Previously
Resurreccion kisses Dolores on both cheeks to fool Rachel, who immediately pesters Dolores with inappropriate questions and attempts to rifle through her jewelry box.
The Grand Duchess held her debut salon in one of the Imperial Palace’s reception chambers.
Though ostensibly a genial gathering, in truth it served as a trial of her fitness to be Grand Duchess.
The invited ladies spanned all ages, each bringing their own distinct tastes, and every one of them was accustomed to luxury.
In her first life, Dolores had failed rather miserably with this salon.
‘Because there was no elder to guide me.’
Her father and brother had been utterly useless.
Madame Rouare had picked apart every word Dolores uttered, looking for any flaw.
This time, however, a knowing smile curved Dolores’s lips.
‘The experience of having grown old once doesn’t simply vanish.’
And sure enough, the moment the guests were ushered inside, their eyes widened just as Dolores had foreseen.
The women whispered amongst themselves from their seats.
“How should I describe this room? It carries such a wonderfully nostalgic charm.”
“Truly. This decor isn't from our time—ah!”
The room was decorated in a style that had reigned supreme half a century ago.
Back then, vibrant palettes and elaborate decorative handicrafts had been the height of fashion.
Later deemed frivolous, it had since fallen out of favor.
Yet the ladies now looked back and forth between the teaware and the paintings, captivated by the novelty.
“It feels distinctly different from what was common in the old days. Is it the color palette?”
“The restrained hues make it feel far more… calm and elegant. The pattern on the teacups as well.”
“It would blend seamlessly into our estate right now. Which workshop crafted this teaware?”
The older matrons, on the other hand, were thoroughly entranced by paintings depicting the era of their youth.
“Oh, my. To think I would see this painting today….”
“Do you remember, my lady? We wore gowns just like that for our debutante ball….”
“Hehe, of course I do. I begged my father for just one more dance and received quite the scolding.”
The voices sharing fond memories were exceptionally warm.
‘A very promising start.’
Witnessing their reception, Dolores let out a quiet breath of relief.
‘I made the right choice enlisting the Sub Rosa guild.’
Having been disowned by House Rochester, she had lacked personal funds to finance the salon.
Yet thanks to Sub Rosa, she had managed to push the painters and artisans to their utmost limits.
After trading graceful pleasantries, Dolores finally approached her true objective for the gathering.
“Welcome, Dowager Marchioness Lindinis.”
“Hmph. Congratulations on your marriage, Grand Duchess.”
A stately woman with gray hair and a veil, she was dressed in a subdued ash-colored gown.
Unlike the others, she wore not a single glittering jewel.
In their place, a black mourning brooch rested against her chest.
And her mouth remained set in a rigid line.
‘She has her guard up.’
…It was understandable.
All those seeking an audience with the elderly noblewoman these days were after Lindinis’s vast, fertile lands.
A matriarch of her experience was bound to see right through them.
And with Viscount Oswald Lindinis serving as the Grand Duke's subordinate, she would naturally question Dolores's intentions.
‘I shouldn't even bring up the succession… I must win her favor first.’
Once the nostalgic atmosphere of the room softened her mood, then….
Just then, an imperial courier approached Dolores.
“Your Highness the Consort. I regret to inform you that Madame Rouare is suddenly unable to attend today.”
“For what reason?”
“She appears to have come down with a severe case of influenza since yesterday….”
“…”
Dolores regarded him with cool skepticism.
‘A lie.’
The woman had never once fallen ill with such a thing in her past life.
‘She was bursting with health until she suddenly dropped dead from acute indigestion.’
Dolores kept her incredulity well hidden.
She wouldn't attend? Fine.
Dolores was only grateful to have one less nuisance to worry about.
“Is that so? I will have to send her a tonic to restore her vitality later.”
“You are most gracious. In her stead, the young lady to whom she transferred her proxy attendance right has arrived.”
“…What?”
On rare occasions when one could not attend an essential event, it was customary to pass a proxy invitation to an acquaintance.
Naturally, courtesy demanded seeking the host's prior consent.
And the host was fully entitled to turn the substitute away.
“Sister!”
However, if that proxy was a relative, turning them away would undoubtedly tarnish the host's reputation.
As if she had forgotten all about insulting her with the ‘weeping Virgin Mary,’ Angelica called out in an affectionate voice and hurried forward before dropping into a curtsy.
Like a devoted younger sister whose longing had made her briefly forget propriety.
“Your Highness the Grand Duchess, congratulations once again.”
“Angelica. Why are you…”
Dolores fell silent as she grasped the situation.
‘The two of them joined hands.’
Madame wanted to rattle Dolores's nerves, but could not risk showing her face….
So she had handed the proxy attendance right to Angelica, Adrian's mistress.
‘And Angelica gladly played along, knowing full well what it meant.’
Everyone present was aware that Dolores had sponsored her cousin's debutante ball.
A sudden shift in attitude would only make Dolores look unreasonable.
“Welcome, Angelica. Thank you for offering your congratulations before everyone like this.”
“It is only natural for a younger sister.”
Angelica offered a radiant smile, playing the charming innocent.
Behind the facade, however, she felt a trace of disappointment.
‘Hmph. I thought she would tell me to get out right away. At least she has enough sense not to.’
She had even brought a handkerchief soaked in onion juice to cry on cue if Dolores caused another scene like the one at the cathedral.
Still, Angelica glanced sideways at a maid assigned from the palace staff.
The maid with short black hair was completely oblivious, yet she held a crucial role in the scheme.
‘Hehe. Poor thing.’
After all, if someone were carried out dead, the salon would be thoroughly ruined.
Dolores had been on edge ever since Angelica stepped through the doors.
Yet she could not afford to focus on Angelica alone.
Aside from the Dowager Marchioness, there were other noblewomen who genuinely admired her taste.
“Your Highness the Grand Duchess, thank you so much for inviting us to such a wonderful salon.”
“Hehe. You flatter me.”
“It would be lovely to decorate our country villa in this style… Would it be an imposition to ask where you placed the order?”
“Not at all. I will share the details of the newly discovered workshop with you.”
“Thank you so much! Once it’s finished, Your Highness will be our very first guest.”
Since any lack of focus would show, Dolores had no choice but to avert her eyes from Angelica.
Angelica, too, sipped her tea in silence, waiting for the right opening.
‘Just as Madame Rouare told me. The seating arrangement couldn't be better.’
With the salon held within the Imperial Palace, uncovering the seating chart was child's play.
And then she saw her target maid approaching.
‘Now.’
Thwack!
Angelica slipped her foot into the maid’s path.
Carrying a heavy tea tray, the maid pitched forward in an instant.
“Ah…!”
The crash of shattering porcelain was immediately followed by an ear-splitting shriek.
“Aah! What is this?!”
Every head snapped toward the scream.
Of all people, the tea had spilled across the dress of the infamous Countess Trevis.
“I am so terribly sorry, my lady!”
Turning pale as a ghost, the maid tried to scramble to her feet.
Before she could even stand, a blow snapped her head to the side, sending her sprawling back to the floor.
“Ugh…!”
“Insolent wench…! Who gave you permission to get up!”
Breathing heavily, Countess Trevis struck the maid across the cheek once more.
The Count was known as one of the Emperor's close officials, but his wife was notorious for her violent temper.
It was said that not a single servant in the Trevis household lacked a scar.
Under the barrage of blows, the maid collapsed onto the jagged shards of broken teacups on the floor.
“Gah, ah…!”
“How dare a wretched girl like you try to stand!”
Consumed by rage, the Countess brought the cane she had carried down hard onto the maid's back.
Dolores hurried forward.
“Countess Trevis! What is the meaning of this?”
“Your Highness the Consort! Look at this!”
The Countess clutched the skirt of her gown in fury.
The hem of her expensive Blenhain lace petticoat was ruined with shards of porcelain and tea stains.
Yet the sight of the maid's uniform, soaked in crimson blood, was far more horrific.
“…First, I am glad you are unharmed. Please compose yourself, and we will find a change of clothes in the next room—”
“Shouldn’t punishing this wretched girl come first?!”
The Countess shouted, bursting with indignation.
The room held its breath, reading Dolores’s face.
Angelica covered her mouth in feigned shock, but behind her hand, a sly smirk spread across her lips.
‘Countess Trevis is right.’
By long-standing etiquette, when a servant made an error at a salon, the host was expected to punish the offender before everyone present.
And then apologize to the slighted party.
‘As if that foul-tempered woman will accept an apology so easily.’
She would take it, of course, but not without delivering a humiliating earful.
That alone would make Dolores’s salon a total laughingstock.
Dolores’s mind went entirely blank at the spectacle before her.
The floor was a mess of shattered teacups, dark tea, and droplets of the maid’s blood.
It resembled the ground beneath the guillotine just before she was executed.
‘Ugh.’
Cold sweat broke out on her palms. Nausea surged in her throat.
‘Just punish the maid quickly and bring this to an end.’
That was proper etiquette.
And then there was Dowager Marchioness Lindinis.
Was she not known to place paramount importance on decorum?
To win her favor, to salvage this salon smoothly and without further incident—
‘Heh. Dolores.’
‘…!’
An auditory hallucination rang in her ears.
Her eyes widened, fixing upon the mirror across the room.
‘After suffering through all that, you still haven’t learned a thing.’
Her own reflection stared back, dripping with contempt.
And from the neck down she was headless, holding her severed head in both hands like a bouquet from the guillotine.