Chapter 4:
Her hands gripped the chair so tightly it seemed like it might break, trembling uncontrollably.
One of them had clearly left the room a while ago—the young lady—and the man who leaned in as if to kiss her was a knight from the ducal household.
Though she didn’t know his name exactly, Betty had seen his face often enough to recognize him instantly.
“What should I do? What do I…”
The best course of action was, obviously, to pretend she hadn’t seen anything.
Betty took a deep breath to calm herself.
Yes, anything that happened in this mansion—unless it was her business—was something to forget.
Like the fact that the young lady, who was promised to the Grand Duke, had a lover.
She just had to close her eyes to it, pretend she hadn’t seen it.
‘I didn’t see anything. I don’t know anything. I just finished the letter early and went back to my room.’
Betty repeated the words in her mind like a mantra, almost hypnotizing herself.
And as soon as she sealed the envelope, she hurried out of Lady Sharte’s room as quickly as possible.
Betty, who had barely slept that night, watched the young lady closely the next morning as she picked at her soup.
But Lady Sharte looked completely unbothered.
“…Where are Father and Brother?”
“Neither of them will be having breakfast.”
That was always the case.
Since coming to the mansion, Betty had almost never seen the Duke or the young master share a meal with the young lady, except at official events.
And even when they did cross paths, the conversations were short—nagging or orders.
“I don’t want to eat either.”
Vivian Sharte abruptly stood up, the chair screeching loudly.
Even though she tried to hide it, her face clearly showed disappointment and loneliness.
“…Tell the head chef. Let’s go on a picnic this afternoon.”
“Understood.”
The sudden declaration seemed odd.
Then it occurred to Betty—when the young lady left the mansion, one of the knights from the ducal family always accompanied her as escort.
‘Could it be that same knight from yesterday she wants as her escort?’
Still, there was at least one good thing about Lady Sharte being emotionally distant from her father and brother and instead seeking affection from her lover.
She had completely forgotten about the trivial matter of the letter meant for the Grand Duke.
“Does this dress look good? Or should I wear that one?”
“The weather is nice, so something bright might be fitting.”
The young lady soon started humming as she got dressed.
The letter was delivered exactly as Betty had sealed it—without the young lady even checking it.
The Grand Duke did not reply, just as he had said he wouldn’t.
Betty, though unsure why, found herself somewhat disappointed by his silence.
Meanwhile, the summer ball came and went without incident.
Though the ruby ring was ignored, the diamond necklace—clearly custom-made by a skilled jeweler—was chosen as a statement piece from among the Grand Duke’s many gifts.
The necklace adorned the young lady’s neck on the day of the ball, drawing everyone’s attention.
‘My goodness, His Grace must be truly devoted to the young lady.’
‘He might propose marriage as soon as he returns, don’t you think?’
The Duke subtly expressed his desire to expedite the marriage.
Lady Sharte, who had been smiling while wearing the sparkling diamonds, faintly frowned at those words.
Only Betty noticed.
Meanwhile, the Emperor, who attended the ball, called the Duke and Lady Sharte aside for a private meeting.
Through the Emperor, they learned why the Grand Duke hadn’t replied to the letter.
‘The Grand Duke was gravely injured. He’s much better now, so don’t worry, young lady.’
It had been confidential, so they hadn’t been informed earlier. Though he was recovering, it was best not to spread the news unnecessarily.
The only reason Betty knew about it at all was simple.
“He was injured. Not seriously.”
Lady Sharte had told her everything during the carriage ride home from the ball.
“Why is it that everyone only talks to me about the Grand Duke? Whatever it is, it always ends up being about him—him, him, him.”
She seemed annoyed that everyone only talked about how well-matched she and the Grand Duke were. Her grumbling continued into the next day.
Seizing a moment when her complaints subsided, Betty cautiously spoke.
“Young lady, wouldn’t it be good to send another letter wishing him a speedy recovery?”
It was a suggestion Betty never would have imagined making when she first wrote for her.
But she genuinely worried for the Grand Duke and, for the first time, offered to write a letter on her own initiative.
“What’s the point? Didn’t you hear His Majesty said he’s recovering? He’ll be fine.”
The young lady looked unusually sour. Still, Betty felt uneasy leaving it as it was and tried again.
“I just thought… the Duke might expect it.”
“…Yeah, you’re right. Father’s going to nag about it anyway, and I’d rather hear praise than scolding. Fine, just write something quickly.”
The young lady muttered with clear displeasure, then abruptly announced she was going for a walk in the garden and disappeared.
‘Isn’t she being a bit too careless?’
It was as if Lady Sharte wanted someone to notice her absence.
Maybe she longed so deeply for affection that she couldn’t focus on anything else.
“…The Grand Duke really is okay, right?”
Betty steadied her hand as it trembled slightly when she picked up her pen.
The Emperor himself had said he was fine. So Ian Daven must be okay.
That was the only way she could reassure herself.
“To His Grace, the Grand Duke Ian Daven,
I attended the ball yesterday and only then learned from His Majesty that you had suffered a serious injury.
I was so shocked to hear it.
It means you were already hurt when you sent those gifts, and yet I was completely unaware, living in blissful ignorance.
You must have thought I was such a frivolous, thoughtless person. I’m truly sorry.
I sincerely hope you’ve recovered well by now, and that by the time this letter reaches you, you’ll be fully healed…”
“This is…”
Half-sitting up in bed, Ian Daven was skimming through reports when he spotted a familiar crest among the documents.
A letter from Lady Sharte.
“The young lady sent a letter?”
“Yes.”
His response to the aide assisting him was indifferent.
But his hand, tearing open the envelope, betrayed a hint of urgency.
His aide, Cain, made a subtle expression.
Only he knew the not-so-secret fact that lately, Ian had been quietly anticipating letters from a certain someone.
“Seems His Majesty informed the Duke’s family of my injury.”
“Even if marriage is a given, isn’t that a bit much?”
“Roy was giving a gentle but firm message—marriage to a noblewoman who could compensate for my lacking lineage and noble standing is the best option.”
To the public, the relationship between Ian and Emperor Roy was strictly that of sovereign and vassal.
Privately, however, they were close friends.
When Roy was still a prince, Ian had saved his life multiple times.
And once Roy became emperor, the moment Ian returned from war with enough merit, Roy solidified his title as Grand Duke.
‘No matter how much I support you, I can’t help you build a foundation from scratch.’
Though Ian was a brilliant commander on the battlefield, one man’s abilities alone couldn’t support an entire ducal house.
Roy wanted Ian—the one person he trusted without question—to stand strong.
“At least the young lady seems like a good person. From her letters, you’d never guess she was that cold woman at the ball.”
“…Yeah.”
Ian brushed a calloused hand over the soft paper.
Unlike her usual neat handwriting, the letter was hastily scrawled, as if written in a rush.
Reading it stirred something in his heart.
Something akin to guilt surfaced. Perhaps it even showed on his face, because Cain asked:
“Is something wrong?”
“I feel bad that I unintentionally startled her.”
“You startled me, too! Just once—just that one time—you got injured in a battle I wasn’t present for. My heart nearly gave out.”
Cain, seeing an opportunity, launched into a tirade.
“And yet, you never said you’re sorry to me! Honestly, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say you’re sorry to anyone.”
“Cain.”
But Cain, who had served with him for years, didn’t stop, his complaints now flowing freely.
“…And lately, you’ve been so absorbed in reading letters, you barely pay any attention to your loyal aide. You’re going to wear that letter out.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Yes, it is! You even stopped mid-training and smiled to yourself! Do you know how terrifying that is? I know what’s going on, but the others thought you were about to introduce some brutal new drill.”
“I didn’t know training was so lax that you had time to notice my expressions. Since you brought it up, we can always increase the intensity.”
Cain quickly raised his hands in surrender, standing up.
“Oh dear, the tea’s gone cold. I’ll go fetch a fresh pot—”
“Cain.”
“I really don’t want extra training. And just for the record, even if you’re recovering well, intense sparring is still off-limits.”
“…Sorry.”
Cain and Ian went back a long way—just like Roy and Ian.
Which is why Ian wanted to show he appreciated his aide’s heartfelt concern.
Cain opened his mouth, closed it, then sighed and muttered.
“I don’t know what she wrote to you, but you’ve definitely softened.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. It’s a good thing. You need a little balance in your life. I won’t bother you anymore. Enjoy your letter.”
Once Cain left to get the tea, Ian turned his gaze back to the letter, deep in thought.
So far, the letters from Lady Sharte felt like they embodied a bright and lively person.
He often found himself picking up the letters again, re-reading them without realizing it.
“I need to finish this war before the year ends.”
For most of his men, the end of the war meant returning home to family.
For Ian Daven, it had always been just the end of a duty.
But for the first time, he looked forward to that end.
He wanted to meet the kind and sincere person behind these letters face-to-face and speak with her directly.
