Deceived 27

Chapter 27

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The woman who had turned pale and doubted his true intentions and sanity when Edmund first proposed marriage no longer existed. In her place stood only a woman prepared to accept their contract and use it as a stepping stone to a wider world.

Doubt had turned to understanding, hesitation to resolve. The hand Edmund extended might not be danger, but perhaps a path to change her destiny. To turn away without taking it would be to throw away an opportunity that might never come again.

"Of course, Miss Twyford."

As soon as Edmund answered softly, the next auction item, a goblet, appeared on the podium. The silver cup, gleaming in the chandelier's light, bore an elegant, antique-style pattern of raised and recessed designs, like the crest of an ancient dynasty. The auctioneer's voice echoed through the hall, describing how it had passed through several noble families over centuries. Blair quietly offered her reply.

"Then I'd like to talk again. I've made my decision."

Edmund watched the podium with an interested gaze, silent for a moment. His eyes, which had been slowly scanning the auction items, naturally shifted toward Blair.

"Now we can finally have a proper conversation. Unlike when I first made my proposal."

"......"

"But this place has too many eyes watching for us to have the conversation we need to have."

Blair silently nodded. It was indeed an inappropriate setting. An auction house where everyone bid and bought items was especially distasteful. The gaze, a mix of luxury, curiosity, and ambition, was utterly repulsive.

"Where should we go to continue our conversation?"

Edmund pulled a small notepad from his pocket, wrote something concisely with his fountain pen, and handed it to Blair. Written in elegant cursive on the paper provided for bidding was an address.

"It's my townhouse in Chiles. If you're willing to make a deal, come there."

“…You mean you want me to come to where you live alone?”

Not to meet at the Regent Bank like before? As she asked in bewilderment, he replied simply.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’ve come to want to see how prepared Miss Twyford is, in a place where no one can interfere. If it’s inconvenient, we can forget the whole thing.”

"I have no intention of backing out now."

"It's natural to hesitate when someone who's walked only smooth paths all their life is suddenly asked to tread a thorny one. I'm curious whether your resolve is mere words, or if you're truly prepared to take that step."

A subtle smile flickered in the eyes fixed on Blair.

"It might indeed be difficult for a young lady who grew up without hardship."

"Don't assume I've never walked a thorny path."

Blair retorted sharply, and Edmund met her gaze without speaking. His eyes watched her react to every provocation with a kind of indulgent tolerance that made her feel anything but good. Blair hesitated to add anything else, finally accepting the paper bearing his address. Though it held only a single line of address, her heart pounded as if it contained some secret forbidden to the world.

What she clutched was not an invitation to ruin, but her own path to salvation. It was a matter of whether she would sink or swim for her life.

Isaac and Nicoletta came into view, flirting as they returned to their seats from afar. Blair reflexively folded the paper and hid it deep within her pocket. Having just returned from a brief tryst of barely ten minutes, the two wore clearly excited expressions.

Isaac, who had briefly noticed Blair, belatedly registered Edmund's presence beside her. Isaac's face, which had been poised to disregard his fiancée, froze slightly.

"Edmund? What brings you here?"

"That's not really something the host should be asking."

"I didn't know you took an interest in such events. I don't recall ever seeing you at the auction house..."

"I do drop by when an item catches my eye. And today, I hear there's something worth seeing."

"...Is that so?"

As this subtle exchange unfolded, Blair unconsciously hunched her shoulders. Just then, the next auction item was being brought onto the stage. Red velvet draped over it revealed only a rectangular shape, and she thought she knew what it might be.

"Ladies and gentlemen who collect art, please focus your attention on this item."

The auctioneer swiftly pulled up the edge of the cloth. The velvet flowed down like a crimson wave, revealing the painting hidden beneath.

"This is an oil painting by the master of Symbolism, Francis Marceau. One of the works he left behind before the war, it is a precious painting that has never once been shown to the public."

It depicted the corner of a mahogany table against a background as deep as the night. On the table lay a white silk glove and a single pomegranate, split in half, sitting alone without a bowl. The red juice dripping down resembled streaks of blood sliding down. Beside it, a faintly painted woman sat in a chair, gazing off somewhere beyond the picture.

The vivid juice like blood, the casually discarded white gloves, and even the direction of the unseen gaze—it was a work rich with interpretive possibilities, true to Symbolist painting.

As if drawn by the strange, chilling charm of the painting, the quiet sound of bids being written down began to spread from all sides.

"This is a piece worth attending the auction for."

Blair glanced sideways at Edmund sitting beside him.

"Planning to bid?"

"Yes. I rather like it. Once the Oguier’s exhibition ends, I intend to place it in the best spot in my gallery."

Even though she knew he was obviously referring to the painting, Blair couldn't shake the feeling he was hinting at her.

Edmund wrote an absurdly high bid on his pad, matching the rising bids, then beckoned an auctioneer over. He added in a soft but by no means cautious voice,

"When the exhibition opens, do visit again sometime, Miss Twyford. I'd be delighted to invite you."

"...Ah. Yes."

Blair's brief reply made her feel Isaac, seated to her right, frown and watch her. She met her fiancé's puzzled gaze as if it were nothing, fixing her eyes on Marceau’s painting.

The auctioneer's hammer struck the wooden block three times, signaling the sale. A faint smile touched Edmund's lips, seemingly satisfied with securing the oil painting. That image lingered in Blair's mind for an uncomfortably long time.

***

Eldenvale, well past midnight.

A commotion erupted within the grand mansion, which should have been shrouded in pitch-black darkness and silence at this hour.

Clang! Glass shards shattered as a tightly closed bedroom door burst open. Simultaneously, three or four nearly naked women screamed and fled into the hallway.

"Get out! All of you, get out!"

The Duchess and old butler Albert, waiting at the end of the hallway, turned pale. Isabelle sighed deeply, her eyes cold as ice as she scanned the women. Each possessed striking beauty, yet the heavy makeup and overpowering perfume couldn't mask their vulgarity.

"Send the ladies back to Borsa."

“…As you command.”

Albert nodded and turned to leave, but paused, staring up at Isabelle. Reading the concern in his expression, Isabelle narrowed her eyes.

“Do you have something to say to me?”

“His Grace the Duke will be furious when he learns you brought such women to Eldenvale.”

“…Hah.”

How dare he say such a thing. Isabelle let out a hollow laugh and glared coldly at the old steward.

“Don’t worry. Wasn’t it you who personally brought in a courtesan to keep as his mistress twenty years ago?”

She was referring to Edmund’s birth mother. Though she wasn’t a prostitute, she had been brought in for breeding—which made her no different.

“Would such a man really apply double standards to his own legitimate son?”