Deceived 62

Chapter 62

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“Not long ago…”

Millia sniffed sharply and bowed her head. Blair gently placed a hand on her shoulder, as if urging her to continue.

“A rare tulip was brought in from Hampton. Since it was only recently transplanted into the greenhouse, the Duchess said it would need special care for the time being.”

“Why wasn’t the gardener handling that?”

"The gardener is getting older and often returns to his quarters early. So I ended up finishing the work..."

"And that's how you ran into master Rufus on your way out of the greenhouse."

"Ugh... I'd already locked the greenhouse door and left, but he kept insisting I go back inside."

Blair feigned a frown. She didn't even want to guess what dirty intentions Rufus might have had, taking a young maid out so late at night.

"He asked you to go inside the greenhouse?"

"He said he wanted to see if the tulips... were arranged properly... that he needed to check I hadn't made a mistake..."

Millia let the corners of her mouth droop and buried her face in her hands. Blair sighed and finished the sentence the maid hadn't been able to complete.

"So you sensed something was off and refused to go inside."

"...I just... had this gut feeling I shouldn't go in. I locked the door, but he kept trying to... take the key from my apron pocket."

Millia, instinctively sensing danger, had apparently tried to resist Rufus somehow. But with her far weaker strength, small frame, and low status, it was surely futile. Even if she stood blocking the glass greenhouse door, how could a maid who had lived half her life in obedience dare raise her voice against the young master of the mansion?

That was when Blair appeared, accompanied by guards. Far from admitting wrongdoing, Rufus brazenly took the guards as his own bodyguards, but at least her lady had rescued Millia from danger, which was fortunate.

"Has this happened before with master Rufus?"

"...No. I mean, he... has never been this direct... not even once."

Suddenly, Millia, her face drained of color with fear, grabbed Blair's hand.

"Will I be expelled from the estate?"

"No, Millia. You did nothing wrong."

Blair shook her head firmly.

"You showed courage to the very end. Why would anyone punish a child like that?"

"But... I've already committed such a disgraceful act... The Duchess won't forgive me. Please, don't tell her. I truly have nowhere else to go."

The maid, who had worked under Isabelle since she was old enough to enter elementary school, pleaded desperately. Her trembling voice carried not just fear, but the deep-rooted obedience cultivated over a decade. Blair could easily discern it.

"Please don't drive me away. I promise I won't tell anyone. Lady, please... pretend nothing happened. I beg you."

Blair understood the maid's instinctive urge to lock her own tongue. Feeling a pang of sadness, she reached out and pulled Millia into an embrace.

"Don't worry. Nothing will happen."

She said it, but no matter how hard she thought, no clear solution came to mind. This was not a problem she could handle alone. A resolute light shone in Blair's eyes as she stared out the window into the pitch-black darkness.

***

The next day, at dawn, a thick fog settled so dense it was hard to gauge the surroundings.

Piercing the hazy air, a black sedan with flashing headlights pulled up in front of the main building of the Duke's residence. A footman hurried forward and swung open the door. Edmund, holding a dark blue coat in one hand, stepped out with a weary expression. The waiting butler took a step forward and bowed at the waist.

"You've returned, master."

"Albert."

Edmund nodded as he handed over his coat naturally. The butler then added in a low voice,

"You've returned just in time. His Grace the Duke has just regained consciousness. Though still weak, he instructed us to summon the family's inheritance specialist lawyer immediately upon waking."

Upon hearing the news, Edmund proceeded straight to the main house. The Duke's reason for calling the legal representative was clear: he intended to revise his will. He might intend to add new clauses to clarify the succession.

"Does anyone else know Father has awakened?"

"Thanks to the physician keeping the servants strictly silent, no one else knows yet. However, the Duchess visits his bedroom personally every morning..."

This meant there was little time to act before Isabelle could make her move. Entering the main hall, Edmund strode without hesitation toward the Duke's bedroom.

"Good. I'll see him immediately."

"Sir...."

Amid the urgency, Albert's hesitant voice caught Edmund's attention.

"Since I've been summoned, I must speak..."

"What is it?"

"The lady wished to see you immediately upon your return.”

The sound of footsteps echoing on the marble floor halted. Edmund slowly turned, meeting the butler's gaze. Small droplets fell from his fringe, dampened by the thick fog.

"I was told it was urgent."

“…”

"She didn't elaborate, but insisted there was something you absolutely must discuss."

"......"

"She came to see me after midnight. She looked deeply troubled."

The old butler added this unnecessary detail likely because Blair's expression had been so heartrending. She probably hadn't gone to bed yet, waiting for him. Edmund stared at the old steward's cloudy eyes for a moment before turning his head away.

"I'll see Father first."

The priority was clear. Correcting the precarious power structure within this mansion came first.

***

Edmund entered the Duke's bedroom, filled with the pungent scent of medicinal herbs. The air was such that anyone unaccustomed to the shadow of illness would instinctively frown. Double curtains hung thickly, blocking out even the slightest breeze, and only a pale light illuminated the space from the table.

William Liberte sat propped up against the headboard, barely able to hold his upper body upright. Benjamin paused midway through taking his temperature, glanced back at Edmund, nodded once, and quietly exited the bedroom.

Once the physician left, William, his face as pale as a corpse, glanced sharply at Edmund. Yet his ashen eyes retained their piercing intensity. It was the strength born of obsession.

"You've come."

"Yes, Father."

"Come closer."

Edmund bowed his head slightly, approached his father, and sat down in a chair. The Duke's face was deeply shadowed, a shadow often seen on those nearing death.

"Did you hear the news about Rufus?"

"I have. Most of the senior staff know by now."

"Yes. Before I lost consciousness, Isabelle said it. That Rufus had recovered... That he, too, as a worthy descendant of my bloodline, was ready to carry on our family's lineage."

"Mother must have been so overjoyed she exaggerated the situation when she relayed it."

Edmund continued in a subdued voice.

"It can barely stand upright for a few seconds. It's said he can't even ejaculate. His instincts may remain, but it's too soon to claim he functions as a man."

"You, who's in conflict with Rufus over the duke's title... Do you think your claim holds any credibility?"

"It's not my claim, but the doctor's diagnosis. I'll summon Jensen, who's waiting outside. If you find me untrustworthy, verify it directly with him."

William stared at Edmund intently, his gaze as hazy as mist. Edmund calmly continued his reasoning.

"Would you call that recovery? Do you recognize it as the ability to carry on the family line? In truth, isn't it an imperfect possibility that could break at any moment?"

Unable to answer, the Duke brought a handkerchief to his mouth and let out a dry cough. Even then, he looked at Edmund with eyes demanding he continue his explanation. As if waiting for this moment, Edmund delivered his final point.

"Whereas I have no impediment to producing an heir, and above all, I have a healthy wife capable of bearing children."