Deceived 11

Chapter 11

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Sponsored by LC. Thank you ❤️ (1/10)

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“Your mother deserved to die in that foul-smelling attic bedroom, her tongue hanging out! You should have died right beside her back then!”

Edmund tore his gaze from the pocket watch and fixed it on Isabelle. A moment of silence passed.

The memory of his mother, who had passed away during his childhood, stirred ripples in his tightly locked heart. 

Unlike himself, who was treated with minimal consideration within the family as a 'backup' heir, everyone had been merciless toward his birth mother. Isabelle's contempt, above all else, went without saying.

In his faded memories, she had always remained a fragile figure. The day she left this world was no different. The shadow of death that hung thickly over that attic, that damp and eerie darkness, was etched into every sense of his young self.

He hadn't realized Isabelle would remember that day so clearly. Did she hate her that much? Did she consider the fate that befell her—withered and twisted like a mummy, suffering until the end—something she deserved?

"By what right do you declare the death of an innocent person to be fate?"

“…This is giving me a headache. Leave immediately.”

The Duchess, her lips pressed tightly together, pressed her temples and complained of a headache. Her face had turned a flushed crimson, truly looking as if a doctor should be called. Edmund stared at her blankly for a moment before nodding.

“I’ll take my leave now. If you’re feeling unwell, I’ll have the physician summoned.”

"Not in a million years will your lackey lay a hand on me."

"You still don't trust Benjamin?"

Isabelle let out a cold laugh.

"Do you take me for a foolish idiot? How could I trust you and accept treatment from a doctor influenced by you? Even I see with my own eyes how His Grace the Duke grows weaker by the day."

"Father is only clinging to life because of Benjamin. Without him, he wouldn't even be able to move."

"That's not funny at all."

"Mother seems quite fatigued lately as well. I fear she might fall ill soon."

"You are my chronic illness and my sorrow. Get out of my sight."

Instead of answering, Edmund bowed his head respectfully. Just as he turned to leave the drawing room,

"You should never have been born in the first place."

He stopped dead in his tracks. Turning his head, he became aware of Isabelle. She was standing there, smiling coldly.

"How long do you think you can keep living off the name Liberte?"

"Has that name ever allowed me to breathe?"

"Get out."

"Good night."

Edmund strode out of the drawing room. Walking alone within the old mansion, isolated from the kingdom and seemingly frozen in time, his face was coldly set.

***

Spring bloomed early in Borsa, the capital city in central-southern Genoa. Leaving the window open brought in the wind carrying the rich scent of flowers, and if one was lucky, peach-colored petals would drift into the bedroom. Blair was enjoying her breakfast, savoring that fragrant air for once.

"Miss, a telegram has arrived."

"Thank you."

Blair took the envelope Mrs. Norris handed her. She tore open the seal with a paper knife to find a brief message written on the paper inside.

[We have reserved a fine spot at the clubhouse for the evening of the coming weekend.

I intend to introduce Miss Twyford to my close acquaintances, so your attendance is requested.

Isaac Doman.]

Blair stared at the two-line telegram from Isaac for quite a while.

The wedding was imminent—was it really necessary to create such an inconvenient gathering? It wasn't unusual, but the commanding tone, which left no room for refusal, was somewhat irritating.

Setting down the telegram paper, Blair stirred her salad and suddenly fell deep in thought.

Her fiancé, whom she found difficult to warm up to, seemed to value appearances above all else. He had surely invited the capital's most prominent aristocrats and upper-class figures to the dinner. The telegram referred to them as his close acquaintances, but that could easily be exaggerated.

If so, would that man be attending too?

She had suspected he was no ordinary man. Judging by his impeccably ingrained manners and his cynical speech cloaked in refinement, he was clearly from a high-ranking family. Though she had met him only twice, her guess had solidified into certainty.

Just like at the last charity event, he was the sort of man who would only appear at gatherings where he was invited by nobility.

The thought made her heart pound. That the first person who came to mind after receiving her fiancé's letter was a man whose name she didn't even know. She was flustered, but the thought had taken on a life of its own.

"Is that a telegram from your fiancé?"

Mrs. Norris, who was pouring tea into an empty cup, asked with a faint smile. Blair looked up and met the housekeeper's gaze.

"Yes, it is."

"Your face is flushed. You must be very excited."

"......"

Absolutely not... Swallowing her grumbling over the terrible misunderstanding about Isaac Doman, Blair jabbed a fork into an innocent slice of tomato.

"Did you get a dinner date or something?"

"Yes, I'll be going out on a weekend evening. Please tell Father too."

"I will. To make a good impression on that gentleman, shall I prepare something bright and fancy for you to wear?"

Blair blinked slowly, her eyes lowered. If there was anyone she wanted to impress, it certainly wasn't her fiancé, and she shook her head. It was a question that didn't even require consideration.

"No. There's no need."

Her gaze slipped away unnoticed, lingering deep within the bookshelf. She feared being caught, afraid the sketches of that man she’d hidden away—the ones she redrew night after night until her feelings grew too deep—might be discovered.

***

When Blair stepped out of the car and arrived at the clubhouse called 'Biso', she was slightly past the agreed time. Located in a deep part of town, this two-story club required identity verification at the entrance before admission.

"You're here, Miss Twyford."

Isaac Doman, who had just passed through the entrance, flashed a broad smile at Blair.

"You look absolutely stunning today."

"You flatter me. Thank you for inviting me on such a rare occasion."

With Mrs. Norris's help today, Blair wore light makeup to add a touch of vitality, a dusky navy blue dress, and black lace gloves.

The housekeeper tried to fasten a pearl necklace around her long, slender neck, saying it would suit her well, but Blair, wanting to keep jewelry to a minimum, shook her head. Her hair, finished with perfume, was pinned up low as always.

Isaac, who had been discreetly eyeing that impeccably neat evening gown, soon escorted Blair inside.

"Please come in. We've gathered only the young people, so it should be a very enjoyable gathering."

"Thank you."

Soon they reached the lounge where a romantic waltz was playing. A dozen or so guests who had arrived early were gathered in small groups, chatting.

"Let's get a drink first. Champagne? Wine? Or a lavender gin fizz?"

Isaac led Blair to a table laden with assorted drinks, pointing to the bottles one by one. She still seemed unable to choose. He selected something suitable for her and poured her a glass.

"Lord Doman."

A sweet voice from behind caught their attention. Isaac reflexively turned his head, recognizing the speaker, while Blair looked in the direction of the sound a moment later.

“…Ah! You’re finally here.”

A pair dressed in elegant ball gowns stared at Blair with curious eyes. The woman was particularly striking—a beauty with fiery red hair, heavy makeup, and sharply defined features. Her dress, plunging low to reveal her cleavage, matched the passionate hue of her hair.

Isaac kissed her hand affectionately, then turned to Blair with a smile.

"Say hello, Miss Twyford. This is Nicoletta, the daughter of the Viscount of Underhill, and her second cousin, Zeb. Nicoletta, this is Miss Blair Twyford."

"It's an honor to meet you, Miss Underhill."

"My, we meet at last. They said you were quite beautiful... and it seems they weren't exaggerating?"

Nicoletta lowered her slightly raised eyebrows and smiled faintly.

"They also said you were as demure as a teacher. How perfectly true that is."