Chapter 18

Her ominous premonition had not been wrong. On the surface, their married life seemed peaceful. Her husband loved her, was generous to her, and tried to provide her with anything she wanted. But all of it was only on the surface.

The Baron surely loved her, but Lucy found that love stifling and selfish. Under the excuse of “I love you,” he became obsessive and controlling. He monitored everything—her attendance at social gatherings, her conversations with outsiders, even the letters she exchanged with her friends.

In public, he was seen as a successful, upbeat young noble who had risen through his own abilities. But in truth, the Baron was consumed by a deep inferiority complex, stemming from not being born the first son. Whenever they returned from a party, he would fume, wondering why he was addressed as merely “Baron,” and why his father’s title of Count had to go to his older brother. When his business was struggling, he vented in frustration about why he had to work so hard without any estate to support him.

Of course, he was extremely conscious of his public reputation, so he only ever showed this side to Lucy, in the privacy of their bedroom. He was wary that servants might spread gossip.

His insecurities frequently erupted over trivial matters. He would jealously and spitefully belittle everyone he met behind their backs, manipulating their images in subtle ways—everyone except his idiotic younger brother.

That scoundrel was so useless he couldn’t outshine anyone, which made him the only person the Baron could feel superior to. Keeping his dimwitted brother close was the only way he could satisfy his hollow sense of superiority.

Lucy endured it all in silence. Though marrying him hadn’t turned out to be the “excellent decision” she first thought, it wasn’t entirely terrible either. She could tolerate his controlling behavior, his constant outbursts of negativity, even the loathsome presence of her brother-in-law.

As long as she remained docile within the walls of the estate—within his sphere of control—he left her be. He provided for her materially without holding back. He didn’t object when she wanted a gravestone made for Toby. Though he often nagged her about snacks and restricted her diet for the sake of appearance, she herself didn’t want to let her looks slip, so it was bearable. Lucy decided to live like this—not happily, but peacefully enough. She believed she could.

Her husband’s unwelcome love changed over time, shifting in form. It didn’t grant her freedom, but at least his obsession waned a little, and she could breathe easier.

One summer day, the sunlight was particularly pleasant. Lucy had a table set beside Toby’s gravestone and was enjoying her tea there. In the shade of the trees, it wasn’t hot, and the chirping of birds created a peaceful atmosphere.

The trouble began when she finished her tea and tried to return to the mansion. The moment she stepped into the sunlight, a wave of dizziness hit her. First nausea, then her vision turned white. She tried to steady herself, but it was no use. She collapsed on the ground, unconscious.

The servants panicked and rushed to bring a doctor. The physician checked her temperature, examined her mouth, then studied her face closely. Suddenly, his expression hardened.

“Have you experienced sudden weight loss recently or unusual fatigue?”

“I’ve lost a bit of weight, but I’ve been eating less lately… and it’s summer, of course I feel tired.”

The doctor glanced at the gathered servants, hesitating. Lucy urged him on, confused.

“Is it… something serious?”

“Well, my lady…”

The doctor hesitated, then asked for privacy. Though puzzled, Lucy obliged. Once they were alone, the doctor lowered his voice.

“Forgive me, my lady. This may be unpleasant to hear, but… it is syphilis.”

“…Syphilis?”

“A type of venereal disease…”

He gently explained what syphilis was and how far it had progressed. Lucy listened in a daze.

“You were likely infected by your husband. It’s not fatal, but lesions have appeared on your face…”

Lucy rushed for a mirror and examined her face. She saw small red spots on her cheek and beneath her eye. She had assumed they were just blemishes… Her shoulders trembled.

The doctor carefully explained treatment options to slow the disease and precautions to take in daily life. He then left the estate without telling the servants anything. He was discreet.

Lucy sat down heavily on the bed, her vision spinning. Her husband… had betrayed her.

It was unthinkable. She had believed they had an unspoken agreement—he provided for her, and she, in turn, upheld his social image with her beauty. That was their balance. Of course, there were extras tied to it, but she thought they lived by that mutual understanding.

She wasn’t even that shocked by the idea that he’d had an affair. Ironically, that was the one thing she genuinely didn’t care about. Lucy had no interest in her husband’s affairs—as long as he respected her as “the Baroness,” that was all that mattered. As long as rumors didn’t spread through high society, she didn’t care.

But her husband infecting her with syphilis was an entirely different matter. There was no reason for her to contract such a disease. This was entirely his fault. This—she could never forgive.

Syphilis could never be truly cured. If she let her condition deteriorate even a little, her organs would begin to fail and she would die. Now, for the rest of her life, she would have to be treated with salvarsan at regular intervals. And salvarsan wasn’t entirely safe either. It was a form of arsenic, and if mismanaged, she could die from poisoning.

This was betrayal. Her husband had broken their unspoken agreement—broken their contract. Lucy’s hands trembled as she clenched her fists. Hot rage kept rising from deep inside her.

Who had he been with to catch such a disease? She ran through the possible culprits in her mind. One of the maids in the household? Or perhaps he’d gone whoring with that idiotic younger brother and picked it up at a brothel. He cared about appearances, so he likely kept it discreet, but someone, somewhere, must have seen him.

From that point on, Lucy carefully observed her husband’s behavior. The Baron noticed nothing and simply seemed delighted that his wife was paying attention to him. But it wasn’t the happiness of a man basking in his wife’s affection—it was the joy of a man whose pet dog was finally showing him some attention.

It wasn’t hard to figure out that the maid May was his mistress. Other servants hinted at it, but more than that, May’s behavior was infuriatingly obvious. She was always sneaking glances at Lucy, throwing sideways looks whenever she was with the Baron, giving her those strange, knowing eyes from her tiny little head—so pathetic, so ridiculous, that Lucy could only laugh in disbelief.

She didn’t know which one of them had infected the other, but that maid surely had syphilis too.

Lucy thought long and hard about how to handle this. Every month, she secretly acquired salvarsan and injected herself, only to be bedridden for a day or two from the aftereffects. Sometimes, she was so filled with rage she wanted to kill them both on the spot—but the next day, her thoughts would change. Death was too easy. Lucy wanted to punish them in another way.

And then, one day, Robert Turove swaggered into the mansion, just like always. Lucy was utterly sick of dealing with him, but still greeted him with a smile. However, something was different. There was a loud commotion from her husband’s room, and then Robert Turove left the mansion with a pale face.

Usually, he would drink heavily with the Baron late into the night and either stumble home drunk or stay in the guest room for a while. It was strange to see him leave so quickly. Lucy quietly watched his retreating figure as he exited the estate.

After that, Robert Turove came back repeatedly, but every time he fought loudly with the Baron and stormed off after an hour or two. She didn’t know the reason, but something had clearly gone wrong between them.

Watching Robert throw tantrums, Lucy suddenly had an idea. It was meticulous and safe, but the chances of success were low. Still, she had nothing to lose, so it was worth a try.

What pushed Lucy to act was May—specifically, May’s pregnancy. The maid tried desperately to hide it, but in doing so only made it more obvious. Seeing May cradle her still-flat belly so lovingly, Lucy’s lips twisted into a chilling smile.

“It wasn’t hard at all. Just needed a little push.”

She let word slip—through Sir Lau—that she was buying medicine. She purposely left a tab at the apothecary. And then, as Robert Turove stormed out of the mansion in frustration, she casually threw a comment that poked at his inferiority complex.