Chapter 81
***
The heavy footsteps of two people echoed solemnly down the grand hallway. Edmund and Blair passed by the servants, heads bowed in gloom, without a word. Finally, they entered the corridor leading to the Duke of Libert's bedroom.
Bang! The sound of a door being kicked open echoed loudly from afar.
"Rufus, my boy!"
"Don't follow me!"
"Your father didn't mean it that way...!"
Rufus came thumping around the corner toward them. Rufus's eyes met Edmund's. He hesitated for a moment, his face contorting, then resumed his pace. Edmund, holding the startled Blair, continued walking toward the Duke's bedroom.
It was the moment their shoulders brushed.
"Filthy bastard."
Rufus muttered, as if chewing the words out. Blair knew she should ignore it, but her heart sank, and she found herself looking up at Rufus. Then her widened eyes shifted to Edmund.
The man who had heard the chilling insult wore a face utterly devoid of emotion. As if he hadn't been struck at all. Or perhaps he was simply too skilled at wearing such a mask.
Passing through Rufus as if through flowing air, Edmund soon reached the bedroom door. Isabelle, who had been resting her forehead on her hand, snapped her head up and glared at him fiercely. The Duchess, who bore an uncanny resemblance to Rufus, had a face aflame with seething anger.
"I'm going in."
As Edmund stepped aside for Isabelle, she stretched out her arm to block his path.
"What do you think you can do just because he's still conscious?"
"I only came to pay my respects upon hearing he had been gravely ill."
"The blood flowing through your veins is no better than muddy water. No matter how clear you pretend to be, the stench will always come through. And considering where that blood flows from... it can't possibly be clean."
"......"
"So don't presume you could ever dare covet Rufus's position."
"That is for my father to decide."
Edmund's mouth twisted.
"Mother, perhaps you should hold out a little hope."
"...What?"
"They say neutered males become docile, but seeing how increasingly vicious Rufus grows, it seems the possibility isn't entirely out of the question."
Isabelle's face instantly contorted like a demon's. The Duchess let out a strange shriek and lunged at Edmund. The woman who had maintained her dignity, at least in front of Blair, had completely lost her mind in the face of the Duke of Liberte’s deathbed and final will.
"Madam...!"
A startled Blair covered her mouth. But Isabelle collapsed where she stood, never reaching Edmund. Her rage had boiled over, causing her to faint.
Blair hurriedly caught her, supporting her neck. As if this had happened many times before, Edmund sighed, knelt on one knee before Isabelle, and examined her complexion. Blair, who had been about to call a servant, hesitated. Then she whispered quietly to Edmund.
"Edmund, I'll take the Duchess to her bedroom with a servant. It would be best for you to speak with the Duke alone."
"......"
"I am your wife now. My actions are your actions. You must first uphold your position as the Duke's heir."
He needed to see the Duke, who was on his deathbed, but leaving the collapsed Duchess alone was also somewhat problematic. So, he hoped to maintain his priorities, even if only nominally, by relying on the hand of his wife, Blair.
Edmund looked at Blair for a moment, then nodded.
"Then I entrust her to you, Blair."
He bowed his head slightly and rose from his seat. Unlike his polite reply, his composed face showed neither pity nor cynicism. Without hesitation, Edmund turned his back and flung open the Duke's bedroom door.
Blair caught her breath beside the fallen Isabelle, gazing up at his retreating back. The man reflected in her eyes felt even more distant.
***
Thud. The moment the door closed, a pungent herbal scent enveloped Edmund. A dark stillness hung in the bedroom, where not a single ray of sunlight penetrated. From the bed, draped in white curtains, came faint, irregular breathing. It was the familiar, distinctive breath of someone nearing death.
Inside the bedroom were the attending physician, Benjamin, and two servants providing minimal care. They withdrew through the archway into the adjoining sitting room, allowing Edmund and the Duke to speak privately.
Edmund walked steadily toward the bed, sat down in a chair, and gazed down at the Duke. The Duke, whose parched lips repeated precarious breaths, slowly lifted his eyelids. His eyes, hazy as if shrouded in thick fog, fixed on Edmund.
"Edmund."
"Yes."
"Only now have you come."
The tone was reproachful. As if he had clung to life just long enough to greet his son. Edmund let out a faint, scattered laugh.
"I was told your passing was imminent, so I hurried."
Instead of answering, William Liberte slowly closed his wrinkled eyelids once, then opened them again.
"Outside... What's going on?"
His hearing was sharp. He must have heard the commotion with Isabelle a moment ago. Edmund briefly lowered his gaze before continuing.
"Nothing much."
"Rufus, no... Isabelle, was it?"
"......"
"It must have been Isabelle. The only one who could do such a thing... is Isabelle."
Duke Liberte stared intently up at him, gasping for precarious breaths. Edmund met his gaze with a strange feeling, his own face filling the eyes heavy with the shadow of illness.
"Edmund."
"Yes, I'm here."
"You resemble me. You perfectly mirror my youth. It's impossible to hide. Even Isabelle couldn't deny you were the child born between Lorraine and me. It was too obvious."
The Duke added, his voice echoing memories of the past.
"I revisited it. That's why I'm troubled. Rufus...fears I might have left everything to you."
"Is his fear warranted?"
When Edmund asked quietly, the Duke responded with a sound like something caught deep in his throat. Only after a brief pause did Edmund realize it was a sneer.
"You'll find out soon enough."
As the Duke said, the will would be made public soon enough. There was no need for haste. It was already beyond Edmund’s control. His thoughts, now redirected, settled elsewhere.
‘Lorraine….’
It was the name of his mother, heard for the first time in ages. The woman unworthy of rest in the Liberte family burial ground. As a child back then, Edmund had been forced to watch helplessly as her remains were consumed by flames. It was due to Isabelle’s cruel orders.
But looking back, he wondered if she truly deserved to be cremated simply because she was a mistress. Perhaps Isabelle had wanted to avoid even a formal autopsy.
“Have you ever regretted it?”
He asked in a low, subdued voice. For a moment, William couldn't grasp what he was asking.
"Do you regret bringing Lorraine in?"
"No."
Edmund laughed, his voice resonating in his throat.
“You didn't protect my mother. You probably never intended to, but she was someone you could have kept within your walls and controlled."
Duke Liberte did not answer immediately. It wasn't hesitation. It was pride, hardened like stone over too many years, resisting at the tip of his tongue.
After a long pause, the duke's parched lips moved.
"I... have never once regretted a single decision I've made in my entire life."
"......"
"Edmund, isn't that true for you too?"
"...Ha."
A hollow laugh escaped him. Watching his son, William Liberte continued in a dry voice.
"Because you take after me. You're the spitting image of my younger self..."
Edmund's brow furrowed slightly.
“It’s a fact you can’t even hide. Even Isabelle couldn’t deny you’re the child born between me and Lorraine….”
His words were almost identical to those spoken moments before. It sounded like an old man who’d lost his memory, spouting nonsense without any context.
“What I cannot bear, what I could never forgive even if the heavens fell….”
Whatever he recalled made the Duke's teeth grind together. Edmund glimpsed a savage, beast-like glint in the face of the man who once wielded absolute authority. Strangely, it felt like looking into a mirror.
"It is daring to challenge my authority."
"......"
"And Isabelle... she clearly crossed the line."
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