Chapter 109
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 109
Looking back, he realized he had never told Vanessa. He had never explained that Hailey Morton meant nothing to him, that their engagement was merely a political marriage. He’d never told her the articles calling them long-time lovers or childhood sweethearts were lies—nothing more than a convenient narrative to smooth the way for their families’ union.
“She can barely swallow her food now. If the water has even the slightest smell, she spits it right back out.”
He remembered the maid’s testimony: that Vanessa “seemed to fear being poisoned” after her private meeting with Hailey Morton. He remembered her pale, clear face, so often clouded by a strange anxiety. The times he had selfishly looked away, even while vaguely sensing she was barely holding on.
“And that is precisely what will serve as the shield to protect Lady Vanessa most securely for the rest of her life.”
Lies and deception. And…
“Loving you… is so hard.”
Only now did he realize it. Not once, not for a single moment, had Vanessa ever promised to stay by his side. He was the only one clinging to this relationship. While Vanessa was slowly leaving him behind, he had foolishly noticed nothing.
“…Are you listening?”
Theodore raised his slightly downcast eyes to face Edgar, who was standing before his desk.
“This is the information you requested on the Mortons. I’ve compiled everything I received. Since the documents went through the minister, the information is reliable. The profit projections are on the last page.”
Theodore pressed his fingers against his tired eyelids. As if to physically push his thoughts aside, he took the report from Edgar’s hand and flipped through several pages. Edgar, watching him with a conflicted expression, cleared his throat and added,
“The recent rumors weren’t baseless. Their overall profitability is somewhat lower than when we last checked, especially for their scale. Of course… you would know best, Your Grace.”
“Somewhat? This?”
“Frankly, it’s a wonder the damage wasn’t worse. You know the kind of investment proposals we get when the Battenberg name is involved.”
Edgar picked up his cooling teacup, took a sip, and set it down with a grimace, his eyes silently asking how Theodore could drink such a thing. Ever since Edgar’s report had prompted the physician to confiscate all of Theodore’s stimulants and medications, everything his cousin drank seemed to be some strange concoction far from normal. A long silence fell over the study.
“Cousin. By any chance…”
“Speak.”
“I was wondering if you might give them a grace period.”
“……”
“You’ve seen the report. If you pull out now, the losses they’ll have to bear will be immense. If you could at least give them a warning…”
Only then did Theodore put down his pen and raise his head. His eyes, sunken with dark shadows as if he were still skipping meals, met Edgar’s.
“How deeply are you involved in the Morton plan?”
“Involved?”
“Let me ask you first, how serious is your relationship with her?”
“…We dated briefly back at St. Louis. She pulled away after graduation, since she was already in marriage talks with someone else. She contacted me again around spring.”
“……”
“I don’t know what she told you, but I never agreed to any of it.”
“So you knew.”
“…I just didn’t expect you to go along with it like a lunatic.”
What an absurd perspective. In families with few heirs, it was not unheard of to adopt a nephew and raise him as one’s own. If a man died without an heir, passing the family to a relative was common. He saw little difference.
Above all, it would be less terrible than having a child of his own blood. It would be easier to deal with. Personal feelings aside, Theodore still thought it was a sound idea. Of course, Hailey Morton had crossed a line. If she was willing to take what was his, she had to be prepared to have her own things taken from her. It was only fair.
Theodore gathered the documents and looked straight at his cousin.
“I will persuade the Dowager Duchess regarding the L.M.C. matter. In exchange for you handing over the shares, there is only one thing I demand. End it.”
“…End what?”
Theodore stared at his cousin. Edgar was always a sly, unreadable opponent. It would have been easier if he had been openly hostile or had bowed down from the start. Instead, he would approach with a smile, acting like an ordinary cousin who knew nothing, but his eyes were full of ambition—eyes that anxiously measured how high he could climb.
In truth, Theodore knew the exact day the greed in those eyes had first faltered. He understood now. Despite Edgar’s claims that Hailey Morton meant nothing to him, it was for her sake that his cousin had coveted his position. Theodore stood up from his chair.
“Whatever it is. You know what is appropriate and where the boundaries lie.”
His opponent had conceded. It was time to clear the chessboard.
* * *
“War will be declared by dawn. An order will be issued for all troops to return to their units within seventy-two hours, and the first deployment will set out within two weeks.”
“…So the war is finally starting.”
Grace pursed her wrinkled lips in disapproval. Sacrificing precious youth for a war was a tragedy, no matter how many times she had lived through it. What prosperity could be built by driving the next generation to their deaths in the name of glorious expansion?
If she could, she would stop the Duke from going to war by any means, but wartime service was a nobleman’s duty. As if suddenly remembering, she reached out and rang the silver bell on the table.
“I will have them prepare a meal. Since it’s been a while, have dinner before you go.”
“I only came for a brief farewell. I don’t expect we’ll see each other for a long time. I must attend the central meeting soon.”
“Edgar mentioned that you are considering breaking off the engagement.”
“Once my position is finalized, I plan to convey my decision within a few days. I will look for another suitable family so that the deployment schedule is not delayed. The Mortons are no longer a suitable partner for a political marriage.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“Do you need another?” Theodore asked, his face weary.
The old woman, who had been staring at her grandson, set down her teacup and smiled faintly.
“For once, Edgar was wrong. And I was right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Edgar believed you were acting on emotion. This old woman bet that you were not.”
Theodore raised an eyebrow. It was ridiculous to place leisurely bets on someone else’s state of mind, but he had never expected much from her anyway. He rose from his chair and pulled on his naval officer’s cap.
“I will take my leave now.”
“Theodore.”
He stopped at the sound of her voice, his hand on the door. Without turning back, he stared down the long, dark hallway. Her voice followed, soft and pleased.
“Unlike your father, you will not fail.”
He took a deep breath, physically feeling the air leaving his lungs. A laugh welled up inside him—at her arrogance in calling her own son a failure, and at how she hadn’t changed at all.
Like your father. At some point, the phrase had started following him like a curse. You must not become a failed duke like your father. Once, it had been a guideline. Later, it became the boundary of what he could and couldn’t do. Now, it felt like an accusation.
The crushing sense of defeat he had fought so hard to suppress now weighed heavily on his shoulders. He felt as if he were swallowing hot fire. Not a failure?
At this moment, more than ever, he felt as if he were repeating his failures, miserably and terribly. He was trapped in an endless loop of anger, a prisoner to the memory of the day Vanessa left. He could already picture the contempt on the old woman’s face if she ever discovered his wretched, lingering obsession.
“No matter how many women you keep to warm your bed, I will not make an issue of it as long as you manage them properly. Though you already seem to be handling it well.”
His stomach churned too much to listen to any more. Theodore closed the door without a proper farewell. Only after walking several steps down the hall did he manage to take a normal breath. It was chilling. The word ‘mistress,’ which he had heard countless times, the description of her as a ‘woman who warms the bed’—it all hit him anew.
* * *
“Ah, you’re here.”
Alice welcomed Vanessa, brushing back a strand of disheveled hair. Her eyes were bloodshot from a sleepless night, and she had the anxious air of someone awaiting an urgent call. Thin veins stood out on the back of the hand that tightly gripped the telephone on her lap.
“Sit here. You haven’t eaten, have you? I’ll call for something simple… maybe a quiche. Let’s eat together.”
While the Marchioness rang the bell for a maid, Vanessa observed her with worried eyes.
A shawl draped loosely over her shoulders, a nearly empty brandy glass on the console, an ashtray overflowing with cigarettes—all signs that she hadn’t moved from that spot all night. Alice, who had been staring blankly into space, seemed to snap out of it, belatedly realizing her own state. She wiped her face with her palms and straightened her posture.