Chapter 25
Edgar failed to secure an invitation for Isla.
Marchioness Federica’s tea gathering was an exclusive, highly prestigious event attended only by a chosen few.
I had noticed how Sarah’s expression had begun to darken from time to time.
“It’s so unfair of Marchioness Federica. Why not just ask her yourself, my lady? The Count is clearly flustered over this. Maybe if you stepped in and resolved things, he’d finally start looking at you in a better light.”
As the tea party drew closer, Sarah finally started begging me openly.
The nanny scowled at her.
“Just because you’ve got a mouth doesn’t mean you should say every thought that pops into your head! What if the lady can’t go at all because of this? Are you going to take responsibility?”
Sarah clamped her mouth shut, but she didn’t bother hiding her sulky expression.
“I only said it because I care about the lady. After all, Countess Rosette is still her mother, and Miss Isla is still her sister. What do you think people will say?”
“Let them talk! I’ll tell the whole world what that vile woman did to my lady!”
The nanny’s outrage was theatrical—too loud, too perfect.
She kept glancing at me as she spoke. Sarah couldn’t have missed it.
“What exactly is so awful about Countess Rosette? She’s always seemed kind to me. And if I think she’s good, surely others see it that way too. You think I’m saying this because I’m not on your side? I’m saying it because I care enough to be honest.”
With that, Sarah huffed and stormed off.
The nanny clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“If we keep her around much longer, she’s going to cause a real mess.”
Would the nanny have been any different if she didn’t have a son?
I hid my real thoughts and gave a neutral nod.
“She’s still useful—for now.”
Letting them keep each other in check was the best approach.
I needed Sarah to understand Countess Rosette’s intentions. And I needed the nanny to keep Sarah in line.
“How long has it been since the Count was last home?” the nanny suddenly asked.
“Three, maybe four days.”
“My lady, you should just apologize. The Count isn’t heartless. If you explain why you did what you did, I’m sure he’ll understand.”
I shrugged.
Where Edgar spent his nights wasn’t my concern.
I had more important things to focus on—like recovering Cecilia’s stolen inheritance. What did his affair matter in comparison?
“From now on, you’ll handle all letters addressed to me. Make sure Sarah doesn’t get her hands on them.”
My correspondence with Ricardo had gone on longer than I’d expected.
The man in those letters was lighthearted, straightforward.
Sometimes I even forgot I was writing to the illegitimate son of the Duke of Bastian. It really did feel like I was exchanging letters with Ricky.
“Oh, right—there was one this morning. I forgot to give it to you.”
The nanny pulled a letter from her apron.
I accepted it, calmly brushing off her suspicious look.
“The paper isn’t anything special. Doesn’t look like it’s from a noble. Who’s it from?”
“A friend.”
“A friend I don’t know about?”
Did Cecilia even have friends?
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“I remember when you used to write to a friend named Caroline. She was the heroine in one of your favorite storybooks. You were so happy when you got a reply—though it was just me writing back in secret.”
She laughed fondly at the memory. I had no such reaction.
So Cecilia had no real friends.
Even her most cherished pen pal had been imaginary.
“You should go sit with Sarah.”
I dismissed her the same way I always did when she started reminiscing.
“Again?”
“Sir Juan said Justin’s too old to start formal knight training.”
Her face turned pale.
“Still, I asked him to help however he could. Even if he can’t earn an official title, with the right recommendation, he might at least carry himself like one.”
She thanked me and left, saying she’d go check on Sarah.
It worked every time, and yet I was always a little surprised by how easy it was.
What is a mother’s love, really?
My parents had always put themselves first.
But the nanny—she would throw herself into a fire for Justin. Or at the very least, say she would.
I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to ease the heaviness there.
“Don’t think about it.”
There was no benefit to envying the love I never received.
If Justin and Isla were loved, it was because they deserved it.
I wasn’t someone worthy of that kind of affection. I had received exactly what I was worth.
I was unwanted from the start, dragging my father down, driving my mother to her death.
And now here I was, jealous of others for the love they had.
Disgusted with myself, I let out a bitter chuckle.
I reached for the letter on my lap—but pulled my hand back.
I didn’t want to read Ricky’s words while feeling like this.
Instead, I tucked the letter deep into a drawer of the vanity.
A few days passed.
Edgar, who had completely disappeared, finally came home.
He was furious. He barged into my room without so much as knocking.
“Have you lost your mind?!”
“Good afternoon, Edgar.”
He looked at me, hands on his hips, completely dumbfounded.
The vanity he had smashed still hadn’t been repaired.
I stood up from my chair, keeping an eye on him, wondering what he might kick next.
If he went for the chair, I didn’t want to be sitting in it—I wasn’t about to go tumbling to the floor for his tantrum.
“So, you’ve made it your mission to ruin the House of Linton, haven’t you?”
“Close the door first, Edgar.”
“Hah. At least you’re still capable of feeling shame.”
He slammed the door shut.
“Yes. It would be embarrassing if people heard I live with a husband who comes home after days away only to scream like a madman.”
Breathing heavily, Edgar then kicked the chair I had just been sitting in.
The once-lovely piece of furniture now looked pitiful, like kindling waiting to be burned.
“Me? You think I’m the one destroying the Linton family?”
“I never said that.”
Not satisfied after breaking the chair, Edgar moved to the daybed and wrecked that too, reducing it to splinters.
“A shameless woman consorting with the gardener—how thick-skinned can you be?!”
His teeth were bared in rage.
“The gardener?”
“Oh, don’t play dumb. I wondered why you suddenly called the nanny back—turns out it was to sneak around with her filthy son!”
His fury seemed to feed on itself, and he looked around for something else to destroy.
I straightened my posture, trying not to resemble a piece of furniture.
Thankfully, he hadn’t lost all control—he glared at me with enough fury to burn a hole through me, but he didn’t raise his hand.
I wasn’t sure if that was something to be thankful for.
“You barge in and start yelling nonsense, Edgar.”
“So now you’re going to deny everything?”
He shoved the broken vanity over with a loud crash.
Glass bottles and notebooks spilled out across the floor.
“Word’s already out! They’re saying you’re trying to get the gardener knighted—pulling strings behind the scenes!”
Ah. So that’s what this was about.
I remembered the note Countess Rosette had sent to Sarah: “Watch the garden.”
Sarah must’ve seen me speaking to Justin, then ran off to report it.
Afterward, I had asked Sir Juan to look after Justin. It all lined up just enough to make it believable.
And Countess Rosette had probably dressed it all up with juicy embellishments before spreading the word.
“Even the bastard son of a duke would’ve been better than this! But the gardener? The nanny’s son you grew up with? You really went out of your way to humiliate me, didn’t you?!”
While he raged, I calmly stepped toward the scattered notebooks and carefully slid Ricky’s letter under my foot.
“There’s nothing going on.”
Only after I had hidden the letter did my pulse begin to settle.
“The nanny begged me endlessly, so I mentioned Justin to Sir Juan. I guess the conversation leaked.”
Edgar didn’t look convinced.
“If you don’t trust me, then I’ll leave Justin’s fate in your hands.”
“And what if I say I’ll kill the bastard?”
“Then you’ll be the one to deliver the news. I’ll have no objections.”
I added coolly,
“The nanny was like a mother to me. If you want to handle it, fine—just don’t expect me to clean up the aftermath.”
Edgar, who had been rubbing his face in frustration, slumped down onto the edge of the bed—one of the few pieces of furniture still intact.
“So now it’s *‘Count’ this and ‘Count’ that, dripping with sarcasm.”
The fire in him had burned out quickly.
Strong emotions were hard to maintain.
I’d explained myself, and it had sounded plausible enough to his ears—now what remained was exhaustion.
“The rumors…”
“Luckily, I’ve been invited to Marchioness Federica’s tea,” I cut in. “I can fix things.”
He sighed deeply.
“I’ll let it slide this time.”
He looked around at the wrecked room, clearly aware of the damage he’d caused.
“But that boy needs to go. After everything, I can’t keep him in my house.”
“Actually, leaving him in place might be better.”
His eyes narrowed again at my reply.
“What do you mean?”
“If you throw him out, people might think there really was something going on.”
His anger had already cooled.
Like anyone who exploded without thinking, he was now starting to feel embarrassed by the mess he’d made.
So I pressed forward with confidence.
“It’s just gossip. If I treat the nanny’s son like anyone else, people will lose interest soon enough.”
He leaned on his hand, thinking.
“I don’t mind if you do as you see fit,” I added. “But if the nanny asks, I’ll tell her to speak with you about it.”
A tight line formed between his brows.
Edgar cared deeply about his reputation.
Within the estate, he had a strong image—a good master, a reasonable man.
So people had long assumed there must be a reason for his infidelity. Something Cecilia had done, perhaps.
She’d been trapped in invisible malice for years.
“…Fine.”
At last, Edgar made his decision.
“I’ll let it go. This time.”
As if he were generously forgiving me for something I never even did.
“I’ll be home for dinner tonight. Make sure it’s ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
After all the rumors, it would look suspicious if he didn’t stay home.
He had to give the impression that he’d come to check things out—and found nothing amiss.
He glanced around the destroyed room one more time before finally walking out.
I waited until the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hallway, then slowly bent down and picked up Ricky’s letter from underfoot.
Holding that position for so long had left my body sore and stiff.
“All this… for a letter.”
I scoffed at myself.
And yet, I tucked the letter gently beneath my pillow.
There was nowhere else to hide it now that the vanity was gone—but even if there had been, I might’ve kept it there anyway.
