Chapter 35
In moments like these, asserting dominance immediately carried the day. No point in letting her prattle on endlessly.
“You are the head maid. It’s your role to oversee the maids serving under me—not to defy my authority.”
“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I would never presume—”
“Silence when I’m speaking. The sole person permitted to cut me off in this castle is the Grand Duke.”
“…Understood.”
“Excellent. Now go.”
Marzella, the head maid, paused, her gaze flicking across the chamber. She saw the futility in further defiance, dipped into a curt bow, and turned to depart.
“One last matter.”
She halted mid-step.
“Henceforth, never enter a room uninvited. A head maid ignorant of such fundamental decorum ought to feel mortified.”
“…My apologies.”
Her complexion drained of color as she ushered the other maids from the space.
Even in the hush that followed, my pulse hammered on.
Relief? Triumph’s glow? Or dread that I’d come across as ridiculous?
It’s all right. For my debut in a confrontation like this, I held my own. I even sounded like a born noble.
“……”
Whitley glided forward moments later, swapping my tepid tea for a steaming replacement without a word.
On reflection, neither he nor Norton had batted an eye at my sharp tone. Though I, the poised Grand Duchess, had just let my voice rise, they betrayed no shock.
I alone heaved ragged breaths, irritation still simmering.
Did I overplay my hand?
A more graceful approach might have served better. I’d labored to uphold my ladylike poise, only to bare my ire.
This feeds straight into those villainess whispers.
I’d vowed against breeding foes in Blenheim, yet here I’d squared off with Marzella.
Why not hold my tongue?
A self-directed sigh escaped me—then my eyes locked with Leta’s.
Of course. The true crux lay ahead.
I drew in a steadying breath.
“Now, speak your piece.”
Leta, grasping that postponement would worsen her plight, hastened to confess.
“Greed clouded my judgment for an instant. That’s what drove me.”
“Greed?”
“I figured those scraps of paper looked valuable enough to sell. Since they seemed destined for the trash, I didn’t see the harm.”
“So you pilfered the paper?”
“I—I’m deeply sorry, Your Highness. I knew better, but the temptation proved too strong.”
“For profit alone?”
Jewelry or cutlery would’ve made more sense for quick coin, yet paper?
“Leta bears no blame! She only meant to aid me!”
The girl burst out abruptly.
“Sister?”
“Morina!”
Leta sought to hush her, but the child forged ahead.
“She never intended theft! She simply wished to pass it to me!”
“So you’re sisters.”
I’d guessed as much. Their resemblance screamed kinship.
Morina balled her fists, fingers trembling.
“The paper seemed too fine to discard, so she hoped I’d put it to use.”
“That’s false! Your Highness, she’s blameless in this—”
“Enough.”
I silenced her.
“Persist in deception, and you’ll stoke my wrath. Hold your tongue.”
Leta clamped her lips shut at once.
“And you,” I shifted to Morina, “why hand you the paper?”
“I…I sketch,” she murmured.
“You sketch?”
“The sheets I normally get rip too readily, and they’re scarce. My sister thought superior paper would help my practice…”
Words failed me briefly.
Leta hadn’t snatched the stationery remnants for cash, but to fuel her sister’s art?
I exhaled deliberately.
“Are maids’ wages truly so meager? Too scant even for a handful of sheets?”
“The Grand Duke isn’t miserly…”
The pieces refused to align.
“Did you intend to smuggle my letters beyond the castle walls?”
“No! We never meant—!”
Leta and Morina crumpled to their knees in unison, foreheads grinding against the floor in abject plea.
“I only planned to use the blank reverses.”
“While the fronts bore my private script.”
I knew the truth. It was a note to my brother—casual inquiries about his well-being, trifles. To a maid, perhaps trivial.
In truth, my own carelessness played a part: I’d left it crumpled on my desk’s edge, as if worthless.
“I acted without thought, Your Grace! But I vow—”
“Cease. I grasp the matter fully.”
What course now?
Fingers drumming the sofa’s arm, I pondered. Leta and the girl held still, breath bated for my verdict.
At length, resolve formed.
“Very well… demonstrate.”
“What?”
The girl’s wide eyes blinked in astonishment at my unforeseen demand.
In the head maid’s office, Marzella sat mute.
The senior maids arrayed before her, reading her disposition, vented grievances against the Grand Duchess.
“You’ve given decades to this household, Madam!”
“She hasn’t even shared the wedding night with the Grand Duke, yet she lords over us like she rules already.”
“Her fame’s all infamy from the capital. Just some minor noble, isn’t she?”
“High society’s true jewel remains Lady Ladriel.”
“Silence.”
Marzella quelled them with an icy stare.
Their frets aside, fury didn’t grip her.
A noble remained a noble, after all.
She’d weathered far graver slights without unraveling.
Curiosity supplanted anger.
Was I too precipitous?
She’d pegged the Grand Duchess as a mere nominal tie to the Grand Duke.
Even upon her arrival at the castle, Marzella dismissed her as transient, unthreatening.
But news of her formal address to the knights changed that. Inaction no longer sufficed.
I must witness this myself.
Marzella had angled for an audience under courtesy’s guise, but the cunning butler dodged with pretexts.
Then came the maid’s blunder—a golden pretext. She’d seized it.
Yet face-to-face, the Grand Duchess defied every rumor.
Utterly unlike the tales.
Soft, pliant, trouble-free—they’d claimed.
But that command of power… the villainess mantle fit. She meant to dig in.
I must dispatch word at once.
“Benet, summon a courier.”
Marzella directed the anxious senior maid.
One soul required this intelligence.
Better than anticipated.
I examined the sketch clutched in my palm.
The girl had rendered it mere heartbeats prior.
My teapot and cup sat replicated with uncanny fidelity.
It rivals a professional’s work.
Now her choice of letter stock made sense over canvas.
Unlike the sweeping vistas and intricate oils gracing the marquisate, hers evoked quick ink renderings—almost contemporary sketches.
Minimalist details, yet essentials pop. Crisp lines, soothing to behold.
Above all, an odd allure hooked the eye.
I’d requested the demo on impulse.
Any other servant, and I’d have deferred discipline to the Grand Duke without qualm.
Overseeing maids fell to the lady of the manor, true, but exporting castle goods breached security.
Leta struck me as too upright for underhanded schemes.
No wide-eyed naivete here—she looked too gentle, perhaps.
Truth be told, her steady poise suggested spy material of the finest caliber.
Precisely why sloppiness didn’t suit her.
A deliberate leak of my correspondence? She’d never bungle the snatch.
And for vital missives, she’d handle it solo, sans sister.
Thus, extending a minor grace to the sibling of my sole named attendant sprang not from sentiment.
Naturally, I’d thwart Marzella’s designs regardless.
