Chapter 5
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 5
With a stubborn, almost incomprehensible patience, Blair and Rosalyn endured the Southern High Society. They made a mockery of the assumption that they wouldn’t last three days, seeming truly intent on staying at Gloucester Castle until the very moment their ship set sail.
Rumors that the Winchester siblings, high nobles from the capital, were staying at Gloucester Castle drove the southern socialites into a frenzy. All manner of tea parties, balls, and picnics were held day and night. Rosalyn invited Vanessa to accompany them every time, but to Vanessa, high society was tedious, tedious, and utterly tedious.
Sitting face-to-face with the same people every day to sip tea, clapping for the men returning from a hunt, visiting the racetrack, and reading new shop catalogs until she had them memorized—she could find no fulfillment in any of it.
She would rather spend that time writing a single line.
Of course, when it was unavoidable, Vanessa endured most situations with her characteristic diligence, even if her mind was drifting elsewhere. After all, those weren't the things that were truly unbearable.
"Very good."
The Baron's damp breath brushed against her shoulder. It had happened in the study, where she had gone at her uncle's command. Suddenly grabbing her hand, the Baron had ordered her to dance a waltz. As the old man's hand steered her body around the room, Vanessa simply endured it, holding herself stiff and upright.
As if her stiffness were some proof of modesty, a satisfied gleam shone in the old man's eyes.
"She is gentle enough, and her face is lovely. You have raised your niece in a most desirable manner."
"Then shall we proceed as planned?"
"Well..."
At that moment, Wyatt glared at the old man as if he were a swindler. Baron Howard waved a hand, as if sensing the hostility.
"It is nothing else, but I would like the bride's purity to be proven before the marriage."
"You are insulting both me and my niece."
"Isn't that how boarding schools are? There is no telling what sort of scandalous things children get up to behind those closed doors."
For once, Wyatt seemed at a loss for words. The Baron did not miss this fleeting hesitation and pressed on.
"I heard that the young master of the Winchester Marquessate and the young lady of this house are close."
"Well... they have been close since childhood... No, how on earth do you expect us to prove such a thing?"
"I know someone famous for that sort of thing. They say he can tell with uncanny accuracy whether a woman has known a man."
The Baron's gaze slowly swept over her body. Though fully clothed, she felt as if she had been stripped bare, and a tremor ran through her.
"As long as her purity is guaranteed, you, Count, will be able to demand whatever you want from me."
Demands, transactions, proofs. Sometimes, just listening to those crude words was agonizing. Such encounters happened several more times. Horrible, horrible…
Recently, the suitor her uncle favored most was a newly wealthy man who owned several newspapers. It was said those flimsy papers, which could be bought for a single coin, were filled with all kinds of sensational scandals. He raked in money with such methods and didn't know the first thing about sparing it—an introduction that implied wealth was his only virtue.
"Indeed, success is everything. To think I would meet Lady Vanessa, whom the world praises as such a beauty, in person like this."
Gray smoke puffed from the thick cigar between the newspaper publisher's fingers. It was another night she wanted to flee the moment she opened the study door, greeted by the pungent stench of whiskey. A strange envy and a crude sadism gleamed in the man's eyes.
"If this were twenty years ago, someone like me wouldn't have dared to even look at you."
Whenever she stood before them, she was reduced to an object, not a person. The men appraised her, evaluated her, and weighed her utility as if deciding whether she was a worthy purchase. It seemed they never considered that she was a human being with feelings.
Indeed, in a land where a woman could not even inherit her parents' estate, what great expectations could she possibly have?
"Ah..."
At that moment, the fountain pen she was gripping tightly snapped. Vanessa looked with regret at the pen and paper, ruined by the spreading ink. The pen had been cracked for a while, held together only by glue and a thin cloth wrapping; she knew she should have been more careful.
She grieved for the broken pen more than for the three hours of writing ruined in an instant. It was, after all, one of the few keepsakes her father had left behind.
"My lady. It is time to put out the lights."
"I understand, Mary."
At the maid's urging, Vanessa quickly wiped away the spilled ink with a handkerchief. She wanted to work a little longer, but if she wasted kerosene on such things, she would never hear the end of her uncle's nagging.
Vanessa washed her face and hands in the prepared basin and changed into a chemise. Seeing Vanessa get into bed, the maid extinguished the oil lamp and closed the door.
It was a night when sleep would not come easily. Normally, she would have been lying beside Rosalyn, chatting quietly, but today of all days, the Winchester siblings had left the castle to visit relatives in a neighboring town.
After tossing and turning for a long time, Vanessa finally got out of bed and threw a shawl over her nightgown. Hastily crossing the room, she opened the firmly locked terrace door.
Since it was the beginning of summer, the night wind was still cool. Taking a deep breath, she felt as if she could finally breathe.
So what would happen to her? Would she be paraded around, only to be sold to the highest bidder? To a man who wanted only her youth, beauty, and family name, without a single shred of respect for her?
"Unless my value in the marriage market plummets, my uncle won't give up on this trade."
The words she had once spoken returned as a suffocating echo. With every breath, she felt as if she were being chipped away, bit by bit. Just when she could no longer bear the silence, footsteps sounded from the other side of the dark garden, on the path leading to the rose garden.
Who is it?
Vanessa straightened up from where she had been leaning against the railing. The approaching figure stopped right below her terrace. A moment later, the acrid smell of tobacco wafted up. Even though she knew nothing of cigars, the smell was strong enough to tell her this was no gentleman's smoke, but a cheap, hand-rolled cigarette.
Squinting against the stinging smoke, she looked down and saw a dark figure.
It was him. The man who had appeared like an illusion a few days ago and then vanished. Caught in the light of a garden lamp, his face was cast in soft orange shadows.
"Sometimes, she gets strangely brave."
Was it a premonition? Over the man's beautiful face, Rosalyn's voice floated like a dusty memory.
"You need to be more alert, Vanessa."
Well then. Vanessa thought cynically, her grip tightening on the railing. If no one could save her, she had no choice but to save herself.
* * *
"May I use the car tomorrow afternoon?"
Wyatt, who was busy writing at his desk, frowned at the sudden request and looked up. Vanessa clasped her hands tightly, smiling to hide her nervousness.
"I have some business in town."
"In town?"
"My fountain pen broke. I want to see if it can be repaired."
"No."
"But, Uncle—"
"This is an important time. Do not wander outside the castle before your marriage is settled. It will be troublesome if any unnecessary gossip arises."
"..."
"If you understand, go back to your room. And do something about that expression."
Wyatt frowned, crushing her faint sign of rebellion. Vanessa turned, biting her trembling lip. As she left, she faintly heard her uncle mutter through the closed door.
"I should assign more people to watch her. She's never been rebellious before, but lately…"
Vanessa bit her lip and trudged back to her room. Although she hadn't been granted permission to go out, it didn't mean there was no way to send her manuscript. Fortunately, a few people still came and went from the mansion who would do her small favors.
Vanessa glanced at the clock and pulled the manuscript and a new pen toward her.
It had been three months since she started serializing a novel in a weekly magazine under a pseudonym. It was a rather dangerous pastime for a lady, but the joy of writing always overwhelmed everything else. At least while she held a pen, she didn't have to think about anything else.
"I'm coming in, my lady."
The door burst open without a knock. The cold face of Mary, her personal maid and watchdog, appeared. The maid glanced at Vanessa's ink-stained hands and sighed in disbelief.
"What are you doing? Dinner is soon."
"I'll wash up quickly. Just a moment."
Vanessa quickly wrote a few more words, then bundled the manuscript she had spent several nights writing and carefully placed it in an envelope. Meanwhile, Mary dissolved scented oil in the washbasin and laid out the dinner dress she had chosen.
"Sit here. I'll brush your hair first."
Sitting obediently at the dressing table, Vanessa watched in the mirror as Mary skillfully untangled her hair and began to brush. Her movements were fast and efficient, though not particularly gentle.
"Tomorrow's lunch will be prepared a bit late. Even the kitchen maids are being mobilized to prepare the hunting grounds and banquet hall."
"That many?"
"We're short on useful workers. We hired a few temporarily, but three of them ran away after their first lunch."
Workers. Hearing that, a certain person came to mind. Vanessa looked up at Mary's reflection and spoke.
"Mary, do you happen to know that man? The new gardener's assistant."
"Who?"
"That handsome man. Is he also a temporary worker?"
"That handsome man." At Vanessa's words, Mary's hand, which had been brushing down her hair, stopped for a moment.