SMTLIEACM Chapter 28

Chapter translated by Loulou.

 

 

She thought of the old fortune-teller woman she had met in Laksen.

 

Kaiyen had dismissed the old woman as nothing more than a fraud, but Etisha couldn’t forget the prophecy she had heard back then.

 

[I see a fate you must overcome ahead of you, young lady. But… in the end, you’ll climb that mountain and find happiness, so you needn’t worry too much.]

 

Happiness.

 

‘Happiness, huh…’

 

Maybe this feeling Etisha was experiencing right now—maybe that was what happiness felt like.

 

She rubbed her cheeks until they turned red, then let herself fall onto the bed. Her body felt drained, relaxed, and warm.

 

‘Am I… happy?’

 

As she closed her eyes, Kaiyen’s face came to mind, as naturally as breathing.

 

She remembered his gaze—something she had seen so many times. It was like a slab of marble resting at the bottom of a lake: heavy, still, and impossible to read.

 

Etisha still couldn’t grasp the thoughts hidden behind those eyes.

 

‘It’d be nice… if I could just get to know the Duke a little better.’

 

Was that too much to hope for?

 

‘Of course it is. I’m overstepping… I’ll only end up regretting it again.’

 

Even if it had been a wish made with a golden candy between her lips, she knew her heart would waver the moment Kaiyen’s real mistress—if he had one—showed up.

 

Maybe even Judith was just a cover. Whether there’s a real mistress… or an illegitimate child… only the Duke would know that.

 

Etisha’s thoughts began to fade, flickering like a weak flame.

 

She was tired—and sleepy.

 

‘Ah… I think I’m about to fall asleep.’

 

With effort, Etisha turned her heavy head and looked to the side. As always, the space next to her on the bed was empty.

 

‘The Duke… he’s late again tonight.’

 

He must be busy with work.

 

Before long, Etisha’s eyes shut completely. Her clear, blue gaze disappeared beneath her lids, and only the soft sound of steady breathing remained.

 

Etisha had thought it would be embarrassing to fall asleep in the same bed as Kaiyen—but in reality, she never actually saw him while she was awake.

 

Because he always worked late into the night.

 

By the time Kaiyen finished his work and finally returned to the bedroom, Etisha was always fast asleep.

 

He didn’t wake her up.

 

Instead, he’d slip quietly into bed, careful not to stir her. Then, come dawn, he’d rise before the first knock at the door—before any maid or attendant had a chance to wake him up—and leave without a sound.

 

So when Etisha opened her eyes each morning, he was already gone.

 

The space beside her: smooth, untouched. As if no one had ever been there at all.

 

So, even though they technically shared the bed, it was as if she was sleeping alone.

 

They never actually saw each other in here.

 

Etisha told herself that she was okay with it; relieved even.

 

And yet, a small part of her couldn’t help but feel disappointed; just a little bit.

***

 

 

The next day….

 

Etisha placed a custom order for a grand total of twenty-four party dresses, seven riding outfits, four hunting ensembles, nine cloaks, eleven dressing gowns, and eight petticoats—with the help of five designers.

 

Shoes, hats, gloves, scarves, and fans would be commissioned separately on another day.

 

And in the meantime, at Marquis Hexion’s estate….

 

A modest tea party was underway.

 

It was a small gathering, with fewer than ten guests in total.

 

“Looks like everyone’s here. I’m delighted you accepted my invitation.”

 

The host, Marquis Hexion, spoke with a smile that seemed to cast a spell.

 

Before him was a round tea table, and placed carefully at each setting were small name cards for the invited guests.

 

“Ahem, hmm.”

 

Before even taking a sip of her tea, Countess Montmard let out a pointed cough.

 

From the very beginning of the gathering, the Countess looked thoroughly displeased. And the reason for her foul mood wasn’t hard to guess.

 

“Ah, my apologies. I haven’t been feeling well since this morning,” she said.

 

Beside her nameplate was another, marked with Judith’s name.

 

The Countess, clearly founding Judith’s presence at her side intolerable, dragged her chair back, putting extra space between them.

 

‘What was Marquis Hexion thinking, inviting a commoner to a gathering like this?’ She cursed in her mind.

 

It was absurd enough that Judith had shown up at the tea party at all—but what truly left the Countess speechless was the presence of Madame Cyrille Wintel seated right next to Judith.

 

 

‘If it weren’t for Madame Cyrille, I would’ve thrown that commoner out without a second thought.’

 

But with the former Duchess watching, she didn’t dare cause a scene. Judith might’ve been born a commoner, but as Madame Cyrille Wintel’s adopted daughter, she still warranted a degree of caution.

 

“Oh my, I didn’t realize you were feeling unwell, Countess Montmard. In that case, I’ll have some warm chamomile tea brought for you.”

 

The marquis responded with ease, defusing the situation as though nothing had happened. His calm tone seemed to lift the countess’s mood—just a little.

 

‘He’s doing It again. Just like at the last banquet—The Marquis is inserting himself where he doesn’t need to. Is he trying to curry favor with Madame Cyrille by showing kindness to her foster daughter?’

 

Or…

 

‘Could it be he’s simply taken a liking to thgiher?’

 

Well, the girl was quite pretty. It’s not unthinkable that the marquis would take an interest in her.

 

Lady Montmard forced a smile, recalling the Marquis Hexion’s reputation with women.

 

She couldn’t exactly cause a scene in front of Madame Cyrille, and she wasn’t about to storm out of the marquis’s tea party either. So, for now, she had no choice but to endure.

 

Soon enough, at the marquis’s instruction, the maids brought out a fresh pot of warm chamomile tea.

 

“Serve this to Countess Montmard.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

The maids circled the round table in unison, their footsteps soft and measured. One of them stopped behind Countess Montmard and gently set a steaming cup of tea in front of her.

 

At that moment, Judith—seated at the countess’s side—moved as if reaching for something, and her arm swung wide.

 

The billowy ruffle at her sleeve struck the teacup, and the freshly poured hot tea spilled onto the table and dripped right onto Lady Montmard.

 

“Aagh! It’s hot!”

 

The women seated nearby scrambled to pull out handkerchiefs, but it was too late—the hem of Lady Montmard’s dress was already soaked through.

 

“What do you think you’re doing?! How dare you spill tea on me!”

 

Thankfully, the chill of the North had her dressed in a thick gown. She hadn’t been burned, only soaked, but even that was more than enough to enrage the Countess.

 

“I….I’m so sorry, my lady. It was an accident. I didn’t mean to…….”

 

“An accident? An accident? Don’t be absurd—that was clearly deliberate. Not that it matters. Whether you meant it or not, a commoner making such a mistake against a countess deserves to be punished all the same.”

 

Lady Montmard, who had never liked Judith to begin with, was more than ready to use this incident as an excuse to throw her out of the tea party.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get up at once!”

 

“I’m so sorry, I swear… it really was an accident, my lady. Please, allow me to clean it up—”

 

“Don’t you dare lay a finger on me! Do you think I’ll let someone like you touch me with those filthy hands?”

 

Now fully in her element, the Countess lashed out at Judith with all the fury she could muster.

 

But in her outrage, she’d made a crucial mistake—she’d forgotten one key detail: seated right beside Judith was none other than her guardian, Madame Cyrille Wintel.

 

“…Lady Montmard,” came Lady Cyrille’s voice, smooth and unhurried as she elegantly dabbed her lips with a napkin before lifting her head, “I believe your words may have gone a touch too far.”

 

Her eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, pinned the Countess in place like a predator sizing up its prey.

 

“The girl I brought here with me is apologizing, and yet you call her dirty?”

 

“But Madame Cyrille,” Laday Montmard protested, “I saw it clearly with my own eyes. That girl knocked over the cup on purpose. I’ve no doubt she still holds a grudge over what happened at the last banquet….!”

 

“The last banquet?” Lady Cyrille echoed, arching an elegant brow, as if hearing of it for the very first time.

 

In truth, she already knew every sordid detail—what had happened, who had caused it—but her voice remained calm, composed, unreadable.

 

“Ah… now that you mention it, I do recall something of the sort,” she mused aloud. “There was some commotion, wasn’t there? As I recall, someone—how did the story go?—slapped Judith across the face in a display of astonishing arrogance.”

 

“Wh…..what are you implying?”

 

“At the Wintel estate, during the banquet I hosted, no less, someone dared to mar the face of my foster daughter, who was being presented to society for the first time… I nearly launched a full investigation and demanded compensation, but somehow, I managed to restrain myself.”

 

“…..”

 

“And it seems you’ve heard about it too, Lady Montmard. Unless, of course, you happened to witness the incident firsthand? If so, then surely you must know exactly who the culprit was.”

 

Madam Cyrille was defending Judith; fiercely so. Perhaps even more than necessary.

 

From Countess Montmard’s perspective, the whole thing felt deeply unfair. Her jaw tightened as she bit the inside of her cheek and replied through a thin smile.

 

“…hahaha, Madame Cyrille, you do have a flair for the dramatic. But really, if you bring a common girl into society and call her your daughter, who would truly think that she is your daughter? Whatever may have happened that evening… wouldn’t it be wiser to simply let it go?”

 

“That is truly a valuable piece of advice, Countess Montmard,” Lady Cyrille replied, her tone like velvet over steel. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 

“As expected of you, Madame Cyrille, you truly understand the dignity and decorum befitting a noble.”

 

“You flatter me, Countess. I wouldn’t dare compare myself to you.”

 

With a graceful gesture, Cyrille signaled to the maids who were cleaning up the spilled tea. Taking the cue, they quickly refilled her cup with fresh tea.

 

“Then, following the wise advice you just gave me, we’ll leave the events of that evening in the past. And of course, I trust you’ll do the same with today’s incident?”

 

“…Yes, of course,” the Countess replied.

 

Lady Cyrille took a sip of her tea. Across from her, countess Montmard clenched her damp handkerchief tightly in her fist.

 

With things unfolding this way, she had no choice but to swallow her anger.

 

“You see, while the distinguished Countess is well-versed in noble manners and etiquette, Judith is still a child—an unpolished one at that. I never thought she’d need to navigate noble society, so I kept her close and never properly prepared her.”

 

“So when such an inexperienced child makes a mistake, isn’t it only right for her elders to respond with patience and generosity?”

 

Lady Cyrille no longer bothered to look at Countess Montmard. Instead, her sharp gaze swept across the other women seated at the table, her words carrying a clear warning.

 

Understanding her intent, the other noble ladies quickly chimed in with polite agreement.

 

“W…Well, of course, Madame Cyrille. You speak with such wisdom.”

 

“That’s what nobility is all about. I’m sure the Countess simply misspoke, given how unwell she’s been feeling today.”

 

“Indeed! Haha! I daresay I’m leaving today’s tea with a most enlightening perspective, thanks to you both.”

 

With the other noble ladies chiming in, the matter was now fully settled.

 

There was no more room to protest.

 

Countess Montmard might have held some sway in society, but even calling her second to the former Duchess of Wintel would’ve been generous.

 

Such was the weight of Cyrille Wintel’s reputation—and the authority she commanded.