Chapter 40
Why had he chosen Prisia—neither the smart older sister nor the beautiful younger one?
Come to think of it, even that had been said by the Marchioness of Napier.
“I know I’m not someone special,” she had once said.
Even on the rare occasions she attended balls, Matthew was always by Prisia’s side.
She thought it was because she was unremarkable and had no presence, but for some reason, the rumors floating around were quite different from her reality.
“The Treasure of the Deblancs. The Precious Lady.”
Both her older sister and younger sister had referred to her that way. Then why had she always thought otherwise?
“You always told me, madam. That even someone like me—plain and talentless—would one day be loved sincerely!”
“And you think that person is the Duke of Cromford?”
As Prisia nodded, the Marchioness of Napier burst into laughter.
“You’ve clearly grown too arrogant while I wasn’t looking.”
“Madam, I…”
“Should you have been bold like Rose? Or beautiful like Lily? Do you really not understand why he chose an unremarkable girl like you to be his bride?”
Words that didn’t need to be said stabbed into Prisia’s heart like blades.
No, she wasn’t as lovable as Lily, nor as bold as Rose, but still, she had hoped that someone would one day recognize her own worth.
“Who would’ve known you’d stab us in the back like this? If Matthew hadn’t taken a liking to you, I wouldn’t have invested so much effort in you.”
“Madam.”
“My poor son. Even heaven shows no mercy. You’ve forgotten all the kindness he showed you and now disgrace me?”
The Marchioness harshly swatted away the hand Prisia had timidly extended.
But what hurt more than her rejected hand was her heart.
Ada and Luca, hearing the shouting, burst in and helped the staggering Prisia to her feet.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?!”
“You’re one to talk! You knew full well that we were discussing a marriage between Matthew and Prisia, yet you snatched her away!”
If the Marchioness herself pursued this matter, the Emperor—who had always tried to connect the Duke with the Princess—would certainly not take it lightly.
“That’s not true! I never—”
“You can’t come in here without permission!”
At that moment, the shouts of the attendants echoed from beyond the door.
Ada and Luca, unable to grasp what was happening, went into full defensive mode.
“No matter what happens, we will protect the madam with our lives!”
Bang!
With a loud crash, one of the servants was sent flying.
Realizing the situation was hostile, the maids who had accompanied the Marchioness stepped back with her.
“Madam! The Duke of Cromford is—aaaah!”
Another servant, hanging onto the door, was struck by a flying body and collapsed to the ground.
Step. Step.
The approaching footsteps were made more terrifying by the murderous aura the man carried.
“What do you think you’re doing, Duke?!”
The Duke’s soldiers swiftly overpowered the Marchioness’s retainers. Though no one was killed, arms and legs were slashed, and the scent of blood filled the air.
As the last servant collapsed, the Duke appeared from the other side—his displeasure evident.
Without sparing the terrified Marchioness a glance, he stared at Prisia, who was barely standing in a corner.
Then, his eyes caught the red handprint on the back of her hand, encircled by Ada and Luca.
“What’s this?”
“Forgive me, Master…”
He approached the trembling Prisia and extended his hand.
After a moment of hesitation, she carefully took it.
To say she wasn’t scared of the blood on his gloves would be a lie—but thanks to him, she was safe.
“Why are you here?”
As if determined to provoke people, the Duke casually kissed the back of her hand.
“I missed you.”
He gently bit her finger and stroked the handprint tenderly.
As if understanding she couldn’t bring herself to explain what had happened, he embraced her shaking shoulders tightly and cast a cold gaze around.
“I came only to pick up my wife after the party was canceled. But it seems the Marchioness should consider retraining her servants.”
“How dare you be so rude!”
Even after reducing her staff to bloody heaps, the Duke didn’t flinch or show a hint of regret.
Despite the Marchioness’s enraged outburst, he remained calm and retorted coldly:
“I take it things didn’t go well with Davonet?”
Davonet—that name was familiar to Prisia. A newly rising noble family that had amassed a fortune through pearl trade. But why mention them now?
While the Marchioness stood visibly flustered, Wilfred gripped Prisia’s hand and leaned in to whisper:
“Why don’t you leave this to me?”
Why did his voice, more tender than ever, make her feel like crying?
She still remembered the day she first arrived at the Napier household.
Back when the three sisters constantly fought, before they’d matured, she’d envied Matthew.
While the Deblanc girls had to share even a single slice of cake, Matthew, being an only child, monopolized all of his parents’ love.
The Marchioness, who often said she always wanted a daughter, made her imagine what it might have been like.
How wonderful would it have been to be born into this family? How amazing if she were my mother?
But such wishes were things she could never speak aloud in front of her sisters.
Now, hearing the Marchioness’s true feelings was dizzying.
“Escort the lady.”
After sending his pale-faced wife away first, the Duke approached the Marchioness without hesitation.
One maid sat down from fear, and even the previously confident Marchioness now showed unmistakable signs of terror.
“Do you think I’ll let this rudeness go unpunished?!”
“Before the marriage, I investigated thoroughly. Prisia Deblanc had no binding engagement, and you were merely her guardian—nothing more.”
To the Marchioness, Prisia had only been a backup plan, nothing more.
Though she showed her off here and there, she had always been clear about drawing a line.
“Everyone heard it. That she was simply a pitiful child who lagged far behind her sisters—someone you were only looking after out of pity.”
Even Prisia, who had sincerely followed her, had grown used to such words.
The Marchioness said them so easily, and it was clear why: to manipulate her as she pleased.
“I-I never said that!”
“Actually, you said: ‘I took her in because I pitied her; she has nothing to do with Matthew’—many times.”
If a better offer came along, the Marchioness would discard Prisia without hesitation.
If she had truly cared for her, she wouldn’t have stood by doing nothing during Rose’s situation.
“When Rose was cornered, you contacted Davonet and proposed marriage. You claimed the Deblancs had nothing to do with her and even supported Rose’s marriage, just like Marquis Gonder’s wishes.”
“Enough!!”
“You tried so hard to connect with Davonet, and when even that failed, you must have lost all sense.”
And Matthew—still unable to give up on Prisia. Unaware of everything, the sisters had believed the Marchioness truly cared for them.
“Is that all true?”
Matthew, who had rushed over upon hearing the commotion, couldn’t close his gaping mouth upon hearing his mother’s true intentions.
Pretending not to see her horrified son, the Marchioness no longer hid her ugly truth.
“Shouldn’t you be grateful? Who helped you when your parents fell into ruin and you had nowhere to go?”
“Mother!”
“And after betraying my son like that, do you think I’d forgive her?!”
Back when the Deblancs were at risk of losing their title, maybe. But now, they were an attractive family.
Rose’s business was making a fortune, and if Rose—who had no interest in marriage—were to die, the title would naturally pass to Prisia’s children.
The ugly duckling had turned into a golden goose, and that only made her greedier.
“Please forgive her. We beg you—please, have mercy.”
The servants, more humble than the Marchioness herself, dropped to their knees and pleaded for their mistress’s life.
But Wilfred, Duke of Cromford, looked over them and addressed the stunned Matthew.
“Do you still have feelings for Prisia?”
“No. Prisia is… my dearest friend. A truly precious one.”
“Matthew!”
“You’re free to dream, but you picked the wrong person.”
The Marchioness couldn’t have acted alone. Surely, someone was behind her.
Lately, she had been frequenting the Empress’s salon—a coincidence? Highly unlikely.
If he cut her down here, things would be simple…
But just imagining Prisia—scared and turning her eyes away—made his chest ache.
To be hated by her for this? That, he couldn’t bear.
“There won’t be a second time.”
With a cold warning, the Duke left the mansion without looking back.
