Episode 20

Port wine was sweet and strong.

Elouise was handed a glass. As she admired the elegance of the gold-rimmed porcelain cup, Marcus interjected.

“Don’t just swallow it down—take a moment to enjoy the aroma.”

“Is there a difference?”

“My love, the couple who gave us this wine said it was a vintage aged over twenty years in oak barrels. The fragrance is lovely. I took a sip earlier—the fruity notes are quite rich.”

Following Marcus’s advice, Elouise took a small sip, holding the wine in her mouth. As expected from a wine aged over twenty years, it was strong—very strong.

She let out a soft hum, “Mmm,” and Marcus, eyes gleaming green, obsereved her reaction with anticipation. After swallowing, she clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

She thought she detected the scent of old wood and something like cherries… Then, with a roll of her eyes, she said to Marcus:

“It’s strong…”

“Haha, is that so?”

Marcus gently brushed beneath her lower lip with his finger. Beside them, Countess Vasso chuckled and joined in.

“The charm of port wine isn’t always obvious to first-timers. Of course, I understand you, Lady Hanger. When I first tried it, I cursed those damned Darquinians.”

Elouise responded lightly.

“Darquin wines are more familiar and nostalgic for me too. But honestly, I wouldn’t want our kingdom to spend another penny supporting those people.”

Countess Vasso smiled knowingly, and Elouise understood what it meant.

Passed.

The countess then walked over to her next victim, a lady slumped in her chair, and began shaking her.

“Wake up, Abigail. Sir Hanger brought something you’d enjoy.”

But the drunken lady simply started snoring.

Meanwhile, Marcus leaned over to whisper quietly.

“I feel like I missed something. Can you explain?”

“You noticed?”

“A little?”

Still smiling like the picture of a happy newlywed, Marcus muttered sharply.

“When noblewomen smile like that, lips all curled up, it usually means something I don’t know. And more often than not, it’s aimed at mocking someone.”

“It means I passed.”

“Passed what?”

Elouise glanced up at him. His round, playful eyes were filled with curiosity.

“The Hanger family doesn’t deal in alcohol, do they?”

“No. Alcohol’s one of the easiest things to manipulate. My father doesn’t want to attract unnecessary attention from His Majesty.”

That might sound like he was simply against alcohol on moral grounds, but Elouise caught the deeper implication.

“Diluting alcohol has been merchants’ favorite trick for ages. Your family’s accountant must be disappointed.”

“Enjoying tricks is fine until it costs you your head.”

There was admiration in Marcus’s gaze. Dealing in alcohol often meant dealing with shady business practices. Merchant families who dealt in spirits rarely kept clean books. Marcus’s father, beloved by the royal family, clearly wanted to maintain the family’s spotless image.

Elouise sighed lightly.

“The countess’s remark was saying the same thing you just explained.”

“Oh?”

“Port wine only became popular because, forty years ago, Darquin wine was taxed so heavily.”

Darquin grapes were famous, and so were their wines. But being imported overseas—and given the late Emperor's animosity toward Darquin—they were slapped with enormous taxes. People who could no longer afford Darquin wine started making port wine instead. So, Countess Vasso had casually tested whether Elouise’s tastes—and education—aligned with the nobility.

Now understanding this, Marcus raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t realized there was such layered meaning behind it. Not only was her status being tested, but also her education. He had unknowingly witnessed her passing a test he likely would have failed, probably mumbling, “But doesn’t Darquin wine taste better?”

“I didn’t mean to test you,” he murmured.

“I know. If you had, I’d have slapped you.”

“I’m grateful for your mercy.”

Of course, the slap was a joke. Marcus kissed the back of her hand, and Elouise took another sip of the port wine.

Strong, yes—but sweet enough to enjoy. It reminded her of what she’d done earlier: though she had been against the kissing, she had been the one to kiss his cheek first. She considered apologizing.

But there were too many people around. She decided to wait.

Just then, the Duchess of Bellona returned. With a few noblewomen in tow, she motioned for them to stay behind and instead looped her arm around Elouise’s.

“Lady Hanger, may I have a word with you?”

Surprised by the sudden, yet seemingly friendly gesture, Elouise raised an eyebrow. Marcus was equally startled. It didn’t make sense for the duchess to be so kind.

But the duchess, seasoned and confident, didn’t wait for a reply. She led Elouise to a corner of the gazebo and sat her down.

That section of the grand gazebo was outfitted with plush cushions and a thick carpet to make things more comfortable for ladies in gowns.

Other noblewomen glanced over, then drifted away—either sipping tea or walking barefoot on the sand. Marcus tried to follow but was caught by Countess Vasso.

“Sir Hanger, if I may…”

Logan quickly followed Elouise. But the Duchess raised a hand.

“I’d prefer you didn’t come.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t serve you, Your Grace.”

Logan replied without even pretending to bow. The duchess raised her eyebrows, but Elouise handed him her fan. Logan opened his basket.

It was a clear sign that he was serving as her maid. The duchess smiled.

“You’re using Sir Hanger’s elite secretary in place of a maid. Impressive.”

“Logan understands noblewomen’s needs better than the most experienced maid in Maine.”

“Oh my, flattering him like that—he might be offended.”

Elouise didn’t bat an eye.

“Is that how you feel, Logan?”

“Your compliments are an honor, madam.”

“There you go.”

The duchess laughed in defeat.

“Fine. Stay if you must.”

Logan bowed gracefully and positioned himself behind the two ladies. Elouise sat beside the duchess. Managing her petticoats was a bit tricky, but she did so with poise.

While Elouise wrangled her skirts, the duchess was gently shaking the lady who had passed out drunk earlier. Someone had laid her on the cushions. A now-cold teacup rested on a tray beside her.

“Wake up, Abigail. Oh dear, really out cold. Logan, could you fetch the screen—”

“—Please, Logan, could you bring the screen?” Elouise interrupted.

Logan nodded and left for the supply tent. Elouise turned to the duchess, who blinked in surprise.

“You mentioned it before, Duchess. Marcus is my husband, and Logan is his secretary. If you’re asking for something, it should come from me.”

“A request? That sounds more like a command. In any case, as long as he brings the screen, I don’t mind.”

Not one to back down. Elouise hadn’t expected an apology anyway. The duchess smoothed her hair and said,

“So what’s this about?”

“My, you don’t have to rush—I’ll get to it.”

The duchess smiled, then added,

“When I heard you two married after only four days, I was curious as to what kind of woman could make Sir Hanger act so rashly. Meeting you clears that up a bit.”

So you’re just as impulsive as him, huh? Elouise barely kept from scoffing. You didn’t drag me here just to pick a fight, did you? She lifted her chin, attempting to appear more regal.

“He claims it was love at first sight.”

“A woman basking in her man’s love always carries herself like a conquering hero. I hope your happiness lasts, Lady Hanger.”

“Is that why you pulled me aside? To wish me happiness?”

Elouise arched a brow. The duchess covered her smile with her fan.

“Well, partly. But I had another reason.”

“What would that be?”

The duchess stared at her over her fan for a long moment. Elouise held her gaze, smiling calmly.

Eventually, Elouise noticed her eyes weren’t on her face—but on her left hand. Her gaze lingered on the pinkish tourmaline wedding ring.

“That’s a lovely ring.”

“Thank you.”

But Elouise knew that wasn’t the real reason for this conversation. She waited. The duchess sighed.

“Tell me, did Sir Hanger give you that?”

What a stupid question. Elouise nodded without expression.

“Yes. A gift to commemorate our blessed union—and to forever remember our marriage.”

“I see…”

The duchess’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you know what he gave me?”

That hit like a stone from David’s sling. The intent behind the question was clear. Elouise finally smiled.

“Yes. I do.”

“You….”

“The diamond.”

At that, the duchess shut her mouth. Elouise tilted her head slightly, bored.

“If you mean the egg-sized diamond, I know it well. It’s in my drawer.”

“…Lady Hanger.”

Her face hardened further. Elouise smiled sweetly.

“There are usually two reasons someone asks where a diamond is. One is jealousy.”

“I turned that diamond down, you know.”

“Would you like to guess the other reason?”

“…”

“To steal it.”

The duchess went rigid.

Ever since the duchess brought up Juliet, Elouise had no desire to act civil.

She was a rational woman. She had weighed whether this open hostility helped Marcus’s goals—and found no reason it wouldn’t.

Disliking the woman who once had your husband’s heart is a woman’s ancient right.

Yes, it was ridiculous—but it was also true.

This wasn’t about Marcus cheating—though give it a month and who knew? Elouise never intended to befriend the duchess, and after today, she saw no reason to try.

The duchess had picked at her three times:

1. At the wedding.

2. Over Juliet.

3. The diamond.

It was clear the duchess had pulled her aside today not for privacy, but to throw that diamond in her face.

Regretting what you lost now that someone else has it?

“If that’s all…”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything today.”

Elouise cut the duchess off. When she frowned, Elouise continued.

“You must’ve pulled me aside because even you know that wasn’t something to say in public. But to me, it just sounded like you were trying to insult my husband’s past. Perhaps you meant it as a warning, but honestly—”

She stood up, smiling.

“—I already know. Thank you for your concern.”

The duchess opened her mouth to speak, but Elouise turned her back on her. She saw no point in listening further.

Then—

“Mmm.”

The drunk lady stirred. Elouise froze. Did she hear all of that?

She didn’t even remember who that woman was—Logan probably told her, but she couldn’t recall.

In her hesitation, her foot caught her skirts, and she kicked over the tray beside the sleeping woman.

Clatter.

The teacup didn’t break, but it tipped over, soaking both the woman’s gown and Elouise’s own green dress.

Startled, Elouise knelt quickly and checked the woman’s dress.

“Oh no! Are you all right, madam?”

Fortunately, the dress was a deep red. The woman groggily blinked and looked down at her gown. Elouise glanced around in a panic—Logan still hadn’t returned.

Handkerchief—anything!

“Oh dear… it’s ruined.”

“I’m truly sorry. It wasn’t on purpose.”

The dress was clearly expensive—fine imported silk with a flowing pattern. The woman pointed at her instead.

“What are you talking about? I meant yours.”

“…Excuse me?”

“Your dress. The green one. Look at that stain…”

Whether still drunk or half-asleep, her voice was slow and dazed.

But her chubby finger pointed directly at Elouise’s gown. Pale tea had stained her crisp green taffeta and white petticoat. The red dress, with its complex pattern, barely showed any mark—but Elouise’s gown would require serious work to clean.

Just then, the Duchess of Bellona extended a hand.

“Here. Use this, for now.”

A pale dove-gray silk handkerchief lay on her palm. Elouise stared at her, uncertain if this was kindness or insult. But the duchess offered it again.

“Call it a peace offering. Or an apology, if you like.”

“Mmm, Eve.”

“Abigail. Poor timing to wake up, I see.”

Apparently, Abigail and the duchess were close. Declining the handkerchief would look rude. Elouise sighed and accepted it, pressing it gently to Abigail’s gown.

“I’m fine, but…”

“Is everything all right?”

Perfect timing—Logan had returned. He set the screen down, opened his basket, and produced a fine cotton cloth, but Abigail waved him off.

“I’m really fine. I was leaving anyway… Yawn.”

“But…”

“Your dress needs more help than mine… ALICE! Where are you?”

Startled by her shout, Elouise flinched. A maid came running.

“Yes, ma’am!”

“Tell him I’m heading home!”

“Shall I call for the carriage?”

“No need, I’m walking!”

And just like that, Abigail was off. Only Logan, the duchess, and Elouise remained.

The duchess stood and said calmly,

“You’ll want to tend to your dress. I’ll give you some space.”

“Please.”

Elouise had no interest in prolonging the exchange. As the duchess picked up her fan and started walking away, she paused and looked back.

“Please return that handkerchief once it’s clean. It’s quite dear to me.”

Elouise nearly snapped, Then take it now, but the cloth was already stained.

Returning it washed was the least she could do. Elouise sighed.

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