Previously
Dolores opens her retro salon to great admiration from the noblewomen, but Madame Rouare passes her attendance proxy to Angelica, who arrives ready to undermine the event. Angelica discreetly trips a maid carrying tea trays, sending her crashing into the notoriously abusive Countess Trevis and soiling her dress.
The gruesome remnant of her final moments offered a gentle smile.
‘You died such an unjust death after enduring the mockery of creatures like these… and you’re letting them sway you again?’
‘I…’
‘I thought things were different this time. Or are you truly helpless without the Grand Duke?’
Dolores had no excuses to offer.
Had this life truly changed?
And if it had, was she truly the one steering it in the right direction?
At that moment, the maid lifted her tear-stained face, and her eyes met Dolores’s.
A nightmare of a face she had forced herself never to recall materialized with agonizing clarity.
‘Mother.’
Adrian and Angelica’s son….
It was Alexis’s weeping face.
The boy who, behind an angelic countenance, had repeatedly plunged Dolores into hell.
‘Please, love me.’
Her reason snapped, thread by thread.
Alongside those cursed words, the hallucination of herself whispered softly.
‘That’s right, Dolores. Prove that this time is different.’
‘…’
‘Let’s never allow them to look down on us again.’
Slowly, Dolores turned her head toward Countess Trevis.
The countess, mid-huff, flinched.
‘Wh-what is that look on her face?’
The Grand Duchess wore an exquisite smile.
Yet her eyes were dead as a corpse’s while her lips curved in amusement, making for an utterly chilling sight.
The Grand Duchess extended a hand toward the countess.
“Lend me that cane, Countess.”
“…Phew. Yes, Your Highness. With this, a sharp lesson to the maid—”
“No, Countess. It isn’t the maid who will be taking the rod.”
“Pardon?”
“Bare your calves. I intend to hold an inferior accountable for ruining this salon.”
Countess Trevis initially let out a scoffing laugh, finding the words absurd.
She was twenty years Dolores’s senior and the wife of a high-ranking official.
She was hardly someone a young woman fresh to the imperial court could treat so brazenly.
Even if that young woman was the Grand Duchess!
“Your Highness the Grand Duchess, you must be joking…!”
“Do I appear to be joking right now, Countess Trevis?”
Dolores answered calmly.
Her eyes still held a murky, feverish glint, and the smile playing on her lips only grew colder.
Dolores pointed toward the maid cowering and trembling on the floor.
“Even if she committed an error against you, she is in service to the imperial family.”
“Ha…”
“If punishment was to be meted out, it was my place to do so. You had no right to lay hands on her first.”
“Oh heavens, my word.”
Countess Trevis gave a short, incredulous laugh.
Madame Rouare had maintained a firm grip over the palace for ages, so who was this young bride to step forward and preach about discipline?
Were she destined to become Empress, the countess might have considered bowing her head a fraction, but…
‘She’s merely the wife of a half-breed Grand Duke.’
What difference did his military exploits make?
He was not even a pureblood son of the empire, so she could not muster a shred of respect for his wife.
Dolores, however, kept her palm outstretched.
She was demanding the cane the countess had wielded.
“Come. You damaged imperial property, so accept your punishment.”
“…Phew. Very well, let it be as Your Highness the Consort wishes.”
The countess handed the cane to Dolores.
Then, like an adult indulging a child’s game, she lifted her tea-stained petticoat slightly to reveal her calves.
‘How much harm could those frail arms of hers possibly do?’
Indeed, Dolores’s first strike was not particularly painful.
“First, the offense of deciding a punishment without the salon host’s permission.”
Smack.
A blunt crack echoed across the dead-silent reception room.
The countess let out a faint groan, but smiled to herself immediately after. Surely this would be the end of it.
Yet an unexpected second strike fell.
Followed by a third, and a fourth.
“The offense of disrupting the service of one who serves the imperial family.”
“…!”
Smack.
“The offense of preventing her from rendering imperial service in proportion to the injury inflicted.”
“Ghk…!”
Smack.
“The offense of causing further setbacks to court affairs should her wounds fester hereafter.”
“Y-Your Highness the Con—ngh!”
Smack.
A pain that had seemed tolerable at first turned into a fiery numbness spreading across her entire calves under the repeated blows.
Yet Dolores relentlessly lashed the exact same spot with the cane.
Eventually, even Countess Trevis, whose frame was far larger than that of other women, choked for breath.
“Y-Your Highness the Consort! Enough, please—!”
The countess hurriedly looked around, seeking someone to halt the Grand Duchess’s rampage.
Yet everyone stood frozen in bewilderment.
To begin with, no one held sufficient rank to cross the Grand Duchess.
Above all, they were utterly stunned by a side of her they had never witnessed.
Dolores Rochester had always been known as a lovely, docile lady….
None had ever imagined she harbored such a nature within.
“And above all, the offense of inflicting that much loss upon the imperial household’s affairs should she ultimately have to leave.”
“Y-Your Highness, aagh!”
Following the final charge, the heaviest blow yet landed with a dull thud.
The countess collapsed onto her knees, groaning in sheer agony.
“Sob… hah, hah…”
“…”
Dolores gazed down at her in silence.
Then, she slowly unclenched the fingers gripping the cane.
Clack.
The cane fell to the floor, alongside drops of blood from Dolores’s chafed palm.
Dolores turned toward the women watching them.
Her face still wore a serene smile.
“…With this, our salon comes to a close, ladies.”
Save for a slightly ragged breath, the Grand Duchess spoke in a voice as composed as ever.
Yet that very composure sent a chill creeping down everyone’s spines.
“I have prepared parting gifts for your journey home, and I trust they will be to your liking.”
The gifts were the tea sets that everyone had lavishly praised.
Yet even if the sets had not been to their taste, none dared utter a whisper of complaint among themselves.
Following the conclusion of the Grand Duchess’s imperial salon.
“You worked so hard attending in my stead, Miss Rochester.”
“Not at all, Madame Rouare.”
Madame Rouare and Angelica were enjoying tea together in private.
The madame’s parlor was lavishly decorated, fit for an empress’s quarters.
It was the recompense earned through years of turning a blind eye to the Emperor’s infidelities while raising Adrian.
Though she laughed pleasantly, the madame sneered inwardly as she watched Angelica take in the room with greedy eyes.
‘What a brazen wench. Her station is lower than the Grand Duchess’s, yet her greed knows no bounds.’
Angelica, meanwhile, mocked the madame’s attire in her thoughts.
‘Disgusting how that old woman clings to her lost youth.’
Even so, they were allies joined by a shared loathing for Dolores.
“Hehe, from what the attendants told me, the salon was quite a spectacle today.”
“It was all thanks to your counsel, Madame.”
“Goodness, what a thing to say.”
The madame broke into a giggle.
Caning the wife of a high-ranking official.
And in the middle of a salon intended to win people’s favor, no less!
Yet Angelica could not bring herself to smile with complete ease.
‘Was Dolores always like that?’
Ever since seeking shelter at Marquis Rochester’s estate, Angelica had looked down on Dolores in secret.
A fool who knew only how to smile pretty, devoid of any malice.
A naive simpleton who failed to realize her man was being stolen right under her nose.
Yet the sight of Dolores bringing the salon to an end had drawn a cold sweat from Angelica.
The light in Dolores’s eyes had been nothing short of madness.
An intense, suffocating aura coiled around her, as if she were possessed by a demon.
‘She’s truly lost her mind. Yes, that’s why she’s been committing all these crazy antics lately.’
Angelica shook her head to cast off her fear.
After all, one fact remained certain.
‘The salon is ruined. Dolores brought shame to the Grand Duke’s name.’
No husband would sit idly by while his wife destroyed his reputation.
The Grand Duke would undoubtedly go to great lengths to annul his marriage to that madwoman.
‘Prince Adrian might still be trying to make her his Empress out of lingering sentiment, but hmph, any affection he had will wither away.’
Either way, it was an immense stroke of luck for Angelica.
Forcing a smile to wipe Dolores’s eerie gaze from her mind, she swallowed a sip of black tea.
Just then, the madame offered a gentle smile.
Having done well with the task assigned to her, Angelica was due a reward.
“Miss Rochester. I intend to host a tea party for the noble ladies soon. Guests who will prove beneficial to your future.”
“Oh, Madame.”
“I will introduce you then as my lady-in-waiting. That way, you will be able to enter the imperial palace whenever you wish, even without an invitation.”
“Hehe, I am truly grateful. However…”
Angelica narrowed her eyes and smiled demurely.
“You should address me not as ‘Miss,’ but as Lady Rochester.”
“…”
At that demand, the corners of the madame’s lips froze stiff.
‘What an utterly preposterous wench.’
To covet the title of ‘Lady’ so openly—a style reserved solely for the wife of a house head or the direct eldest daughter.
Yet both women concealed their thoughts and shared an amicable laugh.
For as long as Dolores Rochester existed, this alliance had to remain unbroken.