Episode 38

Elouise sent a servant ahead to the Duchess of Bellona’s villa on the outskirts of Cliff. When she announced she would be visiting for afternoon tea, the duchess readily agreed. It was only natural, considering the duchess had invited her first—but as always, Elouise made the journey with a reluctant heart.

It was her first time seeing the duchess’s villa.

The gates bore the crest of House Bellona, etched with patterns of ice crystal. Beyond the wrought-iron bars stretched an enormous garden—so vast it seemed one could walk for ages without reaching the house. The servant who opened the gate politely offered her an open carriage.

She hesitated for a moment, then accepted the offer and boarded with Logan’s escort. Logan promptly seated himself beside her. Since the day before, Logan had spoken only when she addressed him first. Elouise believed this was his way of being considerate.

“Logan.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

She didn’t explain what for. Logan gave a curt nod, expressionless as ever.

“Yes. I’m always grateful as well.”

It was a blunt response, but to Elouise, it was enough.

She smiled faintly, then stepped out of the carriage a short while later. The villa was even grander than she’d imagined. The central building, flanked by two wing-like extensions, rivaled the largest estate in Maine. The east and west wings were so substantial they could each be considered separate mansions.

For the first time, Elouise could truly grasp the scale of the duchess’s fortune, famed throughout the kingdom. Having once managed Starwood Manor, she could estimate the enormous cost of maintaining a property like this.

The Duchess of Bellona never had children…

The late Duke Bellona had no close relatives. When he passed, all his assets transferred to his wife.

But without an heir—who would she leave it all to?

“This way, please.”

Her musings were interrupted as they arrived at the duchess’s receiving room. The butler opened the door ahead of her.

The door, painted a pale sky blue and adorned with carved deer, swung open to reveal the familiar cool expression of the duchess inside.

“…”

“…”

Elouise, who had expected at least a “Welcome,” was slightly thrown off. The duchess simply stared at her, silent and impassive.

In most private meetings, especially when one party greatly outranks the other, it is customary for the higher-ranking individual to offer the first greeting. For the lesser to speak first would be rude.

Though between the two of us, what counts as rude is laughable…

Still, Elouise couldn't bring herself to speak first. In the end, it was the butler who broke the silence. Most servants would hesitate when two noblewomen sat staring silently at each other, but the butler, seemingly used to this, proceeded without pause, introducing the teas with lengthy, elegant descriptions.

Elouise barely absorbed a word of it and pointed to something at random. The butler bowed.

“An excellent choice, madam.”

A fragrant, fruity tea was placed before her.

He asked the duchess as well. She chose the same blend. The butler, experienced as he was, placed sweets between them and silently exited.

Silence settled again, and this time Elouise couldn’t bear it.

“…I’m returning this, though late.”

She presented a dove-gray handkerchief, freshly washed, perfumed, and pressed. The side embroidered with the name Evenia—the duchess’s—was folded outward and tied with a neat ribbon. The duchess raised one eyebrow at the sight, then accepted it with one hand and placed it gently on her lap.

Most noblewomen don’t embroider their own names—so Elouise assumed it had been a gift. Trying to move the conversation along, she forced herself to speak.

“It looks like it was a gift. I’m sorry for the delay in returning it.”

“Yes. It’s very precious to me.”

…Normally, this is where people say, “It’s fine,” isn’t it?

Elouise found herself disliking the duchess even more. And she already disliked her a great deal. Possibly more than even the dowager of House Visena. She suppressed a sigh and forced a dry smile.

“Hearing that makes me even more sorry. May I ask who gave it to you?”

What she really wanted to do was grab the duchess by the collar and demand to know whether she was really a doctor, and why she kept meddling with her child.

But Elouise hadn’t forgotten herself. She recalled how recklessly she had spoken to Marcus the day before, swept up in emotion.

The result hadn’t been terrible—but she hadn’t liked herself for it. And Marcus had feelings for her, so he might have found it endearing.

The Duchess of Bellona was different.

Elouise didn’t want to expose any vulnerability to her. So she stuck to polite, measured language.

She didn’t expect a polite reply in return.

“My husband.”

…Now that was unexpected. Elouise furrowed her brow unconsciously. By “husband”… she must mean the late duke?

“…The embroidery is quite exquisite…”

Surely he didn’t embroider it himself. Perhaps he had it made. As if reading her thoughts, the duchess continued.

“I’m no good at embroidery.”

Oh, I see. So your rich husband had some artisan embroider something beautiful for you. Elouise had to stifle a biting comment.

Elouise, no. Be refined. You’re too angry right now.

The duchess went on.

“If you’re complimenting the needlework, I’m sure he would’ve been pleased. He said he ruined a hundred handkerchiefs just trying to get this one right.”

Elouise blinked.

Wait—did she mean the duke really embroidered it himself?

Okay, even if he did, the man was notoriously flirtatious. What kind of woman treasures a handkerchief sewn by a philanderer?

Elouise frowned slightly. The duchess absentmindedly fingered the fabric.

“He gave it to me when I still thought I’d never marry. Because of my younger sister.”

“…”

“Or perhaps… it was the first thing I ever received from anyone.”

Even Elouise could tell—she was trying to say something meaningful. Trying not to come off too blunt, perhaps noting how her directness had upset Elouise before.

She kept her eyes on the handkerchief, but her trembling lashes gave her away.

So Elouise waited.

And as she relaxed her posture slightly, the duchess glanced at her. Still expressionless—but now Elouise could see it: Where do I begin? her eyes seemed to say.

Had Abigail taught her to be more tactful?

The duchess spoke again.

“When I first saw Juliet… I thought of my sister.”

…If Abigail had given advice, it clearly didn't worked.

Still, Elouise understood what she meant.

“Of course, my sister wasn’t as pretty as Juliet. And she was much harder to talk to.”

That alone explained her interest in Juliet.

But it wasn’t enough to convince Elouise. She narrowed her eyes and waited. The duchess gripped the handkerchief nervously.

“As a child, I thought my sister was sick. It is why I wanted to become a doctor. My husband… supported bright children in the province. I became a doctor with his backing.”

“…I’m not quite sure what you’re trying to say, Your Grace.”

“…At first, I was just happy to see her. Juliet. She reminded me of someone I missed dearly.”

Elouise said nothing. She could sense the absence of that sister, felt beneath the duchess’s words.

“I never meant to upset you. Truly. At the time, I didn’t even realize you’d be offended.”

“No surprise there.”

Despite herself, Elouise sneered.

Highborn people rarely consider the feelings of those beneath them—like the dowager Visena.

They didn’t need to. After all, it was always other who catered to their feelings. The duchess stared back, unreadable.

“I just wanted to see her again. And after once, I wanted twice. There’s nothing alike between them—but something about Juliet made me ache.”

“…”

“Did I mention I became a doctor?”

Elouise picked up her teacup, resigned. The tea had cooled, but its fragrance was still clean and pleasant. The duchess, watching her indifferent manner, finally opened up.

“Everyone said they could treat my sister. But I couldn’t trust any of them. Each one claimed a different method. So I decided—I’d become a doctor myself.”

“Women can’t become doctors.”

“That is why I left the country.”

Her tone was light, devoid of emotion. Elouise found it eerie. For someone supposedly heartbroken over her sister, she spoke like it was someone else’s story.

The duchess went on.

“I studied abroad, spent the duke’s money lavishly under the name of ‘sponsorship’—but even there, no one had a cure. They tied people down. Locked them up. Cut open skulls. Recorded dreams. It made me sick.”

Some methods were familiar to Elouise. Others, she'd never heard of.

There really are a lot of quacks, she thought. If what the duchess said was true, she had suffered plenty herself.

Elouise was about to say None of that explains why you’re bothering my daughter, when the duchess spoke again.

“When I came back, my sister had died. In a terrible way.”

“…I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

What “terrible way” meant, Elouise couldn’t imagine. But she began to feel a hint of sympathy.

A good death is rare for women. A bad one could take many forms. The duchess blinked down at the handkerchief.

“It was the duke who pulled me back from the brink. I rejected everything he gave me—but then he asked for just one thing. One handkerchief with my embroidery.”

She’d accepted the duke’s sponsorship to study. She couldn’t bring herself to deny him that.

“But I was terrible at it. I could stitch wounds—but not thread a pattern. I told him no.”

The Bellona marriage had always been shrouded in mystery. Rumors swirled, but no one knew the truth of how they met. Elouise suspected now she was hearing it for the first time.

She didn’t want to care—but found herself listening.

“Then a month later, he brought two handkerchiefs with my name stitched into them. He asked me to choose one. I did. He gave me the other.”

“…The one now—was that his?”

The duchess looked down.

“No. That was the one he kept. The one I chose… I buried with him.”

…If it was that precious, you should’ve said so from the start…

Elouise felt like a criminal for returning a cherished keepsake too late. Embarrassed, she mumbled:

“…If I’d known, I would’ve returned it sooner…”

The duchess lifted her head.

“I lent it. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“…”

“He died of illness. I tried everything—but nothing worked.”

“My condolences.”

“I didn’t tell you all this for sympathy. I met so many doctors. Read every book. And I realized none of it would’ve helped my sister.”

She pushed back her elegant hair.

For the first time, Elouise understood that detached look in the duchess’s eyes—the lack of expression.

It was the look of someone who had lost the people she loved most—twice—and now had nothing left to burn.

“…I want to help Juliet. That is the truth.”

Elouise didn’t answer right away.

The duchess had explained her reason. Juliet and her late sister shared something. Now that she knew what might’ve helped, she wanted to do it right this time.

But Elouise still couldn’t trust her.

Now she understood why the duchess had seemed so hasty—so careless. Still, her behavior had gone too far. And Elouise was in no position to accept help.

She had just decided to leave.

No matter what the duchess said, she had no time left. In three days, Marcus’s family would arrive from the capital. He’d said he would write them today while Elouise spent time with Juliet.

When they came, she wouldn’t be able to leave Cliff. She’d be trapped—turned into Lady Hanger for good. And besides, she knew how the duchess had treated Marcus.

“…I’m sorry, but I can’t accept your offer.”

“Lady Hanger.”

“Do you think I don’t know what you did to my husband on the day of the fox hunt?”

The story about her sister was tragic—but that was that.

“I only came here to return your handkerchief—and to ask you to stay away from my daughter and husband. I’d already heard all about your reputation before I even arrived in Cliff.”

“…”

“But I didn’t want to believe it. I couldn’t imagine someone like you doing something so low. But then my husband told me—you collapsed against his chest. And that it was no accident.”

She was leaving soon anyway. But for the next three days, she would enjoy everything.

Including yelling at the woman who’d tried to seduce the man she loved.

A woman she thoroughly despised.

“I’m sorry for your story. I truly am. But it would’ve meant something—if you hadn’t done what you did. I almost fell for it.”

“Lady Hanger.”

“Did you plan to seduce my husband and make me cry? Were you that desperate?”

Elouise was puzzled. The duchess still hadn’t changed expression.

Her accusations were harsh—but she’d expected at least a reaction.

But the duchess waited for her to finish. Then calmly spoke.

“Juliet’s maid. Andrea, wasn’t it?”

“…Why do you know her name…?”

“She loves sugar cookies. Blabbers far too much. She told me you weren’t Juliet’s real mother.”

Elouise scowled. That girl! The duchess continued.

“Only after I heard the stories noblewomen whisper about a certain ‘maiden from Maine’ did I realize… The man who once tried to court me might have lured in an innocent girl and used her for a scheme.”

“…”

“Am I wrong?”

“And if you’re right—what business is it of yours?”

“Your reaction confirms it.”

“…”

Elouise fell silent. The duchess sipped her tea—so calmly, it was infuriating.

“I know how hard it is to live without family or fortune. Especially with a child. I was that girl once. So I understand why you did it. But others here won’t.”

“…I appreciate your concern, but—”

Elouise’s face flushed with rage.

The duchess was pitying her. And though she claimed to have been in the same shoes, this felt like nothing but an insult—or a veiled threat.

But then again—what could she possibly gain from threatening her? If she truly wanted to see Juliet, wouldn’t she try not to provoke her?

Still, Elouise snapped.

“Then please, speak your mind. If we keep talking, I’ll only feel more insulted. Am I wrong?”

“Lady Starwood. I just wanted to know why you went through with a fake marriage to Sir Hanger.”

Damn it.

Elouise regretted every moment she’d tried to act refined.

All this, over curiosity?

Trembling, she said.

“For the damn diamond. Satisfied?”

“…”

“The one he gave you, and you threw away. I wanted it. No family, no money—if anyone should understand, it’s you!”

Finally, the duchess’s icy eyes flickered.

For the first time, Elouise felt a twinge of satisfaction.

And deep shame.

To confess this—to the woman her beloved had once courted, no less—was humiliating.

She hated Marcus Hanger all over again. Everything involving him made her emotional. Once again, she’d lost her composure.

“What now? Are you going to lecture the poor orphan girl like you once were? If you really understood, you would’ve been more careful.”

“…”

“Want to know why I needed the money? What other reason could there be but the girl you’re so interested in—my niece?”

Elouise had always been a Maine girl—charming, educated, graceful. But unmarried.

She had believed marriage was the ultimate virtue of womanhood. A good husband, love, a child, a safe home.

She missed her chance. But she believed Juliet still had hers.

Before Marcus, she had hoped vaguely. After him, it became a conviction.

When she died—who would take care of Juliet?

Marriage was essential. And if not marriage, money.

She had never known the happiness others called “normal.” It was a foreign paradise she’d never reach.

So she wanted Juliet to have it.

She poured it all out in bitter words. Jumbled. Furious.

The duchess listened without interruption. And when Elouise finally slumped, exhausted, she said:

“…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry so easily! You don’t get to poke at someone’s wounds just to say ‘sorry’!”

Elouise was drained.

“But you’re right about one thing. You’ll never see Juliet again. I’ll be gone—without looking back. With her.”

“…And you’ll go back to Main? To try and find her a good match?”

“What’s it to you?”

The duchess sighed. Not mocking—just resigned.

“…Do you really think she’ll meet a good man?”

“That’s… incredibly rude—wait, no. You’ve been rude all along.”

Elouise rubbed her forehead. The duchess pressed on, her voice sharp now.

“Have you ever considered… she might end up like my sister?”

“…Your sister?”

Elouise hadn’t dwelled on what “a bad end” meant.

But now, she stared, her brow furrowed. The duchess hesitated.

Then spoke firmly.

“My sister was killed by her husband.”

"..."

“Before I left to study medicine, knowing I would be gone for years, I chose the kindest man in our village and married her off to him. When I returned, I was speechless to find that I couldn’t even remember where she’d been buried.”

“…I’ll choose a good man!”

“That’s not really something someone who fake-married Marcus Hanger should be saying.”

Perhaps the duchess only meant to mock her—but the words struck deeper than Elouise could bear, cutting straight through her chest.

She had to admit it: she had no ability to recognize a good man. For thirty-two years, she’d played the part of a smart woman, tutoring others, educating them—but the man she ended up loving was as far from “good” as one could get.

“Then what do you expect me to do!”

At last, Elouise shouted, hysterical.

“I’m doing my best to raise my niece right! That’s all I have left! What do you know, anyway? Should a spinster aunt like me live out her days mocked for failing to marry and for failing to marry off her niece? Are we meant to grow old together as pitiful old maids?”

Everything the duchess said, Elouise already knew—but had forced herself to ignore.

All she wanted was for Juliet to have a semblance of protection, at the very least.

She knew all too well what a bad marriage could do. Even in Maine, there were women surviving—not living—under the fists of gambling, abusive husbands. But more than fearing a cruel husband, Elouise feared Juliet ending up alone.

She wasn’t blind to the danger a man could pose to her niece. But if Juliet were alone, everyone would become her oppressor.

And now, the duchess had placed before her the terrifying specter of her sister—the reality of what could go wrong. A fear Elouise had only vaguely considered, always keeping it at arm’s length.

Now it gripped her throat.

Overwhelmed by dread, Elouise burst into tears again.

“I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. I’m thirty-two now. That’s seventeen years I’ve carried everything alone. No one ever helped me. There were times I thought even the worst kind of husband might be better than no one at all. What more do I have to do? Is there some greater best I’m not reaching? You’re supposed to be clever—so why are you tormenting me like this? You think I’d let someone like you even look at my niece?”

“Even the worst kind of husband…”

Even as Elouise sobbed, the duchess simply repeated her words.

Elouise wiped her tears with her sleeve. She didn’t have a handkerchief.

I should’ve brought Logan with me…

But no—she quickly discarded the thought. Everything she’d said to the duchess was far too personal. She didn’t want Logan to know.

Even if he currently served her like an attendant, he was Marcus’s secretary at his core. One wrong step, and everything could dissolve. Especially now that Logan knew Marcus was in love with her.

“But Marcus Hanger isn’t one of those necessary husbands, is he.”

“I never said that…”

“But you said you’re leaving. It doesn't seem like you’re planning to take him with you.”

“What are you trying to say?”

Elouise had never met a woman like this. She was crying, and yet the duchess didn’t offer a word of comfort—didn’t even hand her a tissue—just kept talking, on and on. Elouise glared, but the duchess continued.

“The reason I collapsed onto Marcus Hanger… was because I wanted to know if the marriage was really fake.”

“Well, aren’t you just a queen of curiosity. Ask three more questions and you’ll have dismantled every marriage in town.”

Elouise sniffled and sneered. The duchess didn’t flinch.

“If he’d kissed me, I would’ve gone straight to you.”

“To gloat?”

“No. To offer help, whether the marriage was real or fake.”

“I refuse. I don’t need it.”

“…But he rejected me. And I was confused.”

Good job, Marcus Hanger. For the first time since arriving at this estate, Elouise silently praised him.

The duchess rested her chin on her hand.

“Real or not, that flighty man seemed truly taken with you. And so I came to a conclusion—whether your marriage was fake or not, his feelings won’t last. You know that, don’t y—”

“I said don’t pretend to know. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Maine is your hometown, right?”

“I said I don’t want to hear it. Yes.”

Only then did the duchess smile, just faintly. Elouise bristled.

“I think he’ll follow you to Maine. After all, he went so far as to fake a marriage for you. Is that why you’re leaving—to make him squirm?”

“You think I’m a fool?”

“Fine. Either way, you want to leave Marcus Hanger. I understand. That man is… impulsive. Destructive.”

Elouise burned with resentment and resolved to hide her love for Marcus from the duchess. If she revealed even that, the woman who already thought so little of her would only think less.

She lifted her chin and nodded with cool composure. The duchess sighed and asked quickly:

“If I offered help, would you still reject me?”

“…What are you talking about?”

“It’s simple. I’m returning to Bellona soon.”

The duchess took a sip of now-cold tea. And in the time it took her to drink, Elouise’s thoughts cooled too. The duchess continued:

“Juliet made me sentimental. I thought I’d visit my sister’s grave. At first, I asked about Juliet because I hoped to keep in touch with you in Cliff… but hearing you’re leaving changed my mind. Going to Maine wouldn’t be hard for me—but I doubt someone as clever as you would head straight there.”

“…”

“If you’re bound to another destination, I won’t press. But what about a brief trip to Bellona? Juliet can come too. I’ll arrange everything you need.”

Elouise nearly lost her senses. Several times now. She barely managed to stay composed. The duchess’s offer was that shocking.

And then, for the first time, the duchess gave her a real smile and continued:

“Think it over. I’ll wait. I plan to leave in three days—come see me before then.”

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