11. Johann’s Misunderstanding
Lately, Morris’s heart would sink every time a sparrow flew up in Leaton. In this place, “sparrow” meant an informant from the Leopold family.
At this rate, I’m going to die before my time. Die for sure.
Romance? At this rate, he wouldn’t even get a chance to marry like everyone else before dying.
That evening, a sparrow flew in late, dropping yet another bomb into Johann’s office, which was dangerously quiet, like the eye of a storm.
“So, the two of them…”
The low murmur, paired with his expression, carried no discernible emotion. Yet Morris could feel Johann’s displeasure in every inch of his body. A chill ran down his spine.
“…were together.”
“Sir Lancelot stayed in the room for precisely thirty-six minutes. We couldn’t confirm the contents of their conversation.”
Johann’s gaze was ice cold. Reflected in the lamplight, his eyes held not fatigue, but a deep sense of betrayal.
When had it started?
When had they grown so close that they came and went from hotel rooms without hesitation?
Johann slowly loosened his neatly tied necktie.
Had it been before the divorce?
Yes, it must have been, for her to so boldly demand a divorce.
A blinding rage boiled up inside him. What a fool he had been.
Strictly speaking, it didn’t matter to him whose child she carried. Olivia had kept many lovers, after all. But this kind of betrayal was different.
Stealing company secrets was an unforgivable, clear-cut crime.
“Please, divorce me.”
The phantom echo of his wife’s voice pierced his eardrums, and uncontrollable emotions swallowed him whole. After sending Morris away, Johann stared into space, unmoving for a long time.
Three years ago, at that year’s first ball, the flower of the evening, without a doubt, had been Olivia Blanchett. She was a beauty the likes of which no one had ever seen.
A woman who had appeared as a distant relative of Count Blanchett, her value in the marriage market had skyrocketed the moment she entered it.
But that beauty had been the problem.
From the day she debuted with her otherworldly looks, drunken scoundrels who couldn’t control themselves would latch onto her, and among them was Crown Prince Christian himself. Unfortunately, he fell neatly into the trap Count Blanchett had set to clear his family’s debts.
“Isn’t that His Highness the Crown Prince?”
A photo capturing them entwined on a sofa, taken alongside swirling rumors, dominated the newspapers and weeklies of Rondos, spreading across borders with alarming speed.
In the photo, taken from a tree looking into the parlor, the woman’s face was clear due to the angle, while the man’s was only visible from the back. That, at least, was the crown prince’s saving grace.
On the verge of an engagement with the Princess of Argent, the crown prince, who was of similar build to Johann and a suitor Count Blanchett would find acceptable, had requested Johann’s help. In exchange for becoming the scandal’s protagonist, Johann, the third son of the Duke of Edinburgh, was promised a ducal title and vast lands.
Thus, Johann’s full name became Johann, Duke Leopold, third son of the Duke of Edinburgh.
They had given and received what was due. It had been a clear-cut deal.
“…It wasn’t my will. Truly, it wasn’t. I didn’t know anything. Please, believe me.”
He recalled the woman whose tears sparkled like melting jewels as they fell.
Thinking back, it now seemed clear that she had not been Count Blanchett’s victim, but his accomplice. The blood of a woman who would seduce her friend’s husband and bear his child surely ran in her veins.
What a fool he had been.
A twisted, hateful sneer escaped him.
Johann neatly aligned the gold-capped fountain pen and set it down before rising from his seat. He walked over to the glass wagon, grabbing a random bottle and a glass before sinking into the sofa facing the large balcony window.
Just like the day Olivia had regained consciousness, rain was falling outside the window.
The loss from his wife’s betrayal amounted to a mere ten thousand francs. It should have been easy to forget.
As the undiluted, harsh vodka slid down his throat, it dragged his memories with it.
“Why… why are you doing this?”
It had been the day Olivia had slit her wrists for the second time.
“Because I love you. I’m doing this because I want you to love me.”
With a face that looked like it would shatter at any moment, tears dried upon it, she had spoken.
And she had dared say such words.
Liar.
Now he saw it—she had been an excellent liar.
For some reason, the clock tower that always had a long line was unusually empty today. Olivia and Anne widened their eyes in surprise, exchanging glances before turning their heads back.
“It’s closed today, it seems. And we came all the way up from Briar for this.”
An elderly couple, who seemed to be tourists, turned back and smiled as they passed on the information.
“Oh! Thank you.”
As the couple walked away, Anne asked,
“What should we do now?”
Their plan to go up the clock tower and make a wish, even if just on a whim, had vanished into thin air.
Their next planned stop was a garden café famous for its seasonal fruit pancakes and black coffee.
They had intended to have lunch there before heading to the Royal Art Museum that Brit prided itself on, but neither of them felt hungry yet.
“Let’s go to the museum.”
“Yes, Miss.”
Thankfully, the Royal Art Museum was only a thirty-minute walk away.
Located on the west side of Royal Square, the Royal Art Museum, the largest in the Kingdom of Brit, stood grand with its golden domes and colonnades gleaming in the morning sunlight.
The numerous steps leading up to the building were crowded with visitors eager to enter.
The two quickened their pace, their steps light like excited girls preparing for a picnic. The hem of Olivia’s light apricot skirt rippled against the brown of Anne’s as they hurried along.
A banner hanging from the luxurious stone building fluttered in the spring breeze. As they drew closer, the long, horizontal letters came into clear view in Anne’s eyes.
“…”
Anne’s steps began to slow before she abruptly stopped, her light brown eyes trembling as she frowned.
“What’s wrong, Anne?”
“N-no, it’s nothing, Miss.”
Anne barely managed to open her lips to stammer out her words.
“But, Miss…”
Anne suddenly turned and grabbed Olivia’s hands tightly, continuing,
“Let’s come back here another time.”
Olivia tilted her head at Anne’s sudden action, then turned her gaze back to the grand, golden Royal Art Museum. Beneath a portrait painted on a red cloth, white letters were visible.
Andreya Nikolai.
“Next time… next time, Miss.”
Anne clutched Olivia’s wrist even tighter, her expression restless.
Olivia Blanchett slowly dug through her memories.
Ah…
Only then did she manage to retrieve that faint name from her distant past.
“Please, become the muse of my soul.”
The painter who had been painting the portrait of the Duchess of Leopold had once knelt before her, pleading.
That was all it had been.
A being who inspired the artist’s creativity.
The painter, who had come to Great Hill to paint the duke and duchess’s portrait upon the crown prince’s recommendation, had been struck as if by lightning the moment he saw Olivia.
It had been nothing like the tender feelings of a man and a woman. To Andreya Nikolai, Olivia Blanchett had simply been a goddess of art.
A lover, they said.
People had whispered that Andreya Nikolai was the duchess’s lover. It was absurd, but once people who believed in lies gained conviction, those lies became the truth.
“All right. Let’s do that.”
She hooked her arm around Anne’s without hesitation and turned away.
Olivia Blanchett’s reputation was never good.
Because of her origins, whatever she did was twisted by others’ interest and turned into misunderstandings, painting her as a woman of ill repute.
There was no need to toss a spark into the peaceful days of Brit.
“Let’s go see if those pancakes really are as delicious as they say.”
Olivia smiled brightly at Anne as she spoke.
The pancakes, piled high with soft cream, luscious strawberries, and plump blueberries, did not disappoint.
The heavenly sweetness was impossible to stop at one plate, and the two of them cleared two servings cleanly.
After leaving the garden café, the two walked across the bridge over the Bichen River, where the lazy afternoon sun settled warmly. The slow current made it feel as if time itself was flowing slowly, bringing a peaceful afternoon.
As Olivia chatted quietly with Anne while walking, she felt an odd gaze upon her. Suddenly, Olivia stopped.
“Do your feet hurt, Miss?”
“Hm? Oh, no, it’s nothing.”
Olivia slowly began walking again, looking straight ahead. Then, around the middle of the bridge, she abruptly turned around.
While everyone else was walking by naturally, only one man flinched in surprise before quickly pretending nothing had happened as he turned to gaze across the river.
“Anne, let’s go back now. I think my feet hurt after all.”
“Then please wait here for a moment, Miss. I’ll fetch the carriage.”
“No, Anne, it’s fine. I can walk to the stop. Let’s go.”
Hooking her arm with Anne’s, Olivia turned and retraced their steps, walking back the way they came, brushing past the man in a beret with a mustache.
“…”
A reporter?
“My goodness, your divorce was such a big issue that they even published the brand of the bag you carried when you left Great Hill that day. Haven’t you seen the papers?”
Elaine’s words came to mind.
While Olivia was lost in thought, the carriage arrived. Sitting by the window, she looked out over the bridge bathed in golden light.
The man was gone.
Diane Brooke chose her clothes carefully, then began dressing meticulously in front of the full-length mirror.
The silky lace slip that glided over her skin felt like Johann’s intimate touch. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the subtle sensation, before picking up the dress she had chosen.
The dress had originally been ordered by Olivia Blanchett. A dress without its owner became hers. Just as Johann, now alone, was hers too.
The black dress, which wrapped her body entirely without exposing anything, only served to highlight her full breasts, slender waist, and firm hips, stimulating the imagination with its hidden sensuality.
She tied her hair loosely in a low twist, and wore small pearl earrings that clung to her earlobes to emphasize her long neck.
Diane looked into the mirror.
Perfect. Modest yet sensual—exactly the look she wanted.
