Chapter 29
A sharp, piercing silence lingered in the air when, beyond the open doors, maids finally appeared. At the Marchioness’s gesture, one of them stepped aside.
“……!”
At that very moment, the Marchioness’s brows shot upward like mountain peaks.
A woman with flowing golden hair took a step into the room, and it felt as though an invisible wave rippled through the space. Surrounded by noblewomen draped in Richmond’s finest jewels, Grace’s attire was plain to the point of austerity. And yet, despite the simplicity, every sense turned toward her.
Without a word, Grace commanded the room. Her gaze lingered on the lone chair placed at the center. She glided across the hushed chamber, the rustle of her dress audible in the stillness, and reached the chair. Fixing her eyes on the Marchioness, who was staring daggers at her, Grace spoke.
“Is this my seat?”
Her voice was flat—neither nervous nor excited. The Marchioness’s eyes hardened instantly.
Grace sat, arranged her skirts neatly, and straightened her posture, facing the Marchioness squarely.
A few maids behind the Marchioness blinked in unconscious agitation. The arrangement gave the illusion that the places of honor had shifted. Not only the maids but the noblewomen felt the same unease. In an effort to break the uncanny atmosphere, the Countess of Rewen leaned toward her neighbor and whispered:
“She must have only half-learned her manners. Shameless and uncultured.”
Another noblewoman, recovering from her own daze, quickly agreed.
“That’s the thing about etiquette. You learn it properly with a chaperone, attending various gatherings and behaving according to circumstance. Those who merely imitate always get something wrong.”
“And those with nothing but their bodies… they fail to grasp how quickly that body loses its shine, how swiftly youth fades.”
Whispered slanders and scornful glances poured onto Grace.
The Marchioness looked on, pleased, as her circle of companions launched barbed insults at Grace.
“Heh.”
Behind Grace, Flora stifled a laugh. The Marchioness’s lips curved upward as well.
As expected.
The woman who had dared to meet her gaze now lowered her eyes. Finally, the Marchioness broke her silence.
“You claim to be of the Decan Empire, do you not?”
Her words hushed the noblewomen, who had been trading jabs.
Grace’s eyes flicked toward the maids before she replied, voice dry.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And yet you remain unmarried? Even the humblest Decan family would never allow their daughter such freedom. Unless… perhaps, you are without parents?”
“……”
Grace stayed silent, and the Marchioness’s heart leapt with triumph. Her suspicions about Grace’s obscure origins solidified into certainty. Still, she would take the time to confirm it fully.
“Oh dear, what an indiscreet question.”
“It’s fine. What business did you summon me for?”
Impertinent.
The Marchioness muttered inwardly, then sipped her tea to refresh her mood.
“In the world of nobles, marriage is a form of contract. The wealth, authority, and honor of both houses must match, and the personal ability to bear the weight of a title is equally vital.”
“……”
“Love has no place in such unions.”
She smiled gently, her voice honeyed.
“You must be deeply in love with His Grace. Perhaps he does need such a woman by his side.”
Flora glanced at the Marchioness, confused, but the older woman ignored her.
“But be content with being the beloved woman. Once you leave the chandelier room, you’ll be given a bright, sunny chamber. I say this not out of spite, but for His Grace’s sake.”
Indeed, Marchioness Linco had not seized her family’s seat through luck alone. She was no fool who lost her temper blindly—otherwise she could never have kept Richmond’s inner city under her control. But there was one thing she did not know.
“Yes, I shall.”
“……”
Grace had no interest in the duchess’s seat, nor in the chandelier room.
Her immediate, dispassionate reply twisted the Marchioness’s brows askew. The noblewomen stirred uneasily, and Flora clenched her skirt tight, raising her voice.
“That is not the only reason the Marchioness summoned you!”
“Flora.”
The Marchioness restrained her, sensing Flora might lose composure.
“I only worry for my maids, madam.”
“It is not only for Flora’s maids, but also for Richmond’s peace that this must be addressed.”
With the Countess of Rewen lending support, the Marchioness sighed as if reluctant.
“I had hoped to handle this discreetly out of respect for His Grace’s honor… but for Richmond’s peace, I suppose I cannot.”
She signaled to two of Flora’s maids, waiting at the side. They stepped forward, and the Marchioness turned to Grace.
“Do you recognize these women?”
Grace braced herself, answering evenly. She needed to keep her composure now more than ever.
“They served me my meal.”
“Correct. They are official maids of Richmond’s household and presently attend upon Lady Flora of Rewen. Out of regard for His Grace’s affection for you, Flora sent them personally to your service.”
“A kindness, indeed.”
Grace thanked them with a calm face, but the Countess of Rewen exploded.
“And how did you repay my daughter’s kindness?! By laying hands on her maids? You there! Speak now of what you suffered!”
The maids’ eyes quivered.
Last night had been a nightmare. Disaster had struck without warning.
‘Kyaah!’
With a scream, they had been dragged into a lightless room. They hadn’t even seen who pulled them inside.
‘Open your mouths and you die.’
A girlish, lively voice had rung out from the dark. Then hard, stone-like blows rained down from every side. The maids could do nothing but cover their heads and curl up.
‘P-please… stop. We beg you.’
The voice grew impatient.
‘And who told you to serve dinner in that manner?’
At that instant, the maids had pictured Grace. In the blackness, it was she who had gripped their chins harshly.
‘Forgive us.’
‘Forgive? After serving me—His Grace’s beloved—in such a disgraceful way, you dare ask forgiveness?’
The beating had continued until they thought they might die, ending only with threats.
‘Speak of this, and you die.’
But in the end, they confessed.
No one survived falling from the Marchioness’s favor. From the maids’ perspective, Marchioness Linco was the queen of Richmond, capable of bending even the highest ladies to her will.
Before her, the obscure Grace was nothing. The only possible variable was the Duke, but he could not meddle in the inner affairs of the household. Their fear now transmuted into anger, and the maids burst into tears, crying out:
“We were locked away in a room without light!”
“After serving her meal, she dragged us off and tried to kill us!”
Gasps erupted among the noblewomen, hands flying to cover mouths.
“My goodness!”
“To think such barbarity in the Duke of Richmond’s castle…!”
Grace turned back to the Marchioness, her denial firm.
“That never happened. After dining, I was with His Grace.”
Then she addressed the maids directly.
“Are you certain it was me you saw?”
The maids sobbed.
“You dragged us into a place where nothing could be seen! But your voice—we knew it was you! You spoke of the meal and such—things only you could have said!”
“That’s right… sob…”
Flora rushed forward, tears streaming.
“I should have protected you. I should never have sent you. Forgive me.”
“Ahh, my lady…”
Even the noblewomen on the walls buzzed with agitation, and seizing the moment, the Countess of Rewen shot to her feet.
“Confess now in full, what you have done!!”
Grace steadied her breathing and forced herself to coolly assess the situation.
The accusations of confinement and violence had taken place in darkness. Before this crowd, the maids had pointed to her as the culprit. The Marchioness sat expressionless, but her eyes glowed with confidence—confidence solid as ancient stone. She believed her victory assured.
First, Grace needed to extricate herself from this matter of beating the maids. It must not become an issue of actions, lest she be ensnared beyond her birth status.
Choosing her words carefully, she finally spoke:
“Usually, an action must have a motive behind it.”
