’ll find time for his lovely new bride.”
Agnès gave a polite, embarrassed smile.
She wasn’t exactly a “new bride”—not yet, not really—but she said nothing.
After thanking them both, she left the room with a maid’s guidance.
As soon as she was gone, Sharon and Gaveline exchanged looks.
“…You really don’t like the new lady, do you?” Sharon teased.
“Isn’t it obvious? She’s far too naïve! I expected someone stronger to be the Duchess of Basteron!”
His usual calm gone, Gaveline spoke with rare frustration. Sharon only covered her mouth to hide a giggle.
“Funny. She doesn’t seem nearly as naïve as you think.”
Her teasing earned her a glare, but she only shrugged and swept out of the drawing room, laughing under her breath.
