Deceived 45

Chapter 45

***

"Well then, excuse me."

Sitting on the wide bed, Blair looked down at Benjamin with a slightly tense expression. The doctor carefully removed her shoes and placed one foot on a small stool. With even more careful hands, he lifted the hem of her dress, examining the exposed white ankle, calf, and knee in turn to check for injuries.

"No scratches or swelling. Fortunately, it doesn't seem like anything is sprained either... Does it hurt when I press here?"

"Hmm... No."

Benjamin tilted his head, then glanced at Edmund, who stood arms crossed by the doorway. Blair followed his gaze. The man silently watching her wore an expressionless face.

"Continue."

"...I'll examine the other side as well."

Following Edmund's instruction, Benjamin began examining the opposite leg. It too was flawless. Faced with such smooth legs, the doctor seemed hesitant, unsure what to say. Overcome with frustration, Blair swallowed hard.

How stupid. Why did she have to lie about falling?

It was a miracle she'd made it back to the ballroom just ahead of Edmund in her flowing dress. But she hadn't managed to steady her breath, which rose to her throat. 

He hadn't realized her complexion would be so terrible. How else could Edmund have called for a doctor?

Benjamin, observing Blair's flustered expression, met Edmund's gaze again.

"Perhaps from wearing high heels all day and overdoing it, her ankle seems a bit strained."

Blair discreetly lowered her skirt hem, conscious of her two legs now starkly exposed. Edmund fixed his gaze on her and twisted his lips.

"That explanation is more convincing than saying you fell."

“…In any case, there’s no need for major concern, Miss. Or rather, since you’re married as of today, should I call you Madam?”

“Whatever you prefer. Thank you, Mr. Jensen.”

Blair forced a smile, struggling desperately to calm her pounding heart. Even then, Edmund’s gaze, never leaving her, felt almost relentless.

Benjamin, who had been kneeling, stood up, gathering his medical bag. He bowed his head in farewell and left the bedroom, leaving only Edmund and her alone in the spacious room. With the one who had been softening the atmosphere gone, her heart sank, but there was nothing to be done.

Just be honest. If you speak your mind and thoughts, it'll be fine.

Whether he knew of her firm resolve or not, Edmund, still standing by the doorway, didn't press for an explanation. Instead, he sighed and asked another question.

"Aren't you tired?"

"...I am tired. There's been a lot going on, after all."

"I suppose so. Don't push yourself any further today. I'll send for a maid; you should wash up now."

"And you?"

"There's only one bathroom in my bedroom. I imagine Miss Blair would feel uncomfortable if I asked her to bathe with me."

"...Oh."

Having said his piece, Edmund glanced down briefly at Blair, whose face was flushed crimson, then turned and left the bedroom. Left alone, she blinked a few times before burying her face in her knees.

***

The sound of footsteps echoed steadily down the mansion's hallway. It was unnaturally quiet for the day of a wedding. Were the guests still enjoying the reception? It didn't matter. The sound didn't reach this far anyway.

Edmund, who had intended to use the bathroom in an empty bedroom a short distance away to be considerate of the woman, stopped in his tracks. Blocking his path quietly was the old butler, Albert. His expression was grave. The fact that he had come personally meant this was no trivial matter.

"What is it?"

"His Grace, the Duke of Liberte, wishes to see you immediately."

"Because of Benjamin drugging Rufus?"

"...I cannot say for certain, but in my humble opinion, I doubt that is the reason."

Of course. He understood Benjamin's abilities better than anyone. With a sneer, Edmund turned and followed Albert. Yet, the closer they got to the Duke's bedroom, the more ominous his premonition grew.

Ever since Edmund became the family's sole heir, the Duke had consistently supported him. Even the wedding, which should have been the perfect opportunity to flaunt the power of the Liberte family, had been held in a simplified ceremony. So why did an unpleasant shadow flicker over him now?

"I'm coming in, Father."

Standing before the door, Edmund paused briefly as always before grasping the knob and pushing it open. Immediately, the scent of death, impossible to mask even by the strong herbal fragrance, greeted him.

William Liberte sat propped up against the wide headboard of his bed. His pallor deepened at night, making him look particularly gaunt, like a skeleton. Beside him, Isabelle sat bristling with thorns, glaring at Edmund.

Edmund calmly looked between them before standing before his father's bed and bowing his head.

"I heard you summoned me."

"And the new bride?"

"She is in the marital bedchamber."

"Awaiting the wedding night?"

"Yes. We have not forgotten the long-standing custom of Liberte."

Isabelle's derisive snort came back instead. Slowly shifting his gaze to Isabelle, she spoke in a voice now soft, the complete opposite of before.

"We agreed, as you said, that the ceremony was nothing but empty formality. It felt truly liberating to get that hollow ritual over with as quickly as possible."

Her face was soft, as if mimicking a loving mother. Yet, the words directed at the illegitimate son she despised were dripping with venom.

"Then what is truly important? Care to answer that?"

"What do you mean?"

"The proof that ensures the family line continues, wouldn't you say?"

Edmund's brow gradually furrowed.

"What on earth are you trying to say?"

"Edmund Liberte. Prove before everyone that you and your bride are truly husband and wife."

Isabelle declared this with the utmost clarity.

"The priest who officiated and the seven attendants have agreed to serve as witnesses. Tonight, consummate your marriage before them. That is the true custom of the Liberte family."

Edmund remained silent for a long moment. A smile suddenly slipped through his twisted lips. It quickly turned to cold fury. A greenish vein bulged on his forehead.

Custom. Yes, it was a custom. The problem was that it was a custom dead for over a hundred years.

"You are dishonoring the family name, Mother."

"You are the one dishonoring the Liberte family. Don't you understand that refusing this ceremony would only make you look suspicious? You've always wanted your legitimacy recognized. Now is your chance."

"The observation ceremony is a custom long since vanished. Is reviving it now meant to turn a couple's wedding night into a spectacle?"

"Let's be clear. I cannot trust you or your bride. I need witnesses to confirm whether you are a couple willing to carry on the Liberte lineage."

"Refrain from such base coercion. Shouldn't you, as Duchess, gracefully adorn your final year?"

“…You! You! Darling, say something!”

Isabelle, her face crimson with fury, screamed the words. Edmund now turned his gaze to his father. William’s face, meeting his son’s eyes, contorted in pain before a violent cough erupted. The voice that followed was cracked and raspy, like a dry twig snapping.

"Edmund, you know very well my days are numbered."

William's breath came in ragged gasps. The determination etched on his emaciated face was unbelievably steadfast.

"I need proof. I must see undeniable proof that our bloodline, the Liberte lineage, will continue unbroken."

A suffocating silence settled over the bedroom, shrouded in the shadow of death.

The Duke had long been obsessively fixated on an heir. Now, consumed by illness, he seemed to grasp at descendants with skeletal, emaciated hands. What could possibly stand against such obsession?

Edmund stared at the Duke and Duchess with his dark, sunken eyes before leaving the bedroom. The corridor remained eerily silent. As he walked down that passage, Edmund's gaze held no trace of laughter or resignation—only cold, frozen anger remained.