Chapter 27
Perhaps it was luck, but on that very day, a letter arrived from the Count’s estate.
Thanks to this, Daisy was able to easily fulfill the task her lady had assigned her—finding an excuse to interrupt the conversation.
The letter from the Count was a summons—a request for Diana to visit the Count’s territory before the wedding.
To my beloved daughter,
I wonder if you’ve been well.
Merely exchanging letters makes me fear that I will forget the face of my own child. And what could be more painful than that?
Your mother and I miss you terribly. If you have the time, come home and join us for a meal.
A week later, Diana, having rearranged her schedule in haste, departed for the Count’s estate.
“Please have a safe journey,” Ersivan said.
“Yes, I will. Please take care of yourself as well.”
As they bid farewell, he pressed a dry kiss to her hand.
There was no affection in it, nor warmth—just a formal gesture exchanged between two people who, in the past few days, had grown distant.
After that day, things between them had become awkward.
“I will miss you,” he murmured.
“So will I,” she replied.
The words were purely ceremonial, and the responses just as lifeless.
“The journey is long. Please be safe,” he said, handing her a bouquet of lavender flowers—the very ones he had been holding since the moment he stepped into the hallway.
“Thank you. This will keep me from getting too bored on the way.”
She hugged the bouquet to her chest, as if it were some precious treasure.
This time, at least, her reaction was genuine.
The coachman signaled that it was time to depart.
Ersivan stepped away from the carriage and shut the door behind her.
Soon, the wheels began to roll forward, their pace gradually picking up speed, the scenery outside shifting with every passing second.
“I’m going home.”
As Diana absentmindedly touched the lavender petals, a wave of nausea hit her without warning.
For a moment, her fingers tensed, nearly crushing the delicate leaves.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to steady her breathing.
It wasn’t just motion sickness.
No—her anxiety had begun to creep in, a cold, gnawing sensation that had nothing to do with the rocking carriage.
She was returning to the Mernard estate—and that, above all, unsettled her.
It was likely that the Count had summoned her to hear about everything that had transpired.
Would he, in the process, uncover what had happened that day?
“No. It’ll be fine.”
As she turned her gaze toward the window, the blurred reflection of her own face came into view.
Diana stared at it, reaching out as if to touch the woman beyond the glass.
It felt both foreign and familiar at once.
A strange irritation bubbled up inside her.
“My daughter! It has been far too long!”
The moment she stepped down from the carriage, the Count pulled her into a tight embrace.
“…It’s been a while, Father.”
His grip was so firm that she nearly winced.
Still, she returned the hug, enduring the discomfort as best she could.
Once the brief greeting was over, one of the knights who had carried her luggage handed her back the bouquet.
“What is that?”
The Count’s voice was laced with suspicion.
It was just a bouquet of flowers, yet he reacted as though it were some kind of threat.
“His Highness the Duke gave it to me as a parting gift,” she explained.
She had deliberately mentioned Ersivan’s name, wanting to emphasize the closeness of their relationship.
The Count’s expression remained unreadable.
His white beard trembled slightly as he nodded, though it was clear he was not entirely pleased.
“It is lovely, but… does His Highness not know your tastes? Surely lilies would have been a more fitting choice.”
So that was the problem.
It wasn’t the flowers themselves that bothered him—it was the fact that they weren’t lilies.
Diana took a deep breath, suppressing the weariness creeping in.
She raised her voice slightly, recalling her father’s old lessons—to always speak clearly and with authority.
“That would be impossible,” she replied smoothly. “If anything, His Highness understands my heart better than anyone. He even had an entire lily garden cultivated just for me.”
She offered a gentle smile as she continued, “But since the Count’s estate is already overflowing with lilies, he must have chosen something else for me—something special.”
“I see,” the Count murmured, stroking his beard.
“The fact that you’ve turned your gaze to something other than lilies… I cannot tell if that is a cause for pride or sorrow. You must have grown quite a bit.”
His voice was laced with melancholy, his expression pensive.
Even as he spoke in his usual stern tone, Diana could see through it.
She could read what he had failed to hide.
He was unsettled.
It displeased him to see that she was changing.
It was as though she were ruining the image of the Lillian he had carefully crafted.
“The unfamiliar is always special,” she said softly. “I have simply discovered new things in a new environment. But you needn’t worry. There is a vast difference between something new and something precious.”
She looked up at him with a calm, unwavering gaze.
“You should know better than anyone, Father—I haven’t changed at all.”
The Count’s expression softened.
“That’s right,” he murmured. “My daughter… my Lillian… you always know just what to say.”
At her carefully measured response, the Count finally seemed satisfied.
With great affection, he reached out, gently stroking her hair.
“You’ve grown so much… far more than I ever expected.”
The sudden gentleness of his touch, the softness in his voice, the way his eyes seemed to look at her yet drift far beyond.
She had seen it countless times before.
And every time, it had left her wounded.
He’s thinking about my sister again, isn’t he?
Even though she had anticipated this reaction from her parents, the bitter sting of reality still struck her.
“It must have been exhausting for you, traveling such a long way!” The Count, as if snapping out of his thoughts, quickly regained his usual composure. “We’ve prepared all your favorite dishes. Come now, settle your things and join us for dinner.”
With that, he snatched the bouquet from her arms and handed it off to a servant.
Having had her possession suddenly taken from her, Diana hesitated for a moment before hurriedly asking the servant to take good care of it.
Then, as expected, she was ushered to Lillian’s room.
The Count’s warmth faded the moment the door closed behind them.
The atmosphere shifted dramatically, an oppressive weight settling over the room. Diana instinctively shrank back.
“How are things with the Duke?”
His voice was void of emotion—a stark contrast to the affectionate words he had spoken moments ago.
“Yes, Father,” she answered, forcing a calm tone.
“Are you hiding anything?”
A cold wave ran down her spine.
The very concern she had carried since leaving the carriage had now surfaced.
Does he already know?
Had she been too careless? Or had she simply grown too paranoid after spending so much time around Ersivan?
“I’ve been wondering,” she began cautiously, “if there might be someone in this household leaking information to the Duke’s estate.”
For now, it was best to stay silent. One admission would lead to another, and before she knew it, she would be confessing everything—something the Count would never forgive.
“A spy?”
“The Duke knows too much about me—about her.”
But she could still cut the roots of doubt before they spread.
If there truly was a traitor within the estate, it could endanger her plans in the future.
Diana did not believe for a second that she had failed in her role.
No matter how brilliant Ersivan was, he couldn’t possibly have figured it all out on his own.
Someone who knew Lillian’s past… someone who saw the ‘memory-lost Lillian’ must have fed him information.
“What nonsense.”
The Count dismissed her concerns with an unimpressed scoff.
“Do not insult the loyal retainers of this house. My father, my grandfather, and every ancestor before me have placed their trust in them. Do you think they would abandon the great House of Mernard for the likes of that fickle Duke?”
She should have known.
Of course, the Count wouldn’t listen.
Suppressing a sigh, Diana nodded obediently.
“You haven’t made any mistakes, have you?”
“No, Father. I’ve been doing my best.”
She emphasized her words, hoping to reassure him.
Instead, he snapped at her.
“You know this is not an easy task!”
“……”
“And yet, you carry yourself so carelessly, speaking as though you’ve already succeeded!”
What had begun as a simple attempt to ease his concerns had only provoked his anger.
Dealing with the Count was proving to be even more difficult than handling Ersivan.
“How dare you,” he seethed, his voice low and venomous, “how dare you act as if you are entitled to this life? Do you think so highly of yourself when you’re merely living in my daughter’s place?”
He was losing control.
No—perhaps he had already lost it.
A man as composed as the Count would never speak so recklessly if he were in his right mind.
Only now did Diana fully grasp why he was truly angry.
It wasn’t just that she was fulfilling her role—he was furious at the idea that she might be content doing so.
To him, she had stolen Lillian’s life.
No—
It was the other way around.
Lillian had taken hers.
She had been discarded, then retrieved, then discarded again the moment she was deemed unnecessary.
And yet she was the one being accused of stealing?
Would it have satisfied you if I had played the role of an incompetent fool instead?
Should she have admitted to small mistakes? Told him she was constantly on edge, terrified that her identity would be exposed?
Would that have made a difference?
No.
Had she faltered even once, the Count would have rebuked her for failing to be a perfect Lillian.
With a man like him, there was no correct answer.
“You do realize,” he continued harshly, “that you will never be able to play the role of Lillian perfectly.”
Diana bit her tongue.
Finally, she bowed her head and offered the only response that would end this sooner.
“I was careless. I apologize.”
That, at least, seemed to mollify him.
The Count exhaled sharply before launching into another tirade.
“You must never let your guard down. Your secret is one that can be exposed at any moment. Know your place and tread carefully.”
As she quietly listened to his endless lectures, a new thought formed in Diana’s mind.
What exactly is my ‘place’ in his eyes?
Did he believe that because she was born a commoner, she would always remain one?
A deep frustration burned in her chest.
It wasn’t her fault she had been born into such circumstances.
It wasn’t her fault she had been cast aside.
And yet, she was the one being punished.
A stinging sensation pricked the corners of her eyes, her throat tightening with suppressed emotion.
Determined not to let a single tear fall, she clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palm.
“Everything you do is a reflection of this household,” the Count continued. “You hold the very heart of this family in your hands.”
His hand came down, gripping her shoulder painfully tight.
She winced—but did not dare pull away.
“Your expression. Your posture. Your dignity. Nothing must ever waver.”
He was gripping her so hard, it felt as though her bones might shatter.
“Would you dare make such a face in front of him as well?”
Her lips twitched.
She wasn’t sure why she said it.
It certainly wasn’t out of any desire to protect Ersivan.
Perhaps it was simply because the thought of the Count losing to him was amusing.
“…Well, at the very least,” she murmured, “he has never handled me this roughly.”
And just like that, the words slipped out.
