Chapter 75
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 75
Her family had been noble in name only, and she was their bastard. Just because bastards were common didn’t mean their status was guaranteed. There were bastards, and then there were bastards.
In her entire life, not a single thing had ever truly belonged to her.
That family.
They had put on the airs of great nobles, but it was all a facade. The second-floor drawing room she’d never dared enter was less impressive than a single corner of any museum in the capital, Vies. The family history they boasted of, as if it were some ancient, venerable tradition, was a pathetic legacy that failed to capture the interest of a single true noble.
And judging by their usual conduct, they had undoubtedly brought their own ruin upon themselves. Besides, while the King claimed Marquis Reinhardt had orchestrated their downfall, could such a thing have ever happened without royal approval?
Charlotte was no fool.
To trade the ruin of a family that had never treated her as human for a new identity and a brilliant future—it was almost embarrassing to call it a trade.
The day she finally shed the wretched label of a low-ranking noble’s bastard, Charlotte felt reborn. She made a vow.
For the rest of her life, she would live only for herself.
Nothing in the world mattered more than she did. If anything threatened her peace, she would sweep it from her path, no matter what it was.
That resolve remained unchanged.
“…”
Though her eyes reflected the bright, clear world before her, her mind was lost in a rainy landscape from the past.
A certain rainy night.
The night she had ruthlessly abandoned her only son for her own peace.
“Um… the Young Marquis Reinhardt—no, the Marquis is waiting for you.”
Oscar, who rarely laughed and never cried, was waiting for her in the pouring rain. He ignored the orders to go home; he simply waited.
Even his knack for making people uncomfortable was just like his dead father’s.
In the end, Charlotte took an umbrella and went out to him.
Barbara Wald.
That wretched woman stood behind him, while Oscar remained as still as a dead tree. Amidst the torrential downpour that washed the world in white, Charlotte could feel his gaze fixed upon her.
Even then, the boy was peculiar.
He didn’t run to her crying, “Mother!” He didn’t cling to her skirts and weep.
He just stared, his piercing blue eyes—so like Ernst’s—gazing at her as if trying to see into her very soul.
Whoosh.
The rain fell in thick, white sheets, rendering the umbrella useless. Her shoes were soaked through, and the heavy, wet hem of her dress clung to her legs.
This was pointless.
Just as Charlotte was about to turn back, a voice stopped her.
“When are you coming home?”
She wondered if she had misheard the young voice that had somehow pierced the deluge. Pausing, Charlotte looked back at Oscar.
“…”
“…”
Amidst the thunderous roar of the storm, he still looked like a dead tree. His face was free of tears, not even a frown creasing his brow.
In a downpour so loud she couldn't hear herself think, there was no way his words could have reached her.
She must have imagined it.
Why would she have imagined such a thing?
Finding her own reaction strange, Charlotte whispered an answer to the auditory illusion.
“I’m sorry, but I am never going back to those ruins.”
Oscar couldn’t possibly have heard her. The words were lost even to her own ears.
With that, Charlotte turned her back on her son. Oscar didn’t try to stop her, nor did he burst into tears. She was later told he remained standing there long after she had vanished from sight, only then turning to leave.
Since that day, he had never once sought her out.
“Do you have a headache?”
A low voice shattered her reverie.
Turning from the window, Charlotte saw her long-time lover standing there.
Dietrich von Jerome.
Her history with him stretched back even further than her time with Ernst.
His neatly slicked-back hair and a perfectly tailored, wrinkle-free suit accentuated his sharp features, as did the insignia pinned to his chest.
“Are you on your way to the Royal Palace?”
Dietrich didn’t answer, simply stepping closer.
“It seems the rain kept you from sleeping.”
Charlotte shrugged, but his brow furrowed.
“How long are you going to be like this every time it rains?”
She brushed past him as he approached, snapping coldly, “Direct your blame where it belongs.”
Dietrich drew a sharp breath. He turned his head, his eyes following her as she walked away.
Charlotte poured herself another cup of the lemon water left by the head maid and drank it. Dietrich turned fully to face her, speaking in a hushed tone.
“That woman your son brought home. Have you looked into her?”
Her slender throat paused mid-swallow.
Right. That woman.
Charlotte realized the memory of the rainy night had temporarily driven the girl from her mind. Shaking off her brief hesitation, she slowly finished the water and set the cup down, her elegant eyes narrowing.
Yesterday, she had considered visiting the Reinhardt Manor, but since it was hardly a pleasant destination, she had ordered her carriage to turn around just before arriving and head to her son's company instead. Fortunately, Oscar had been there.
His crude attitude and disheveled attire were as dreadful as ever.
Barbara Wald.
Raised by a low-born woman with no breeding, it was only natural that he had picked up the habits of a back-alley thug.
“Did you bring a woman into your house?”
Oscar, flicking ash into an ashtray, had merely lifted his eyes to meet hers. That fierce glare—which could never be mistaken for a son looking at his mother—was enough to convince her that the question she’d thought she heard in the rain all those years ago had been nothing but a hallucination.
Charlotte quietly replayed the moment in her mind.
Perhaps because Oscar so closely resembled Ernst—whose mind had always been an impenetrable fortress—she could never truly read her son. She had to rely on her intuition.
“Make sure you vet her properly.”
“…”
“There are bastards, and then there are bastards. Regardless of gender, a child conceived with some rootless, low-born creature is nothing but a stumbling block. It would be terribly troublesome if some vulgar thing started hoping for an inheritance, wouldn’t it?”
Even then, her son had remained silent. She had left behind a rare medicine favored by the Emperor of Rioher, but Oscar had likely thrown it in the trash.
The gut feeling that her son had discarded the medicine only solidified her suspicion that he had indeed taken in a woman—and not some mere maid to be used and discarded, but someone brought in for a deeply personal purpose.
The sharp intuition that had always been her salvation sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Dietrich watched her as she brooded.
Charlotte.
Whenever those violet, flower-like eyes turned toward him, Dietrich felt as though he held the entire world in his hands. But the beautiful eyes that once reminded him of delicate violets had hardened over the years, taking on the cold luster of amethysts.
“Are you still letting yourself be swayed by that selfish woman? What kind of mother doesn't even blink when her own daughter is branded a bastard? She of all people knows exactly how bastards are treated!”
His mother’s shrill voice echoed in his memory.
“Do you honestly believe she loves you?”
“Mother.”
“Perhaps she did once. No… thinking back, she was probably that kind of girl from the very beginning. Perhaps only her circumstances changed.”
“Mother!”
“Charlotte is doing this to get revenge on me.”
“…”
“I once told her that my son could never marry a bastard like her. So now, to spite me, she keeps you as her paramour and lets my granddaughter be branded a bastard!”
Dietrich smiled thinly.
As if he didn’t already know.
He spoke to Charlotte, who was still lost in thought.
“If your son…”
Her amethyst eyes shifted to him. Dietrich looked straight into his long-time lover's gaze and continued.
“…were to have a child, bastard or otherwise, it would be highly problematic.”
“…”
“You know that, don’t you?”
Charlotte let out a sharp, mocking laugh. Though it stung like a slap, Dietrich didn’t even blink. Instead, he took a step closer and whispered a low warning.
“Don’t play dumb, Char.”
“…”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
She knew all too well.
“The young lady you have in mind to be the next Marchioness of Reinhardt. Her parents are keeping it quiet, so no one else knows, but…”
The amusement vanished from Charlotte’s face.
“…she is barren.”
“Watch your mouth, Diet.”
“Don’t worry. No one knows but me.”
“Dietrich!”
Charlotte flared, but he refused to back down.
“So keep a close eye on him. You’re far too young to be a grandmother. In fact, you have absolutely no desire to become one, do you?”
She tried to turn away, clearly done with the conversation, but Dietrich caught her hand, driving the point home.
“And what if the Marquis loses his mind and tries to make this woman his Marchioness? How will you handle the fallout then?”
A title like ‘Dowager Marchioness’ carried no real power. And, of course, she would be at the very bottom of the line of inheritance.
Charlotte, who had met his every word with sharp fury, was finally left speechless. Dietrich lifted her hand and gently kissed the back of it.
“I’ll be off, then. You’ll be at Sabine’s exhibition this afternoon, won’t you?”