~Chapter 100~
“I will be honest. I don’t care whose womb it is, but I want the Duke’s bloodline to continue forever.”
At Margaret’s confession, Ancia decided to tell her about the conversation she had with Rishar—that even without children, they would live happily together. She steeled her heart.
“Since you speak so frankly, I will be frank too. As you know, my body is not well enough to have children. But…”
“Don’t say such things, child.”
Before Ancia could finish, Margaret held both her hands tightly. Though her face looked stern, her eyes and gestures were gentle.
Ancia felt both grateful and burdened. She couldn’t easily say words that might hurt Margaret.
Margaret’s calm but heavy voice continued:
“You have nothing to worry about. You will remain the only mistress of the Duke’s house. But as long as an heir is born, the mother could even be… Bianca. That strong-looking girl.”
So that was her true intention.
Margaret had often smiled forgivingly at Bianca’s mistakes, praising her health. Now it was clear she had been considering Bianca as a possible mother of an heir.
“Duchess, what do you think?”
Ancia almost blurted out: I hate it. But she held back. Honesty might be poison here.
Margaret had acted warmly all week, but all of it was to reach this moment. If Ancia gave the wrong answer, that warmth could vanish instantly.
“Mother.”
Ancia hid her true feelings, putting on a fitting mask. She smiled faintly, with a touch of sadness.
“My health has improved greatly since coming here.”
Margaret’s smile didn’t waver.
“Of course, it may still be hard, but it hasn’t even been a year since we married. Let me try harder. If it still doesn’t work… then we can think again. Please, give me time.”
It was difficult to speak words she didn’t mean.
Margaret held her hands more tightly, speaking with rare emotion:
“Your father-in-law, the former Duke, doesn’t have much time. Early rest may give him a few more years, but still. My dear…”
“Is it not too cruel to take away even the hope of a grandchild from me, who will soon lose my husband?”
Ancia had expected this day might come, but not like this. She was speechless.
Margaret continued calmly:
“I do not care if the Duchess is common or foreign. I am grateful that you are noble. But I cannot accept my husband’s child living without descendants.”
Ancia realized Margaret’s true heart: she loved her husband deeply and cared more about preserving his bloodline than her own son’s.
But Ancia loved Rishar. She couldn’t accept another woman bearing his child.
Her sorrow broke through her faint smile. Margaret slowly let go of her hand.
“If possible, I want to hold a grandchild before my husband dies. Who knows? If he is given hope, he may live longer.”
“…Will you give me time to think?”
“Yes. Perhaps I spoke too suddenly. A wise Duchess would already think of the future, but I may have interfered. Forgive me.”
Margaret stood and embraced her firmly.
“Next year, I hope to receive a letter with good news. Can you promise me?”
Ancia could not say no. She simply nodded. Margaret’s face finally showed a deep, wrinkled smile of true joy.
“At last, the Duke’s house has a proper mistress. Thank you, child.”
The next day, before leaving, Margaret filled Ancia’s room with gifts said to help with pregnancy—clearly prepared in advance. She even gave Bianca lavish gifts.
She explained again how helpful it would be if someone close, like a maid, could bear an heir instead of a stranger. She told Ancia that many noble houses accepted children from close servants rather than from unknown mistresses.
Ancia could only listen. To her, the thought of sending a dear maid as her husband’s concubine was absurd. But to Margaret, it was natural.
Margaret spent her last day longer with Ancia than in the entire week before, smiling at both her and Bianca.
“It is good to see a mistress who treats her maids well. Be kind to them.”
“…Yes. Safe travels, Mother.”
“Live well together. I’ll see you again.”
Ancia’s words about “trying” seemed already forgotten by Margaret, who left satisfied.
When she was gone, Ancia collapsed into bed, tearing down her pinned hair.
Her maids rushed in, worried.
“Madam, are you alright?”
“Elly, go get all the desserts from the kitchen. Bianca, go with her and bring as much as you can.”
“Yes! We’ll bring everything.”
When they left, Ancia rolled on the bed, pounding her pillow.
“Ahhh! So stressful! So suffocating!”
To hear the former Duke was dying—it was too heavy a burden.
She sighed, even in front of delicious cake. In the end, she sent everyone out, craving solitude.
At the window, she opened it wide, letting in the cold wind.
“Haa… I never thought I’d worry about children this much.”
Still, Rishar had said it was fine. She had no intention of letting another woman bear his child.
“Who knows? I’ve gotten stronger lately.”
Bianca’s steady herbal medicines had restored her health. Maybe by next year, anything would be possible.
“Yes. I’ll think about it again next year. No use stressing now.”
But as she went to close the window, she froze.
Far away, the flag by the gate was raised—the sign of activation.
Her heart trembled. Could it be the Crown Prince again? Rishar was away, and the thought made her blood run cold.
This time, however, it was not the Crown Prince. A small child with red eyes walked through the gate, holding the hand of a young man.
“Please state your name.”
The child stayed silent. The young man answered:
“Nathan Leslie, Viscount Leslie of the East.”
