Chapter 91
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 91
“No. It’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“I showed him the will first. He gave me a large sum of money after that.”
She faintly recalled the butler’s face, the man who quietly traveled between the hotel and the main estate. Though they had exchanged nods a few times, Vanessa had never learned his name.
Could it be a coincidence that the Duke’s butler was named Norman, the very same name that had just left Mr. Wiltshire’s lips? It felt too unsettling to dismiss as two people sharing a name. Besides, Norman wasn’t a common name to begin with.
Driven by a sudden premonition, Vanessa slid off the bed as if possessed. A corner of her heart prickled with the guilt of eavesdropping, but she couldn’t remain still. She crept closer to the crack in the door.
“Then, about the newspaper article… will you go ahead with it?”
“…scheduled… in two days… did you say?”
The voices echoed off the high ceiling, making the conversation difficult to decipher. Most of what she could catch were just short, fragmented words. Newspaper article, peerage title, gambling debts, investment certificates, and…
“…Gloucester Castle… another… apparently.”
Gloucester. Her stomach plummeted at the familiar name, a tight fist squeezing her heart. She managed to exhale a breath that had grown stiff with tension.
The conversation ended shortly after. Soon, she heard the sounds of the butler departing. Only after some time had passed did a familiar set of footsteps draw near again.
Vanessa stood frozen, a trapped animal that had forgotten how to struggle. The presence stopped right in front of the door. A man’s shadow blotted out the light filtering through the gap at the bottom.
“…”
She had a sinking feeling she knew what would happen next. The Duke would not open this door again. For the past three days, he hadn’t slept in the same bed with her even once—a stark contrast to the Rose Garden, where they had lain skin-to-skin until just before dawn.
Vanessa slowly reached out, pressing her hand against the cool wood of the door. She waited for a very long time. Long enough for the gas lamps in the hallway to flicker out; so long she fell into the illusion that she could feel the very breath of the man standing just on the other side.
“…”
The footsteps receded once more. As she sensed him turning to leave, Vanessa sank silently to the floor.
She had almost wished he would open the door. Wished he would find her trembling with anxiety and reassure her that it was nothing, just as he had on the ship. Just like the day they had braved the pouring rain together.
But she knew that the ‘River Ross’ she once knew was gone, nowhere to be found.
* * *
After agonizing for two days, she had arrived at two conclusions. First, the ‘Norman’ Mr. Wiltshire spoke of was almost certainly the Duke’s butler. Second, she might soon no longer be a member of high society.
That was the conclusion she reached after piecing together the fragmented words she had overheard. Wyatt’s gambling debts had spiraled out of control, forcing the sale of Gloucester Castle. If he was putting Gloucester on the line, it meant he had been pushed to his absolute limit.
After Gloucester, it will be the land attached to the title. That’s all that’s left.
Buying and selling land tied to a peerage was strictly regulated, but power always blurred the line between legal and illegal. If the Duke himself was spearheading the transaction, the outcome would unfold exactly as he wished.
She had long since let go of any lingering attachment to Gloucester Castle and had already resolved to no longer consider Wyatt family. Though she felt the dread of leaving a familiar place, the castle and its title were now merely someone else’s property. The remaining problem was…
As her thoughts shifted, her clear gray eyes clouded over.
Norman. That man is the Duke’s butler.
If the Norman who contacted Mr. Wiltshire was the Duke’s butler, then it was highly likely the Duke had known about the limited company all along.
Just when did he find out?
It would have been wonderful if she could contact Mr. Wiltshire, but for now, that was impossible. Worse were the terrible truths she had uncovered while tracking down the company and the will…
Does the Duke also know the secrets behind my parents’ deaths?
Vanessa let out a weary sigh. She thought she had already surrendered so much when it came to that man, but the realization that there might be even more to let go of was suffocating.
The man he was in Linden was a complete stranger. There was an unbridgeable chasm between the cold, authoritative Duke and the ‘River’ of the Rose Garden.
What on earth had caused him to change so much? Was his behavior in the Rose Garden all a lie? Or was some sudden crisis driving him to the edge?
When he held her, his gaze had sometimes been desperate. The way he loosened his suffocating tie and wrapped his arms around her held a hint of anxiety. Sometimes, Vanessa tried to find traces of affection in those gestures. It was surely an illusion, but she felt she could only breathe if she allowed herself to believe it.
Vanessa sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, resting her cheek against them. As if matching her melancholy mood, the sky outside was unusually overcast. She rang the bell to summon a maid.
“Could you bring me the newspapers?”
The maid who answered looked somewhat surprised, as if she had only just realized Vanessa was someone who would actually speak to her. Until now, Vanessa hadn’t requested a single thing, spending most of her time asleep like a sluggish animal. In that regard, the maid’s surprise was understandable.
“Just a moment, my lady.”
Bowing politely, the maid went into the study, gathered the newspapers from the Duke’s desk, and placed them before her. The Ingrian, The Linden Daily, The Post, The Telegraph—every paper available was laid out on the table.
She picked up The Ingrian, which lay at the very top.
There doesn’t seem to be any unusual article.
Two days later. A newspaper article. If the conversation from that night was accurate, an article influenced by the Duke should have appeared in today’s paper. Yet, no matter how closely she looked, she found nothing related to Battenberg. There were commentaries on new tax laws, statements from the House of Commons on child labor, a strike at a paint factory, and even an advertisement for a lost dog.
Just as she was about to turn the page, a sudden sense of incongruity struck her. Vanessa picked up the front page of The Ingrian again. The date that should have been printed at the very top…
…was gone.
She went through The Linden Daily, The Post, and The Telegraph one by one. The dates printed at the top of each newspaper had all been neatly cut off. The top margin of each paper had been sliced away, making the pages themselves seem smaller.
Vanessa rang the bell again.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, my lady?”
“The newspapers…”
Vanessa, about to ask for fresh copies, barely managed to hold her tongue. If someone had intentionally cut off the dates and brought her old papers for a specific reason, there was no benefit in letting them know she had caught on.
Forcing a smile, Vanessa folded the newspapers neatly.
“I’m finished with them. Could you return them to the study?”
“Of course, my lady.”
The maid quietly gathered the papers. Seeing the faint relief on her simple face, a cold chill settled in Vanessa’s heart.
The remaining period of their contract, a place safe from the gang, the time it would take for the inheritance to be finalized—a possibility she had never considered while complacently enjoying her comfort now bloomed from her anxiety.
What if, even after the ten days passed, he had no intention of letting her go? She had naively believed the Duke’s promise, but the fact remained that he had deceived her. Even now, when she had not yet fully cast aside her love for him.
“…”
Every person surrounding her was a stranger, and the Duke was controlling even the bare minimum of information she could access. While he might not stop her from leaving the hotel, it was obvious that surveillance would follow.
She needed a natural excuse to go outside. A place where she could be alone would be even better. A fitting room in a boutique, perhaps, or a doctor’s examination room…
As she slowly turned these thoughts over, her eyes scanned the room and fell upon a bottle of whiskey on the console table. She approached it as if drawn by a magnet, picking up the bottle with trembling hands. She slipped off her slippers and stepped onto the floor barefoot.
I didn’t want to resort to this, but…
She squeezed her eyes shut and hurled the bottle to the floor.