“Have you seen the adopted daughter of the Defonds family? I was utterly shocked!”
“Seems I wasn’t the only one who thought so. How can she have exactly the same hair and eye color as Claire? They look different, but when they stand side by side, it gives you chills!”
It was an embarrassing situation to begin with. Just as she was about to close the door again because she felt uneasy eavesdropping, the next words cut through her chest like a knife.
“I heard from the Duchess that the adopted daughter was brought in from an orphanage—a girl of the same age—to keep the feeble daughter from being too lonely.”
“Oh my! So she wasn’t even a distant relative? Then why hasn’t she been seen in the mansion all this time?”
“At first it was fine, but when Claire, who had stayed only in her bedroom, gradually began to regain her strength, she got jealous—thinking her love was being stolen from her—and started taking it out on the maids and servants, even resorting to whipping and chasing her away.”
Shailo drew in a sharp breath and gripped the doorknob with knuckles protruding, as if recalling the day, two years ago, when she had been falsely accused. The day she had fled the mansion without any proper explanation, when no one had taken her side.
Whatever excuse she had made would have sounded like a lie, and Claire would have seen to it that she was chased far away. For an eighteen-year-old, leaving that mansion had been the best choice. And now, the best choice was to break free from the fame and status of the name ‘Defonds.’
‘Perhaps it was for the best. If I stayed any longer in this aristocratic society, I’d end up hearing more stories like this, so my resolve only grew stronger.’
Clenching her jaw to steady her emotions, Shailo flung the door open. Fancy-dressed women, not having sensed her presence, were deep in conversation.
“Oh my. They say she did such brutal things? One would think she’d be lucky to even pick up a beggar off the street—no thanks to any gratitude! Truly, orphans of unknown origins are beyond help.”
“Of course, madame. Even if a real one and a fake one look similar, they are on entirely different levels.”
“Well, she’s nothing but a ‘fake noblewoman’.”
At those words, Shailo finally couldn’t hold back any longer and slammed the door shut.
“Kya!”
The shocked women immediately averted their gazes from Shailo, as if avoiding a bug. Shailo suppressed a bitter smile.
“Sorry for interrupting your conversation. I came in briefly to rest because I’m not feeling well, and I didn’t expect there to be any guests.”
“Oh, no, that’s fine. Hoho. This is Shailo’s house, so please feel free to go anywhere.”
“We were just about to return to the banquet. Please, make yourself comfortable.”
“Right then. I’m off.”
As soon as Shailo spoke, the women—one after another—responded and quickly flowed out of the room like a receding tide. Soon, alone, Shailo sank onto a couch.
“…A fake noblewoman.”
Orphan. A beggar picked up from the streets. A counterfeit.
Those words were etched into her very bones more deeply than any other. Suddenly, memories flashed before her eyes of the days spent desperately trying to learn the manners and refinement expected of an aristocrat before Claire returned. Poetry, piano, dance, foreign languages, and various social graces taught at the Baron’s residence.
“What was all that effort for? I could never ever be the real thing…”
A heavy sense of self-loathing, as if she were digging to the ends of the earth, weighed on her shoulders and head. The chilly air of late winter and early spring drifted through the slightly opened window, caressing the nape of her neck and the back of her ears. It was at that moment, as she nonchalantly picked up a small piece of breakage near the hearth where the fire burned brightly, that she heard two footsteps approaching in the hallway.
Hearing the approaching sound as if someone were about to open the door and not wanting to endure the harsh words and stares she had just experienced once more, Shailo hid behind the couch.
“There’s nobody here.”
With the sound of a door locking, a familiar voice whispered in her ear. It was Evan, her older brother. Ever since she had returned, the detached young master had barely spoken a word before turning away with a single remark.
“Perfect timing. Let’s get straight to the point.”
With an oily, oozing voice, Evan spoke. Shailo slowly raised her head to scrutinize him. Evan, who had a sagging belly with triple chins attached, a face dotted with pimples and a sallow complexion, was an old man. Straining to recall his name, Shailo finally remembered.
It was Grid, the Baron’s heir.
“That’s impossible! Grid is a commoner, well over sixty, and there are ghastly rumors that his former wife died by suicide after suffering abuse. No matter what, you’re the daughter of a Duke—there must be some mistake.”
The man who had once sought to take her in. As soon as she saw his face, she knew immediately that this was the man Doris had mentioned. She thought her marriage to the Kildare family had been called off, so why was he in this mansion? Shailo decided to remain hidden and observe the situation.
“Young Master Evan. When exactly will our agreement be honored? I haven’t forgotten the previous insult! I’ve been waiting anxiously without even asking for the return of the substantial bride price I paid in advance, since you promised to match me with Lady Claire. And now I’m even being ignored when I offer my greetings!”
“You needn’t worry about that. Claire is grateful to the generous Guild Master who has forgiven Shailo’s transgressions. She also consents to the marriage with the Count.”
Bride price? Claire?
At Evan’s continued words, Shailo’s eyes flew open. The reason Claire and the Duchess had summoned her back became clear. The debutante ball was merely a facade. In reality, they intended to carry out what they couldn’t do before, to sell her to Guild Master Grid.
The world spun before her eyes as the air suddenly felt insufficient. Afraid she might involuntarily cry out, Shailo instinctively covered her mouth with both hands.
“Is… that so?”
Appeased by Evan’s words, the Guild Master grinned and plopped down heavily on the very couch behind which Shailo was hiding.
“I’m glad to hear it. This union will be of great benefit to both our families. When my wealth is added to the Duke’s business, the effect will be tremendous.”
“Indeed it will.”
Evan smiled brightly as he handed a glass of champagne to the Guild Master and proposed a toast.
“To Guild Master Grid and House Defonds.”
“Cheers.”
Both men drank their champagne simultaneously after the brief toast. What happened next was strange.
“Kuh… Keuph!”
The Guild Master suddenly doubled over, coughing with his hand over his mouth.
“Y-Young Master…!”
What stained his palm was none other than blood. His shocked face turned toward Evan, who was looking down at him.
“What is this…”
“The poison works well.”
“…What?”
The Guild Master glared at Evan, gasping. Evan whispered, not noticing the frozen gaze secretly watching him.
“You lowly commoner, how dare you presume to covet Claire? It’s preposterous.”
“Y-You…!”
The Guild Master reached out his hand but soon collapsed to the floor, grasping at empty air. Evan kicked the protruding belly with the tip of his foot, looking down at him as if he were trash.
“You have no idea how much Claire detested that greasy belly of yours. I even tried to match you with Shailo instead, but you said you didn’t want a fake who rejected you out of pride, so what could I do?”
“Y-you… will never… be forgiven… Kuluk!”
The Guild Master’s face contorted as blood vessels bulged in his neck, and he vomited blood repeatedly.
“Don’t worry about that. You’ll be found collapsed in a drunken state, having fallen from the balcony. The body will be damaged beyond recognition, but everyone will identify you by that pig-like physique of yours.”
“…You bastard!”
Evan looked with contempt at the Guild Master, who was struggling like an insect, then left to call a servant to help move him. It was just as the door closed that the eyes of the pale-faced Shailo, still in hiding, met those of the dying Guild Master.
“You… you are.”
The Guild Master, crawling across the carpet, spoke first. Shailo, face-to-face with the dying man who had lost all color, barely managed to respond.
“A-Are you alright?”
Her mind was tangled like a skein of thread.
Evan had poisoned someone!
That fact was so powerfully imprinted that it felt unreal.
“I’ll call someone to help…”
“Wait.”
The Guild Master, who had stopped Shailo as she was staggering to her feet, desperately uttered certain words with bloodshot eyes.
“Si… Sigurd Plateau… West, white… kuluk…! …rocks.”
It was like a riddle. As she was about to ask what he meant, the Guild Master twisted his body a few more times, then convulsed as if struck by lightning before going limp without even a death rattle. It was at that very moment that the door flew open.
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