Deceived 118

Chapter 118

***

Opportunity. The moment he heard that single word, Henry Twyford’s greed stirred. It was a reaction almost instinctive—much like that of a long-starved man faced with freshly baked bread.

As it was, debts stemming from excessive socializing and hasty investments had already begun to eat away at his household beyond control. And now, an opportunity had arrived at this precarious moment. The thought settled slowly into Henry’s mind, carried by Isabelle’s clear, ringing voice.

The Count of Twyford, who had once dreamed of striking it rich, was now barely clinging to the façade of his noble status. The vast sum of money that Edmund Liberte had slipped into his hand when he took Blair away had long since vanished without a trace, and that void had been filled by debts that had snowballed out of control.

“Wealth and honor… those are the things I need most right now.”

The fact that Edmund had not only covered the losses resulting from the broken engagement with the Doman family but had also paid the bride’s side’s share of the enormous dowry left Henry feeling both envy and astonishment.

That cunning man must have continued to amass a fortune since then. He had sold off every single one of his most cherished paintings, and the thought that the young upstart must have prospered even further filled him with a fresh wave of jealousy that cut to the bone.

Henry suddenly furrowed his brow.

The pregnancy of his only daughter. The heir to the Liberte family. He was that child’s maternal grandfather. Only after all the pieces fell into place did the outline of what Isabelle was trying to say become clear.

“…But, my lady, I am in no position to interfere with my daughter in any way.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Because, according to the contract drawn up at the time by that bastard… no, by the Duke of Liberte, all authority over Blair has been transferred to him.”

As Isabelle narrowed her eyes, as if to ask what on earth he was talking about, Henry hastily offered an explanation.

“After all, isn’t my daughter now a married woman? So I had no choice but to...”

In truth, the Count of Twyford could not interfere with or exert any influence over Blair’s person, residence, or future plans whatsoever. The clauses in the contract were like a lock that completely sealed off any possibility for the earl to interfere in Blair’s life. This was precisely why, even though he was bankrupt, he couldn’t lay claim to Blair, his last remaining “asset.”

At the time, desperate for money, he had signed the contract without a second thought, but looking back, it turned out that everything had unfolded according to Edmund’s plan. That fact was an insult that trampled on the Count’s pride.

Isabelle, who had remained expressionless until then, let out a wry smile in the pale daylight.

“A clause preventing you from interfering with your daughter… That’s quite the ducal move. You must have laid out the terms meticulously to ensure you wouldn’t suffer any losses in the deal.”

Then, as if lost in thought, she lowered her gaze for a moment before looking back at Henry.

“Did that contract happen to include any provisions regarding the status and rights of the child to be born?”

“The child to be born…?”

“I’m curious whether the Duke has made thorough provisions even for the heir who will carry on the bloodlines of Liberte and Twyford.”

Henry Twyford tried to piece together his hazy memories. It had been so long since he’d looked at that contract that it seemed like a distant memory, but upon careful reflection, it seemed there were no clauses regarding their offspring.

Why was that? Was it because there was no need to specify something about a being who hadn’t even been born yet? For that meticulous man? Come to think of it, it was a bit strange. Thanks to that, however, he’d found a loophole to exploit.

“Hmm… I suppose I’ll have to take another careful look at it.”

Come to think of it, he had a grandchild now. And they hadn’t even told him, the father, such momentous news. As his thoughts spiraled to that conclusion, he felt an inexplicable sense of resentment toward Blair.

“But I haven’t heard a single word about my daughter’s pregnancy.”

“Perhaps she intentionally kept you in the dark.”

At Isabelle’s offhand remark, the Count of Twyford faltered.

“The matter of the Duke’s heir always causes political ripples. So she must have decided it was best to inform only those closest to her.”

Henry, at a loss for words, furrowed his brow sharply, while Isabelle, with a faint smile, gathered her handbag and made a move to leave.

“My business here is finished, so I’ll be on my way.”

“But… why are you telling me all this, my lady?”

Isabelle rose from the sofa and looked down quietly at Henry. He found it nearly impossible to read the emotions reflected in her blue eyes.

“Because it’s something the Count needs to know.”

With that, she turned her back and crossed the parlor. Mrs. Norris, who had belatedly brought tea and cookies, hurriedly opened the door, but Isabelle simply glided past the housekeeper and exited with grace.

The Count of Twyford sat on the sofa, staring blankly at the spot where she had been standing for a while. Eventually, his dazed gaze cleared.

It was certain. This was undoubtedly a golden opportunity to regain his wealth and honor—and even restore his shattered reputation.

***

As Isabelle walked out of the townhouse, her mind was strangely calm.

It felt as though her soul—shattered into pieces after Rufus’s passing—had been roughly pieced back together. Once reality, which had been blurry for a while, became tangible, Isabelle could finally breathe again.

Blair’s biological father, the Count of Twyford, lived up to her expectations. A man driven by greed and intoxicated by vanity, he had eagerly taken the bait Isabelle had cast. That should be enough to make him dance to her tune.

From the very beginning, Isabelle had not taken Edmund’s marriage proposal at face value. Even his display of love for the woman he had broken off his engagement with seemed like a clever ploy—a way to conceal his true motive: to solidify his position.

The men of Liberte were a breed who always used women as tools to achieve their goals. William was no exception. He took her as his wife to save face, only to bring in a woman of low birth on the pretext of infertility, ruining the lives of many in the process.

What made Edmund, who had inherited his blood in full, any different? He simply lacked the will to have an heir due to deep self-loathing stemming from his birth to a concubine—but he was by no means a man who would hesitate to use women as tools.

Blair’s pregnancy was certainly unexpected. Yet that was precisely the evidence that supported Isabelle’s conclusion.

Since he hadn’t planned to have a child in the first place, he hadn’t included any relevant clauses in the prenuptial agreement he’d drawn up with the earl. The fact that such a meticulous man had left a loophole meant he hadn’t considered the variable of pregnancy from the start.

Therefore, Blair’s pregnancy was not a planned event but a mistake—nothing more, nothing less. And that very mistake would become the surest weakness to shake Edmund to his core.

“…A child?”

The child of that very bastard, of all people. The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. Of course, it was something that could easily have happened. The woman was probably completely blinded by the illusion of love—just as he himself had been with William.

Just then, Isabelle, who had arrived at the grand estate of Eldenvale, entered the main building. The servants, who had noticed she hadn’t been herself lately, exchanged glances and bowed in unison. Isabelle, who had been about to ignore them and head straight to her bedroom, changed her mind and approached the elderly butler standing in the entrance hall.

“Butler.”

“My Lady, did you summon me?”

“Tell the church that we will hold Rufus’s funeral without further delay.”

Perhaps taken aback by the unexpected order, Albert did not answer immediately, but true to his status as a seasoned butler, he soon bowed his head.

“I shall do so.”

It was time to let go of the deadlock with the church over Rufus’s funeral.

Her refusal to lay her son’s body to rest was nothing more than her own fleeting selfishness. Above all, it was a matter that had to be settled in order to bring Edmund—who had vanished with his pregnant wife—back into the open.

There was no time left to wail, nor any reason to break down. Her beloved son was dead. The only survivor was another monster who bore a striking resemblance to both her and William.

If that were the case, then one of them had to meet their end.