Deceived 18

Chapter 18

***

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***

After visiting Eldenvale, his resolve had grown firm.

If he wanted to burn the crown, he had to try it on first, wouldn't he?

Edmund grabbed the jacket hanging on the coat rack and flung open the clinic door.

"We'll see each other soon, Ben."

"Hey! You should at least finish what you were saying!"

Despite Benjamin's urging, the man left without another word, closing the door behind him as he exited the office.

***

The black sedan carrying Edmund drove through a street lined with cherry trees in full bloom and entered Chiles. Soon the car stopped, and Edmund stepped inside the townhouse. The butler, who had been waiting, bowed respectfully.

"Master. A letter has arrived."

Edmund nodded as he took the stiff envelope adorned with a red ribbon. His steps were leisurely as he shuffled toward his bedroom.

Stepping into the space arranged to his exacting tastes, a satisfied sigh escaped him. He placed the letter on his desk and approached the window. Opening it wide, a fragrant breeze swept in. Across the way, the lake park overflowed with flowers, foliage, and ripples glistening in the soft afternoon sunlight wherever the eye could see. Gazing at this beautiful spring scene, Edmund suddenly thought of Blair Twyford.

She was dressed like a proper young lady, but a closer look revealed traces of her youthful innocence. The roundness of her cheeks, the soft downy hair on her earlobes…

Though she tried to behave demurely, as befitted her aristocratic upbringing, the occasional flashes of her honest, impudent nature were more to his taste.

Edmund chuckled wryly, pulling a cigarette from his trouser pocket and slipping it between his teeth. Taste, he thought. Was he even in his right mind?

Yet, recalling how he'd spent the entire time at the exhibition and walking along the riverbank simply watching her sparkling eyes and the constant fluttering of her lashes, he knew there was no denying that she was beautiful.

"I believe Lord Liberte is a man entirely different from the rumors."

Edmund took a deep drag on his lit cigarette. After a moment, he exhaled a cloud of thick smoke and murmured quietly.

"Seems you can't imagine me being any more despicable."

Was she naive, or reckless? It made one want to see just how far she could be broken. Nothing was more ridiculous than the wreckage of fragile idealism.

"I wonder how she'll do it."

He hadn't known Blair for long; at most, they'd met three or four times. Yet Edmund could instantly discern a person's character and disposition. That's why he hadn't expected his first impression of that stiff-necked woman to change.

A typical aristocratic lady. She hadn't grown up doing hard labor, but that didn't mean she'd been showered with her parents' affection or care.

A woman educated solely to become an obedient wife, confined within rigid boundaries. Such women inevitably erase themselves. Some, in that process, naturally reflect on their own worth and feel hollow. Blair seemed like one of them. A hint of rebellion was perceptible.

But that was precisely where it ended. Did she look like the sort of woman who would defy her father's will and commit an act of rebellion? No, she didn't.

The day they walked together along the Ridgeway River was no different. Even in a public place, she was the kind of woman who would walk shoulder-to-shoulder with him, her face shielded by a flimsy parasol. Yet, perhaps fearing suspicion from the servants, she stubbornly refused to accompany him, then hurried on without looking back. The rebellious spirit of a woman daring to break free ultimately didn't cross that line.

"Then just accept it."

Edmund's gaze fell on the letter resting on his desk. The seal of the Duke of Doman, stamped in gold foil, adorned the envelope, making its contents obvious. Holding a cigarette between his lips, he tore open the envelope with a paper knife. Inside, on cream-colored, high-quality paper, a message in light blue type announced an invitation to a wedding to be held soon.

Edmund lingered on Blair's name before using the invitation as an ashtray, crushing out his cigarette. Then he cast his gaze out the window.

Borsa, at the height of spring, was beautiful. Flowers bloomed profusely, filling the air with a fragrant scent with every breath. A faint smile touched Edmund's lips as he savored it.

"A fine season for a wedding."

He wasn't referring to Isaac and Blair.

***

The carriage that had raced from Borsa arrived before the Duke of Doman’s mansion.

Blair stepped out of the car, escorted by a footman. She paused briefly, gazing up at the three-story mansion bathed in the dim moonlight.

Today she was visiting as an invited guest for the Marquis of Doman’s birthday, but with the wedding date now set, this place would soon become her new home.

It was unbelievable. She wasn't ready. Dragged along like a puppet, doing as she was told, she had ended up here. Was this truly the life she wanted? What was the point of asking herself? There was nothing she could do.

"Listen carefully, Blair."

The Count of Twyford, who had been leading the way, whipped around and whispered in a stern voice.

"The Marquis of Doman is a man of extreme capriciousness. Even if you treat him kindly, the moment his mood sours, he'll change his mind as easily as flipping a hand."

"......"

"Therefore, no mistakes will be tolerated until the wedding. Especially on a day like today. Do you understand?"

It was a warning to be mindful of her conduct as the ceremony drew near. Once Isaac and Blair were married, no matter how capricious the Marquis of Doman might be, it would be troublesome to reverse his decision.

Before the wedding ceremony, that was…..

"Let's go inside now."

Blair, lost in thought, halted her steps. In other words, there was still a chance to turn back now.

But how? Where? Whenever she tried to follow that train of thought, she inevitably lost her way in the thick fog.

"What are you doing? Hurry up and come inside."

“…Ah, I’m sorry, Father.”

The Count urged her on, and Blair cleared her clouded gaze, quietly following behind him. No matter how hard she pondered it, the question held no answer.

***

The banquet was smaller in scale than the charity event she had attended last time, but not significantly different. Groups of gentlemen chatted and laughed heartily, while ladies gathered around tables, sipping drinks and enjoying conversation. Blair mingled among the women.

"How long does it take to get from the Count of Twyford’s estate to the capital?"

"About seven hours by train, madam."

"Oh dear. The journey down must have been terribly tedious."

"Surprisingly, it wasn't."

Blair shook her head at the polite remark from a lady whose name she couldn't quite recall. It had been ten long years since her last visit to the capital; curiosity had far outweighed boredom. Had she known the purpose of the journey was her own marriage, it would have been entirely different.

"Ah! Your heart must have been racing at the thought of meeting your betrothed?"

A couple of ladies exchanged glances and giggled. Blair couldn't quite answer and awkwardly lifted the corners of her mouth. It was then that a sweet voice chimed in.

"Lord Doman is certainly one of the most distinguished gentlemen in society."

The words came from the red-haired young lady seated at the far end of the table. Turning her head, Blair recalled that she knew her. It was Nicoletta, from the Underhill family.

"One might say he's the perfect candidate for a husband. Miss Twyford is very fortunate indeed."

"Thank you, Miss Underhill."

"Lord Doman is generous, after all. May the passion he shares with his new bride be as abundant as his character."

Nicoletta raised her wine glass lightly, offering her blessing. Whether slightly tipsy or heavily made up, the Lady’s face was as red as the wine in her glass. Blair stared at her blankly. This time, she offered no thanks.

"If there truly is a perfect candidate for a groom, he's over there."

Someone whispered, and the ladies' gazes instantly turned in that direction. Sighs of disappointment erupted as if they had been waiting for it.

"Ah. Lord Liberte."

"It's rather improper to gaze at a gentleman as if he were a luscious fig, madam."

"But for such a mature gentleman to remain unmarried until now—he's like a perfectly ripe fig in season, isn't he?"

A wave of playful laughter rippled across the round table. They were referring to Edmund, who had just returned from the smoking room with the gentlemen and was entering the banquet hall. Yet the ladies' admiration for him surely stemmed from more than just his striking, tall appearance, noticeable even from afar.

Anyone observing him at the social gathering would have been instantly convinced. Edmund fit into this setting like a painting. Except for the fact that he stood out like the protagonist, he blended seamlessly into the crowd without a hint of awkwardness. This was all the more surprising given that Edmund was known to be rather indifferent to such banquets.

What enabled him to navigate social events with such effortless skill? It was likely the sense of responsibility and duty that stemmed from his lineage and status.

Then why hadn't Edmund married yet? Surely that was the foremost duty of a nobleman.

"Attention, everyone!"

The Marquis of Doman, thoroughly intoxicated, raised his voice to capture the attention of the assembled guests.

"While this gathering celebrates my birthday, there is another occasion I wish to honor. My one and only son, Isaac, is to be married."

The assembled guests applauded and turned to look at Blair. The sudden spotlight made a faint blush rise to her cheeks.