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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 60
Chapter Title: The Beaufort Salon
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My mother spoke, her tone incredulous.
“Hey. Are you trying to ask me how a low-ranking noble like me managed to get in here?”
“...No?”
“Sounds like it to me.”
*Mother, that’s just your inferiority complex talking. Seeing me draped in an expensive dress, shoes, and even silk gloves is prodding that insecurity deep in your heart.*
…If I said that out loud, our already terrible relationship would surely cross the River Styx.
“I’m now the mother of a daughter who married into a ducal house. Of course I’d receive an invitation to Madam Margaret Beaufort’s art salon. How else am I supposed to find a wife for Philip?”
Even in this situation, I could only stare in awe at my mother for bringing up Philip’s marriage prospects.
‘How can her train of thought be so consistent?’
My mother waved an invitation clearly stamped with the Beaufort family crest.
Come to think of it, ever since she first arrived in the capital, she’d been remarkably good at getting invitations from all over.
How does she get them so easily? Is there some kind of trick to it?
“…And to pay off my debts.”
While I was lost in thought, my mother muttered gloomily.
Ah, that.
Only then did I remember the money she’d borrowed from Marina Corleone. I pulled an envelope from my dress and held it out to her.
She didn’t take it right away, simply staring at the envelope.
What’s with that look…? Is she worried it’s poisoned?! This woman, honestly!
I suppressed a surge of anger and whispered.
“It’s money.”
At that, my mother snatched the envelope.
“It won’t be enough to clear the whole debt, but it’s a hundred thousand gold. If you give this to the witch, she should be a little more understanding of our situation.”
“A hundred thousand… gold?”
Helena paused mid-motion as she was tearing open the envelope.
“What debt are you talking about?”
“The one you owe the witch!”
Helena frowned and took out the letter and money from inside the envelope.
The truth was, I had spent some of it and replaced it, so the 100,000 gold wasn't the single check Eric had given me, but a mix of bills and coins.
‘It’s not as impressive, but…’
I watched with a sour expression as Helena, after counting the money, began to read the letter.
When she finished, she sighed and shook her head.
“I don’t need this… You just use it. It looks like money from Eric, and while I might have taken it if you’d stolen it for us…”
So stolen money is fine, but money from Eric isn’t? What kind of logic is that?
Helena waved her hand as if nursing a headache, tucked the letter away, and handed the envelope with the money back to me.
Then she muttered something unintelligible.
“He didn’t tell you, of course… Ugh, he’s playing such games… such games… That wretched man…”
I frowned.
“What are you talking about…?”
I asked, bewildered, but my mother seemed to have no intention of answering.
“Since we’re here, I have something for you too. You have trouble sleeping in a new bed, don’t you?”
Ah, right, I used to…
But, Mother, the thing is… it turns out I can sleep anywhere as long as there are fluffy goose feathers. I was never an insomniac.
I recalled how soundly I’d slept after the wedding and wore a troubled expression. If I mentioned anything about fluffy goose feathers, that would really be the end of us. The absolute end.
My mother seemed to have brought something in the hired carriage, as she handed me a large wooden box. Lily took it from her instead.
“Oh, long time no see, Lily?”
“Yes. It has been a while.”
“What do you mean, long time? It’s been three days… How brazen.”
My mother grumbled and pointed at the heavy box Lily was holding.
“This is a liquor that’s good for insomnia. It’ll be a big problem if you’re caught drinking, so mix a little into some water. Got it?”
“You brought this all the way here for me?”
“Yes. I was planning to stop by here first, then visit the duchy.”
“…”
I stared at the wooden box. The words I had said to her swirled in my mind.
‘I don’t want to live like you.’
Even though I’d said that, she still brought me this…
My mother’s face crumpled as she brushed my hair back. Then she cupped my cheek and murmured.
“Why do you look so moved? Don’t make that face. It’s annoying. Weren’t you going to live well after abandoning us?”
“Th-That’s…”
I hesitated for a moment.
I wanted to tell her everything.
All the countless things that had happened to me over the past ten days. Especially the stories related to the Duke.
I wanted to tell her that I started all of this for my family.
But before I could finish my thought, my mother waved her hand dismissively.
“I’m leaving. Don’t bother with goodbyes.”
I watched for a long time as my mother climbed into the carriage. She was truly heartless, not once looking back at me.
Damn it…
I shouldn’t cry… but how could the tears not come!
Just you wait, Mom! Philip! I’m coming for you after I defeat this psycho Duke!
I was sniffling when the Beauforts’ butler approached me.
“…Madam Imeline Orleans…? Are you crying?”
I looked up.
Imeline Orleans…
That was right. My name was no longer Imeline Wedgwood, but Imeline Orleans.
I gazed at my mother’s hired carriage as it disappeared into the distance.
As if I could live well and be happy after leaving Mom and Philip behind…
‘…Don’t you dare thank me and bow to me later!’
I glared resentfully at the back of the carriage and said to the butler.
“…I’m fine. May I go in now?”
“Ah, yes. You may. However, another guest who was scheduled to visit today… Ah, there she is!”
The butler pointed with a bright face at a woman alighting from a carriage. The moment I saw her face, my own contorted.
✵ ✵ ✵
The Beaufort family’s reception room possessed a splendor all its own, different from the ducal estate. While the duchy had a classic, antique feel, the Beaufort reception room perfectly embodied the phrase ‘trend-setting.’
“This was imported from a distant foreign land…”
“Ah, and this is the work of a recently popular artisan…”
“That piece was discovered by the madam herself during her travels out west, a promising new artist…”
The butler chattered on excitedly, as if all these objects were his own. To me… and to the other guest.
“Wow, I can’t believe I’m seeing a work by Anthony here. You can truly see all the tenets of Neo-Corporalism in this piece!”
Vivian Cavendish.
Vivian, laden with gifts for Margaret Beaufort, had run into me at the door. It was a relief we hadn’t met while my mother was still here.
If Vivian had appeared while my eyes were still moist with emotion and said something strange to my mother, not a single strand of her beautiful hair would be left on her head right now.
I gritted my teeth and spoke quietly to the gushing Vivian.
“Hey, what’s Neo-Corporalism…? Either explain it to me or cut the nonsense and move along…”
My anger over the scheme you pulled at the royal palace party is still simmering inside me. And this anger doesn’t listen to me very well…
Vivian scoffed and looked down on me with contempt.
“The fact that you don’t even know about Neo-Corporalism proves you’re not qualified to be Lord Eric’s wife, doesn’t it? He’s not someone a person like you can even aspire to! There isn’t a single field—be it music, art, or architecture—where his knowledge isn’t profound!”
Vivian had raised her voice without realizing it. When the butler giving us the tour looked over with surprised eyes, she shot me an awkward smile.
“Haha. Shall we walk a little farther apart, Madam? It’s quite warm today.”
That’s what I wanted.
I moved a short distance away from Vivian, who was busy putting on her high-society airs, and looked at the oil painting on the wall, which was filled with flesh tones.
Neo-Corporalism, my foot. How could they call a giant flesh-colored painting like this Neo-Corporalism? Erotic art, maybe.
I muttered.
“Nobles… hanging things like this in their reception rooms…”
Vivian, who had just suggested we walk apart, immediately closed the distance between us. She let out a disbelieving snort and whispered in my ear.
“I don’t know how you managed to seduce the Young Lord, but with your pathetic lack of culture and grace, you’ll soon be kicked out of the ducal family and, like your mother, find a second husband…”
I cut her off and raised my hand to the butler.
“…Could I get a cup of hot water over here, please!”
“Don’t get it for her!”
Vivian desperately grabbed my hand.
“What, again? When words fail, you just resort to throwing hot water?”
“You know me so well…?”
I suppose some people need to learn their lesson the hard way, right?
But from what I can see, you haven't learned it quite well enough.
That’s why your mouth is still running!
“You’re really a psycho! Do you know that?”
Vivian said, seething.
“Of course. How could I not know? I’ve known myself longer than you have.”
I’ve been observing myself for twenty-two years, you know!
I smiled sweetly and spoke to the butler again.
“A cup of hot water, please.”
Vivian instinctively covered her face, afraid I would throw it. That pretty little lady knew all too well that her face was her most valuable asset.
I scoffed at the frightened Vivian. She looked mortified.
I spoke to the butler in a calm voice.
“I’m in the early stages of pregnancy, and cold water doesn’t agree with me.”
“…Is it true you’re pregnant?”
Vivian asked, her face a mask of disbelief.
“News travels fast, doesn’t it?”
‘…Though it is a fake pregnancy…’
Vivian’s face fell, and she looked dejected.
‘Just as I thought…’
It seemed Vivian was also an ardent fan of Eric Orleans. I had heard there were many noble ladies and young women in the capital who professed to be his fans.
‘Still, seeing such a blatant look of jealousy isn’t a pleasant feeling…’
No matter what, he’s my husband now! Right?!
I remembered Eric’s smile from the newspaper. Of course, everyone has eyes…
And it would be strange for anyone’s heart not to skip a beat seeing that smile, but…
‘Still, I’m annoyed…’
Taking the cup of hot water from the butler, I glared at Vivian.
Then I leaned back heavily against the sofa and muttered.
“Good grief, whether it’s Corporalism or Nude-ism, this painting is just making my head spin…!”
“N-Nude-ism…?”
It was at that moment.
The reception room door opened, and Margaret Beaufort, who was just entering, asked me with a bewildered expression.
I shot up from my seat in surprise. Margaret, her silver hair neatly tied back and dressed in an elegant and modest gown, glanced at me and waved a hand.
“Oh, please, stay seated. I heard you’re pregnant. You must be careful.”
“Ah, yes… Thank you…”
So the rumor has spread here too, obviously.
“Is this your first time hearing of Anthony? It’s my favorite painting.”
Margaret smiled gently and sat down across from Vivian and me.
‘…Ugh, this was Margaret’s favorite painting…?’
I remembered the butler’s desperate words, his hands gesturing wildly.
‘You must get that invitationnnnnn!’
