Chapter 89
The scream of a strange woman made Marsha’s eyes widen in shock.
“My lady, are you alright?”
The maid beside her checked her anxiously.
Marsha was just about to answer, “Mm, I’m fine…” when loud voices erupted outside.
“How can you just dash out like that?”
The startled coachman shouted, but a woman snapped back,
“And you—driving so recklessly—who are you yelling at?”
“What?!”
“What if my lady had been injured, huh? What then?! Oh, my lady, can you stand?”
Marsha’s face turned pale.
From the sound of it, it seemed someone had nearly been struck by the carriage and was now hurt.
“I’ll go see,” her maid said.
“No, I need to check as well.”
“But, my lady…”
Marsha shook her head firmly.
Swallowing her concern, the maid climbed down first and held out her hand so Marsha could step down easily.
As soon as Marsha’s feet touched the ground, she saw a woman in a robe sitting on the street, clutched by a younger woman who wept while holding her.
“Are you alright?”
Marsha hurried toward them.
The coachman, sweating nervously, rushed after her.
“My lady, please return to the carriage. If the duke hears of this, he’ll scold me severely.”
At that, the robed woman flinched.
“Let’s at least see her condition first…”
Marsha replied to the coachman just as the woman in the robe lifted her head.
From the shadows of her hood, black eyes gleamed with an unsettling light.
“…Such a kind young lady.”
Her voice was elegant, almost enchanting.
Yet Marsha’s whole body broke out in gooseflesh, as if she’d just heard something terribly wrong.
“It was careless of me to walk without watching where I was going. And truly, I wasn’t badly hurt. So you needn’t worry so much.”
Marsha fought the strange unease in her chest.
“But still—”
“If you truly insist,” the woman cut in sharply, “could you escort me to my estate? My leg hurts too much to walk.”
“Ah, of course.”
Ignoring the chill running down her spine, Marsha forced a polite smile.
“Oh my, thank you. I won’t take too much of your time.”
The woman removed her hood.
A gust of wind caught her sleek, black hair, sending it fluttering.
“The Hermes Marquisate isn’t far from here.”
Marsha’s eyes wavered.
Beatrice covered her mouth and smiled with satisfaction.
***
Marsha sat in the greenhouse garden of the Hermes estate, wondering how things had come to this.
As she stared at the untouched tea set before her, Beatrice spoke.
“I said I wouldn’t keep you long, and yet here you are, still with me. But sending you back right away after you came all this way—it would be discourteous, don’t you think?”
Resting her chin on her hand, she studied Marsha as though examining her.
“Do you dislike tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”
“No, I can drink either.”
“I see. I prefer tea myself. The duke favors tea as well.”
When Beatrice’s lashes lowered, long shadows fell across her cheeks, which flushed prettily pink.
She looked every inch a woman in love.
If a painter had been present, he might have been inspired to create a masterpiece from the sight.
But Marsha’s face remained cool, unsmiling.
“You worried over me so much earlier, but now your expression is so stern. Did I do something wrong?”
“…Did you deliberately put yourself in danger just to meet me?”
Marsha’s fists clenched.
Beatrice blinked in surprise, then laughed lightly.
“Oh heavens, no! Why would I do something ‘dangerous’ just to meet you?”
“Then you must have thought the duke was in the carriage when you staged that little scene.”
Beatrice’s smile faltered.
For an instant her face hardened, but she soon regained her graceful composure.
“I heard the duke had gone west. And yet the Gloria carriage was heading to the Severia estate… I couldn’t help but wonder. Imagine my surprise when it wasn’t him, but Lady Railford inside. Did the Marchioness invite you? She is terribly sociable, isn’t she?”
Her lips curved sweetly, but to Marsha the words cut like blades.
“Still, I wasn’t disappointed to find you in the carriage instead. I’ve wanted to meet you. You’re the most talked-about lady in Stravine these days. And it pained me, being the only one who hadn’t yet seen you…”
She lowered her head with a sigh, then looked up through her lashes.
Marsha’s face didn’t shift an inch.
“…Lady Railford. Do you know why the duke didn’t invite me to the party?”
Marsha hesitated, then shook her head.
Beatrice smiled in smug delight, pressing her hands to her chest.
“It’s because he loves me.”
At the absurd declaration, Marsha’s fingers twitched under the table. Beatrice couldn’t see her reaction.
“Surely the duke has spoken of me?”
She had seen Marsha’s expression harden when she revealed herself as Hermes daughter. To Beatrice, it was proof enough—Claudio had spoken of her.
“Has he ever mentioned anyone else in such a way? Of course not. How could he? I am the only one he holds special.”
“Being thought of as special is not the same as being loved,” Marsha said evenly.
Beatrice laughed behind her hand.
“Oh, you really don’t understand the duke at all.”
Her eyes softened, as though gazing at a distant, beautiful memory.
“You see, the duke carries many wounds. Because of the previous duke and duchess of Gloria… Ah, surely you know about them?”
When Marsha remained silent, Beatrice frowned.
“What, you don’t? Ah, right. Country ladies wouldn’t know. Still, I thought the duke would have told you…”
Her satisfied smirk returned. So she really is that ignorant.
And with that smugness, she went on brightly,
“Because of those scars, the duke never allowed anyone close. Like a wounded wild beast shunning human touch. But me… I am different. I am the only one he holds dear.”
Her eyes glistened unnaturally, almost grotesquely bright.
“Even if he denies it, even if he refuses to admit his love—his instincts tell him not to let me stand beside another woman. That is why he kept me from the party.”
In that moment, Beatrice was radiant, almost dazzling, as she invoked Claudio’s image.
“If this isn’t love, then what is?”
Marsha’s stomach churned, her head pounding as though she had swallowed something rotten.
What is she even saying?
Had she not known Claudio’s heart, Marsha might almost have been swayed. Beatrice was that beautiful, that assured. But thankfully, Marsha did know him. She knew how he looked at her, how he held her face in his hands. No nonsense like this could shake her.
“Lady Railford. I pity you. The duke only used you because of me. Sooner or later, he’ll discard you. I cannot imagine the pain you’ll feel then.”
With feigned sympathy, Beatrice looked at her tenderly.
“So leave. Leave now.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Right this moment!”
Her angelic smile gleamed as she insisted,
“I’m only saying this for your sake. The deeper your heart grows, the deeper your wound will be.”
From the moment she realized she was dealing with Beatrice, Marsha had resolved to let the woman’s words pass quietly. Claudio was away; she wanted no trouble in his absence. That didn’t mean she would swallow such drivel whole.
“No matter what, I cannot simply leave without the duke’s consent. If I were to go, it would be only after telling him.”
Her reply was courteous, hoping it would suffice.
But Beatrice slowly blinked and asked,
“…Why must you tell the duke? He hasn’t bound you, has he? You’re free to come and go.”
Tilting her head as if genuinely puzzled, she suddenly brightened.
“Ah—unless you’re waiting for some reward from him? If so, I can provide it. Not immediately, perhaps, but once I’m queen, I’ll grant the Railford family new lands. I can even put it in writing.”
“….”
When Marsha gave no reply, Beatrice smiled slyly.
“Why so silent? Ah, you’re not satisfied? Then speak honestly. I’m kind—I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Ha…
Marsha nearly asked outright: If you love Claudio so much, why do you seek the throne? If he truly loved you back, wouldn’t it be enough to wait until he realized it?
But she swallowed the words and said instead,
“Let’s speak another time.”
She had no desire to continue any conversation, but it was the only polite way to extract herself.
“No,” Beatrice said firmly, shaking her head. “Say it now.”
Her black eyes shone with childlike insistence, as though begging for a gift.
Unbelievable. So persistent.
Surely she treated Claudio the same way.
I can’t imagine how much he endured from her.
That he still remained kind at all was a miracle.
Now… How do I end this politely?
As her headache worsened, Marsha suddenly recalled the time she had returned empty-handed after seeking an informant. Claudio had seen her sulk and said flatly,
“Tell me who did what, and where.”
He had wanted to fix the problem for her.
This was the same. He wouldn’t want her to suffer quietly like this.
“Lady Railford?” Beatrice urged.
Marsha parted her lips.
“I will not be leaving.”
