Chapter 69 : The Duchess and the Thorns Beneath the Lace
Chapter 69
It happened in an instant—an unfamiliar scent brushed the air.
I instinctively lifted my gaze, and there he was.
A man was walking toward me from the far end of the corridor. His stride was casual, unhurried, but carried a certain coldness in the air around him. And perhaps—something darker.
I froze.
He must have sensed the weight of my eyes upon him, because he glanced in my direction. When I didn’t avert my gaze, his brows furrowed sharply, irritation etched into every line of his face.
Rude of me, perhaps, to stare. But that scent—so distinct, so strange—it clung to him like a ghost of something familiar.
A sense of wonder flickered in my chest.
“Are you a chemist?” I asked suddenly, my voice soft but firm as he passed me.
His brows knit tighter.
He was even paler up close—so much so that any traces of youth were veiled in the stark contrast of his sallow complexion. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his lips were dry, drawn tight. Slender and small in stature, he could easily be mistaken for someone much younger.
He didn’t answer.
So I asked again, a little more gently, “Yes…?”
He looked at me as if I were speaking in riddles. I smiled, attempting to appear warm, refined—harmless.
“Or perhaps you’re studying pharmacy?”
But I must have only added to his suspicion. His hands fidgeted awkwardly, the fingers visibly dry and cracked.
My eyes lowered to his hands.
The skin at his fingertips bore the telltale signs—exposed too long to chemicals. He noticed my gaze and finally responded, albeit reluctantly.
“…No. I am Prince Edward’s gardener. Perhaps… the scent is from fertilizer.”
“Oh…!” I let out a quiet exclamation. “That explains the medicinal scent.”
He gave a slow nod, wariness never leaving his eyes.
“I handle many chemical products while tending to the plants. If the scent is unpleasant, I can move elsewhere.”
I quickly raised a hand, flustered.
“No, not at all. Quite the opposite—it was just… familiar. I study pharmacy myself, so I recognized the smell. I suppose I was a little excited.”
“…If that’s the case, I’m relieved.”
“And since you’re tending to the gardens of Heibenstein… you must also be in charge of the floral arrangements for the ball…?”
I trailed off, unsure how to address him. But he caught the hesitation.
“My name is Frederick Müller.”
“Oh! So you arranged them all yourself, Mr. Müller?”
“Yes. For now, I do.”
My lips parted in awe.
“That’s remarkable. I passed the gardens earlier, and the blooms were pristine. You must have a deep love for plants.”
“…Yes.”
Though I tried to praise him sincerely, his unease deepened. I had forgotten—I was a duchess now. My commoner’s instincts to chat freely with anyone often startled those below my station.
I bowed my head slightly in apology.
“I’m sorry. I was thoughtless, keeping you so long. You’re free to go—I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
He wasted no time. Barely dipping his head, he strode past me with urgency, as though escaping something suffocating.
How fortunate no one had witnessed that.
I cast a brief glance over my shoulder at Frederick’s retreating form… and continued toward the Great Hall.
Even from a distance, the Great Hall buzzed with clashing colors and sharp voices.
The moment I drew near, several ladies paused their conversation and turned, exchanging glances like passing secrets between blades.
An ominous instinct whispered in my ear.
Their smiles came too swiftly. Their steps toward me were too coordinated. I exhaled and shut my eyes briefly.
They had planned this.
While I had been away, they must have woven a web—whispering, scheming, crafting some dainty cruelty veiled in social nicety.
A ring of brightly colored gowns closed around me. Among them, I recognized a few familiar faces—veterans of venomous reception banter.
Laura Hatzfeld.
She stepped forward with all the poise of a viper cloaked in silk.
“Duchess,” she greeted, voice syrupy sweet. “I must apologize for the late greeting. Since you lack connections of your own, we should have introduced ourselves first—but it slipped our minds.”
The first dagger: highlighting my lack of noble roots.
But I had long since grown immune to shallow wounds.
“That’s quite alright,” I replied coolly. “Everyone errs. It is, after all, the mark of nobility to overlook others’ missteps with grace, is it not?”
A flicker passed over their expressions—cracks in the porcelain.
They had not expected resistance.
Laura’s lips twitched before launching into her next line.
“You may not know, but the royal family had once arranged a match between our house and Duke Schultz. It was only postponed because of the war. Afterward, due to unfortunate rumors… the union was set aside.”
She let her gaze drag over me slowly, meaning clear: and now look what we have instead—a commoner bride.
I kept my face serene.
Once, such words would’ve cut me deeply. Now, they barely registered.
She hesitated, perhaps thrown off by my silence. Then came the next move in their little dance.
“Oh dear, I may have been too blunt. I suppose you weren’t even aware of the original arrangement…”
I bit my cheek to suppress a laugh.
“I wasn’t,” I said evenly. “But no matter. What’s done is done, and hardly worth fussing over.”
Laura’s mouth pressed into a tight line.
Sensing her stumble, another woman stepped in.
“Still, I hear talk of a potential union with the Count of Swabia. That would be delightful, wouldn’t it?”
“Indeed,” another chimed in. “You never know what fate has in store. If you and the Duke were to part ways…”
Their barbs were growing bolder.
My chest tightened—not with hurt, but fury.
It wasn’t just me they were insulting. They were dragging Johannes’ name through the mud, painting him as foolish, indecisive—a man who marries commoners, then tosses them aside.
I smiled tightly.
“If I ever divorce my husband, I’ll let you know personally. Perhaps then, the daughter of the Marquis of Hatzfeld will have her chance.”
Their faces stiffened.
I pressed forward, voice light as air.
“They’ve always said the Duke grants whatever I ask. Though, you may not know about his history with the Count of Swabia… I wonder if he’d agree to marry someone he dislikes?”
Had I gone too far?
The way their expressions crumpled was… delightful.
They hadn’t expected me to bite back. Not without Johannes at my side.
They thought they could prod and jab, just enough to hurt—but not enough to draw blood.
Well, I had chosen to draw it anyway.
I offered a demure smile, hiding the pulse of exhilaration beneath it.
Why had I bothered responding? Was it pride?
No—something deeper. I simply hated hearing his name sullied by their lips.
Even if I doubted him.
Even if I feared him.
No one had the right to speak of him so carelessly.
Guilt began to gnaw at me for retaliating. But the sight of their stunned, sour faces…
…was rather satisfying.
“I shall take my leave,” I said with a curtsy, my voice laced with worn exhaustion.
I turned, intending to walk away and let the ashes settle.
But then—
A sudden, chilling slide of metal grazed the small of my back.
I froze.
Instinct screamed.
I reached behind me and grabbed the fabric—just in time.
The straps of my dress had loosened. One more second… and it would have fallen entirely.
Gasps rose.
“Oh my! Duchess!” someone cried.
And I stood there, heart thundering beneath lace and gold, surrounded by women who’d come to tear me down.
