The two young ladies found themselves alone once more on an evening when the duke and duchess had departed from the mansion for reasons unknown. Shailoh had earnestly asked Claire’s maid to bring Claire to her room for a moment. Claire appeared with remarkable haste, her countenance betraying curiosity about Shailoh’s intentions.
“Why have you called me out at this ungodly hour? If you intend to maintain this silence, I shall take my leave.”
“Claire.” Shailoh’s fingers clutched at her skirt, the fabric bunching beneath her trembling grasp as she finally broke her silence. “Why are you doing this to me?”
“What are you talking about all of a sudden?” Claire’s brow furrowed her face as cold and impenetrable as marble—a visage that would not yield a drop of blood even if pierced by the sharpest needle. Shailoh bit her lower lip, the soft flesh caught between her teeth.
After dispatching a letter to the baroness, Shailoh had experienced a fleeting moment of relief upon receiving a swift reply. The baroness, having lost all her children to the cruel hands of accident and illness years prior, with no grandchildren to brighten her twilight years, sought a child to provide companionship in her solitude. However, the baroness had declined Shailoh’s initial request, explaining that she desired a maid and companion, not someone to whimsically spirit away a girl who had been adopted and sponsored by the duchess without proper justification.
“You made Mother and Father sell me off to the Grid Merchant guild leader. Had you not poisoned their minds against me, this calamity would never have befallen me.”
“How did you kn—” Claire, visibly startled, swiftly composed herself, her features rearranging into an unabashed smile that did not reach her eyes. “Shailoh, I’m sorry to say, but it’s hardly a misfortune for someone of your standing. Though he may be a commoner, his wealth is immeasurable, and more significantly, he has no heirs. Should you provide him with a son, you could dwell in luxury for the remainder of your days. Is that not a fate to be desired?”
“Why do you persecute me so? Why frame me for transgressions I never committed, drive a wedge between our family and me, and now seek to cast me out? Does your hatred for me run so deep?” Each word was laden with the weight of resentment and sorrow.
A chilling silence stretched between the two young ladies, vast and impenetrable as a winter river. Shailoh posed the question that had haunted her thoughts like a persistent ghost. “Why did you show me kindness in the beginning if this was to be your ultimate design?”
“…Very well. I suppose this shall be our final encounter, so I might as well divulge the truth.”
Claire closed her eyes with deliberate gentleness, then opened them, her response ringing with crystalline clarity.
“Initially, I intended to treat you with kindness out of pity. A beggar beneath the bridge, abused within the cold walls of an orphanage. When I first beheld you, I vowed to be benevolent and forge a sisterly bond. But then—”
Claire drew a deep breath, her fingers seizing the hem of her dress with unexpected ferocity.
“When I truly confronted your presence, I discovered you utterly unblemished. From that moment, my dislike took root and flourished. I resent my parents and brother who believed me dead and placed someone like you in my stead, but more than anyone, it is you whom I despise most profoundly. The thought of how you lived in contentment—eating, sleeping, reveling in life’s pleasures during the eight years I lost—it rouses me from slumber in the dead of night. Your radiance is stolen from me. You are nothing but a thief of my existence.”
“That’s not fair! It was not my fault you had an accident.”
“You must understand. Human emotions rarely adhere to the dictates of reason.”
“…I see. So that is the heart of the matter.”
No sooner had the words escaped her lips than an unfamiliar voice emanated from behind. Claire turned, startled by the unexpected intrusion. The expression on Claire’s face, which had momentarily betrayed anxiety at the possibility of the duke or duchess’s appearance, rapidly transformed into relief.
It was an elderly woman, unfamiliar to Claire, who had concealed herself behind the heavy drapes. Claire regarded the uninvited guest with suspicious eyes.
“Who are you? Your attire suggests you are not among the household staff. How did you gain entry to this place?”
“I invited her. You should recognize her too, Baroness Kildare.”
Shailoh had stood and moved to place herself between the two.
The elderly woman looked between the two ladies with an inscrutable expression and inclined her head in acknowledgment. “Yes… I suppose that constitutes a valid justification.”
“A valid… what?” Claire stood abruptly, her face a canvas of disbelief. “What game is this? Did you conceal this person beforehand on purpose to—?”
“Rest assured. I’m not like you. I don’t play dirty games.”
“Wait… if it’s Kildare…” As recognition dawned upon Claire, her complexion grew increasingly pallid.
Baroness Kildare. In her youth, she had served as chief lady-in-waiting to the former queen at the royal palace—a position of remarkable distinction. After marriage, she had revived the nearly collapsed barony with exceptional foresight and judgment. The duchess both admired and respected her aunt’s dignity, making her one of the few individuals who could not be treated with anything less than deference.
“Ba-Baroness… I…”
“No need to get flustered, child. I have no intention of conveying your words to the duke and duchess,” the Baroness replied, her voice carrying the weight of years and wisdom.
At the elderly woman’s assurance, Shailoh nodded. If the baroness were to relay the conversation between the two directly to their parents, the misunderstanding would dissolve like morning mist in sunlight. Yet peace would be fleeting as water through fingers, and conflict would inevitably arise again, culminating in their siding with Claire. The heart of the matter wasn’t about who bore fault but rather who was the true daughter.
“There’s nothing disadvantageous for you, Claire,” Shailoh said, her voice steady despite the tempest within. “I asked the baroness for help to leave this place. Initially, she refused, so I took the liberty of requesting she come quietly.”
Two days prior, Shailoh had deliberately broached the debutante topic, anticipating that the anxious Claire would soon orchestrate her departure. It was something of a gamble, like placing a delicate chess piece in the path of an opponent’s queen.
“I will leave this mansion and your family just as you wish,” she said, emphasizing the words with quiet resignation.
Your family. It had been truly difficult to accept, but once spoken aloud, the words didn’t pierce her heart as deeply as she had feared.
Shailoh stood in contemplative silence, drinking in the details of her room—the cream-colored wallpaper that caught the light like satin, the ivory-carved fireplace that had warmed countless winter evenings, the lace-draped bed where dreams had visited her, and the masterpiece hanging by the bedside that had been the last sight before sleep claimed her each night.
Over the past eight years, she had worked tirelessly to overcome her humble origins and transform herself into a true lady. Despite the challenges, those years brought her immense happiness—as fragile as spun sugar.
“Claire, from now on, this is your home.”
“Do you really think… I’m fit to live in a place like this?”
“What are you saying? You’re our daughter now.”
Recalling the gentle hand that had once embraced her shoulder, a bitterness rose in Shailoh’s throat like bile. Though all her efforts had come to naught—like castles built upon sand—there was no other path forward. The rightful owner had returned, and despite the leaden weight in her steps, it was time to relinquish everything she had come to love.
“You called me a thief, didn’t you?” Shailoh said to Claire, her gaze sweeping the room as if bidding farewell to each beloved object. “I can’t give back the time. But I shall return everything else.”
“…”
“So, all you need to do is keep your mouth shut until I depart today. You…”
Noticing the baroness’s watchful eyes, Shailoh inclined her head slightly. Sensing she had something to impart, Claire leaned closer, only to be met with words cold as winter frost.
“You cowardly, wicked girl.”
Once the baroness intervened, the situation fell into place with an almost theatrical precision. Having packed her belongings the previous day—a foresight that now seemed both practical and painfully prescient—Shailoh was able to leave the mansion without delay. The duke and duchess, along with their son, were too stunned by the baroness’s unexpected arrival to properly bid Shailoh farewell.
“Take… care, Shailoh.”
“Stay healthy.”
“Shailoh…” Her brother approached, restless as a fidgety puppy seeking attention.
Shailoh offered him a smile—bitter as unripe fruit—and politely bowed, closing the conversation like a book whose final page had been turned. “Thank you for everything,” she said, her words hanging in the air like autumn leaves before their fall.
“Shailoh, why are you acting as if you’ll never return?” the duchess asked, her brow furrowed with concern. “You’re always welcome here. This is your home.”
“Your mother is right,” the duke affirmed. “You’re part of our family, so come back whenever you wish. And do write to us.”
Claire had not emerged to witness Shailoh’s departure, claiming indisposition, while the gazes directed at Shailoh were filled with tenderness—a tenderness that now felt like a cruel mockery.
In the end, Shailoh had been nothing more than a substitute, a replacement to fill the void left by the real daughter, like a candle placed where a chandelier once hung. The ease with which their affections shifted—like actors changing masks between scenes—left a bitterness on her tongue. Yet, despite everything, the past eight years could not be erased from her heart.
“I’ll write as soon as I arrive,” Shailoh promised, her voice steady despite the storm within. “Mother, Father, Brother, please take care of yourselves.”
Without hesitation, she turned her back on the three who were reluctant to see her go and climbed into the waiting carriage, the leather seat cool beneath her trembling hands.
“Are you certain you don’t wish to say any further goodbyes?” the baroness inquired, her eyes keen as a hawk’s.
“Yes. Thank you for your consideration,” Shailoh replied, her voice calm as still water though her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
The baroness tapped the driver’s window with her cane—a sound sharp as destiny’s knock.
“Off you go!”
As soon as the driver cracked the reins, the four horses kicked up dust like memories scattered to the wind, and the carriage departed from the familiar duke’s estate—leaving behind the mansion that had once been her beloved home.
