Mother spoke with disbelief.
“Hey. Are you trying to say, ‘How did a low-ranking noble like you even get here’?”
“…No?”
“Sure sounds like it.”
Mother, that’s called inferiority complex.
Just because I’m wrapped head to toe in silk—gown, gloves, shoes and all—it’s triggering that hidden pride of yours, isn’t it?
…Of course, if I
actually
said that aloud, our already rocky relationship would dive straight into the River Styx.
“I’ll have you know, I’m now a proper mother-in-law to the Duke’s household. Obviously I should be receiving invitations to Lady Margaret Beaufort’s arts salon. Otherwise, how will I ever marry Phillip off?”
Even in this moment, I found myself staring at my mother in awe.
How can someone’s thought process be this consistent?
She waved an invitation card bearing the Beaufort House crest.
Now that I think of it, ever since she first arrived in the capital, Mother’s been collecting invitations left and right.
How in the world does she do it? Some kind of secret cultivation technique?
“…And to repay the debt.”
While I was lost in my thoughts, Mother murmured somberly.
Ah, that.
Only then did I remember the debt from Marina Corleone. I reached into my robe and pulled out a sealed envelope, handing it to her.
But instead of taking it, she just stared at it silently.
What is that look… Does she think there’s poison inside?! Seriously?!
Swallowing down my frustration, I whispered,
“It’s money.”
At that, she snatched the envelope right up.
“I can’t pay off the whole debt, but it’s a hundred thousand gold. That should be enough for even the witch to show a little mercy.”
“A hundred… thousand gold?”
Helena stopped midway through opening the envelope, her hand frozen.
“What debt are you even talking about?”
“The one from the witch!”
Her brows furrowed as she pulled out the letter and the money inside.
Admittedly, I had borrowed a bit earlier and topped it up again later, so it wasn’t the pristine check Eric had given me—it was a mix of notes and coins.
Not exactly elegant, but…
I glanced awkwardly at the pile of money, then at Helena, who silently read the letter.
After finishing, she sighed, shook her head, and muttered,
“This kind of thing… keep it for yourself. Looks like money from Eric. If you’d stolen it for our sake, maybe I’d consider taking it…”
Wait, stealing is fine, but not money he willingly gave me? What kind of twisted logic is that?!
She waved her hand as if trying to dispel a headache, shoved the letter inside her robe, and pushed the money back at me—still in the envelope.
Then she mumbled something I couldn’t make out.
“So she didn’t tell you either… Ugh, seriously, she’s such a [BLEEP]… what a cursed bastard…”
I frowned.
“What are you mumbling about…?”
I asked, confused, but she clearly had no intention of answering.
“Well, while I’m here, I have something for you too. You never sleep well in a new bed, remember?”
Oh right… I used to be like that.
But, uh, Mother… turns out that if you sleep on a cloud-like goose-down mattress, you can sleep
anywhere
. I wasn’t an insomniac—I was just poor.
Recalling how well I’d slept after the wedding, I winced a little. If I said
that
, she’d disown me on the spot.
Mother seemed to have brought something in a hired cart. She pulled out a large wooden chest and offered it to me. Before I could react, Lily stepped in and took it for me.
“Oh, Lily. Been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, it has, Madam.”
“‘A while’ my foot—it’s only been three days. Shameless child.”
Mother grumbled and gestured toward the heavy chest in Lily’s arms.
“This elixir helps with sleeplessness. But if you're caught drinking it openly, it'll be trouble—so mix it quietly with water before you take it. Got it?”
“You brought this… for me?”
“Yeah. I was planning to stop by here first before heading to the Duke’s estate.”
“….”
I stared at the wooden box in silence. The memories of what I’d done flooded my mind.
“I don’t want to live like Mother.”
That’s what I’d said. And yet here I was… bringing this.
Mother frowned, then swept my hair back and cupped my cheek with her hand, muttering:
“Why do you look so moved? Don’t make that face. It annoys me. Weren’t you going to leave us behind and live well on your own now?”
“T-that’s not…”
I hesitated.
I wanted to tell her everything.
Everything that’s happened these past ten days. Especially the parts involving the Duke.
That the reason I started all of this cultivation path… was for my family.
But before I could make up my mind, she briskly waved her hand and turned away.
“I’m leaving. Don’t say goodbye.”
I stood there watching her board the hired carriage. Not once did she look back.
Damn it…
I told myself not to cry…
But how could I not?
Just wait a little longer, Mother! Philip! I’ll defeat that psycho Duke and come back stronger than ever!
As I sniffled, a steward from the Beaufort Clan approached me.
“…Lady Emelline d’Orléans…? Are you crying?”
I lifted my head.
Emelline d’Orléans.
That’s right. My name wasn’t Emelline Wedgwood anymore.
It was now Emelline of the d’Orléans Clan.
I turned to look once more at the fading silhouette of my mother’s carriage.
Living well without them? Hah. What a joke.
“…Just don’t come bowing in thanks later, that’s all I ask!”
Scowling at the back of the cart, I turned to the steward.
“…I’m fine now. May I enter?”
“Ah, yes! Of course. But the other guest you were scheduled to meet today is also—oh, here she comes!”
With a cheerful face, the steward pointed toward a woman alighting from another carriage.
The moment I saw her face, my expression twisted.
✵
✵
✵
The Beaufort Clan’s reception hall had a very different sort of splendor from the Duke’s manor.
If the Duke’s estate was steeped in classical elegance, then this place screamed trendsetting opulence.
“This piece was imported from a far eastern sect…”
“And that? It’s from a craftsman currently at the peak of the new refinement trend…”
“That one? The lady herself discovered the artist while journeying through the western provinces…”
The steward babbled excitedly as if every artifact in the hall was his personal treasure—talking to both me and… the other guest.
“Wow! I can’t believe I’m seeing an Anthony piece here. This work alone captures the entire essence of the new physicalist school!”
Vivian Cavendish.
She’d arrived laden with gifts for Lady Margaret Beaufort. I’d run into her just at the front door.
At least I didn’t have to face her while Mother was still around. Thank heavens for that.
Because if Vivian had spouted nonsense to my mother while my eyes were still misty with emotion…
Not a single strand of her luxurious hair would have survived.
I gritted my teeth and whispered sharply at her as she gushed away.
“Hey. What the hell is the ‘new physicalist school’ supposed to be? Either explain it to me, or stop spewing nonsense and get moving already…”
The fury that still seethed within me from your scheming at the royal banquet had yet to subside. And alas, this rage seems to ignore my commands entirely...
Vivian scoffed, looking down at me with disdain blazing in her eyes.
“To not even know the principles of the New Bodily Cultivation school… Isn’t that proof enough you’re unworthy to become Lord Eric’s wife? A man like him is far beyond the reach of someone like you! Music, painting, architecture—there’s no art in which he is not deeply versed!”
Her voice had risen before she realized it, startling the attendant guiding us through the estate. She quickly forced a prim smile and turned to me.
“Hoho. Shall we walk a bit farther apart, my lady? The weather is quite stifling, isn’t it?”
Gladly.
I allowed some distance between us and turned my eyes to the painting that hung over the drawing room—an oil canvas drowning in hues of bare flesh.
New Bodily Cultivation school, my foot.
This wasn’t art—it was practically a springtime chamber scroll, barely a step away from base mortal erotica.
I muttered under my breath, “Nobles really… hang this kind of thing in their drawing rooms…”
Vivian, who had suggested we walk apart, promptly sidled right up beside me again. She scoffed in disbelief, then leaned in and whispered sharply into my ear.
“I don’t know how you ensnared the Young Lord, but with your poor refinement and lack of grace, it won’t be long before the House of the Duke casts you out like your mother—off to a second husband, or worse…”
I raised a hand toward the steward before she could finish her venom.
“…Could I get a cup of hot water over here, please?”
“Don’t bring it!!”
Vivian clutched my arm in desperation.
“What, you think I’m going to splash you with it if words don’t work?”
“…You’re not wrong…?”
As expected—some people only learn the true path when they’ve been scorched by flame a few times.
Though honestly, you haven’t been scorched
enough
, have you? Your mouth’s still flapping, after all.
“You’re absolutely insane, do you know that?!”
“Of course I do. I’ve known me longer than you have.”
I’ve been observing myself for twenty-two years, thanks.
I gave the steward a pleasant smile and repeated myself.
“One cup of hot water, please.”
Vivian immediately shielded her face in fear. That lovely face of hers—she clearly knew it was the most valuable possession she had.
I snorted at her terror. Vivian’s face twisted in humiliation.
I spoke calmly to the steward.
“I’m in the early stages of pregnancy. Cold water doesn’t sit well with me.”
“…You’re really pregnant?”
Vivian looked as if she’d been slapped by the heavens.
“News sure travels fast, huh?”
(
…Well, it’s fake, but still.
)
Vivian’s face drooped, her expression mournful.
As expected...
She must be one of those zealous disciples of Eric d’Orléans. I’d heard that many noble ladies in the capital revered him—idolized him, even.
Still… this level of naked jealousy is something else. Not exactly flattering.
He’s my husband now, you know?! Hello?!
I thought of Eric’s smiling face from the newspaper. Of course, beauty is beauty—anyone with eyes would react the same.
To not have one’s heart skip a beat at that smile would be stranger still.
Still… I’m pissed.
Taking the steaming cup of hot water from the steward, I glared daggers at Vivian.
Then, flopping back into the couch like I belonged there, I muttered under my breath,
“Ugh, whether it’s the Cultivation of Flesh or just the Nude Sect, that painting’s enough to make my head spin...!”
“The… the Nude Sect…?”
That was the moment the parlor door opened—and in stepped Lady Margaret Beaufort, her expression caught somewhere between confusion and alarm.
She asked hesitantly, “…The Nude Sect?”
I shot to my feet in surprise, but Margaret—her silver hair neatly tied back, dressed in an elegant, refined gown—glanced at me and gently waved her hand.
“Oh, please remain seated. I heard you're with child—you should be careful.”
“Ah… yes… Thank you…”
So, even here, the rumors have already spread.
“You’ve never heard of Anthony before? He’s my favorite painter.”
Margaret smiled gently as she took a seat across from Vivian and me.
…Wait, that was Margaret’s favorite painting?
I suddenly remembered the butler’s desperate voice ringing in my head:
“Please, you must return with the invitation no matter what!”
Chapter 61