33.
“Could it be that getting married in May was the problem after all?”
“There’s a reason why others avoid it, isn’t there? To be so insistent on May… if you’ve truly been turned away by the Holy Mother, then this is a grave matter indeed.”
The exchange was masked by a thin veneer of concern, but it was nothing more than petty, biting mockery.
“As guests, isn’t it a bit impolite to speak so freely about the Russell couple’s affairs?”
The pointed remark landed like a bucket of ice water. The women arched their brows, shifting their collective gaze toward a single point. There, at the edge of the circle, sat a mademoiselle peering through pince-nez glasses.
“Louise.”
Beside her, a woman—clearly her mother—tried to restrain her. Madam Rossignol chided her gently, her tone smooth as silk, as if soothing a difficult child.
“Mademoiselle Solnie, we are merely speaking out of concern. Don’t misunderstand. Today is a day for clearing up grievances, isn’t it? Isn’t that right, Madam Russell?”
“…Of course.”
Mathilde Russell, who had been listening, smiled bitterly and stole a glance at the young woman. She was certain she was part of Madam Rossignol’s party. The Solnie family had even been involved in the incident last winter. Why, then, was this girl acting with such blatant tactlessness?
Regardless, the mademoiselle did not cease her commentary.
“If so, can everyone here repeat what you just said in front of the Lady Blanc?”
“Louise!”
Just as Madam Solnie panicked, scrambling to cover her daughter’s mouth, a clear, resonant voice cut through the air.
“Yes, by all means, try saying it in front of me. I am curious what the conversation is about myself.”
The ladies startled, their heads whipping around. Freya stood there in a wine-colored bustle dress, a white ribbon knotted at her throat. She looked down at them, a cold smile playing on her lips.
“Freya, come in.”
Mathilde feigned composure, though she was visibly flustered. She had deliberately told her daughter-in-law a later start time, hoping Freya would walk into a cloud of malicious gossip. Everything had been going to plan—until the girl from the Solnie family decided to champion the Lady Blanc.
She wanted to kick the mother and daughter out, but she couldn’t afford to show her hand just yet.
“Since you put it that way, it’s as if we were saying something we shouldn’t. Why don’t you take a seat first?”
With a forced smile, Mathilde gestured to an empty chair, set pointedly apart from the table. It looked like a seat for an uninvited guest, or perhaps a place for a sinner to stand before a row of judges.
Freya did not move to sit. Instead, she tilted her head.
“That’s strange. I was certain I came here for a salon. It’s too shabby to be a salon, yet too grand to be a mere tea time.”
“Freya, what a rude thing to say in front of guests.”
Mathilde scolded her, but Freya ignored the remark, letting her eyes linger on each woman at the table.
“Besides, the invited guests all seem to have… quite a few grievances against me, don’t they?”
Her gaze drifted down the table, finally settling on a woman in her early thirties who exuded a sultry, decadent beauty. Her flame-red hair curled around a face of striking, aristocratic charm.
Ava Rossignol. The old nightmare had walked right into her garden.
“Madam Rossignol.”
With her eyes fixed on the woman, Freya pulled out the chair and sat down, folding her hands neatly.
“Shall we continue? That conversation.”
Madam Rossignol met Freya’s blatant stare, the corner of her mouth curling upward.
“We were just saying that a couple married for five years must be deeply troubled by the lack of children. Is that something we aren’t allowed to say?”
“So, Madam Rossignol is worried about the state of our marriage.”
“What’s wrong with that? Am I not allowed to worry about Max Russell?”
Madam Rossignol lifted her teacup and sneered.
“Are you planning to kidnap me again because of that? Or perhaps you’ll resort to threats?”
The ladies around her laughed, their derision open and sharp.
“Surely not. No matter how bad things get, you wouldn’t pull such a frightening stunt again, would you? Especially when there are several witnesses here today.”
“Madam, you never know. She is someone who lives obsessively for her husband, after all.”
Mathilde allowed herself a satisfied smile. No matter how much a person changed, the Lady Blanc couldn’t possibly handle this. This was the very incident that had kept her prisoner in her own bedroom, unable to step outside for months. The Lady Blanc had been a trembling, pathetic mess whenever that day was mentioned.
Being surrounded by her supposed victim and a circle of critics—surely, this was her most agonizing moment.
Mathilde watched, waiting for the crack in her facade. But… why was she so composed?
Freya sat, tapping her fingers against the clasp of her handbag. The steady rhythm, *tap, tap*, sent a strange, taut tension through the garden.
“It’s truly a strange thing, how the world works,” Freya’s voice rippled through the quiet. “Bad rumors spread in the blink of an eye, while the truth crawls along like a snail.”
“…What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means exactly what I’ve said before: I never intended to kidnap you, Madam Rossignol, nor did I threaten the other ladies.”
Madam Rossignol scoffed.
“Ha, to say such a thing in front of the victim herself.”
“The victim.” Freya echoed the word with a faint smile. “Yes, well, this works out perfectly. Since the setting is prepared, let me ask you: Madam Rossignol, why did you claim back then that I was trying to kidnap you?”
“Is that something to say to someone who was nearly kidnapped? That is something you would know better than I, Madam. I, too, shall ask: what were you planning to do to me after kidnapping me back then?”
In the face of Madam Rossignol’s shamelessness, Freya tilted her head with an air of innocence.
“You didn’t even board my carriage. I asked you to talk, you refused, and I let you go. So where does this ‘kidnapping’ come from?”
“It’s useless to try and change your story now. You tried to force me into your carriage, and I desperately resisted. That is what I experienced that day.”
Freya nodded.
“I suppose, since half a year has passed, it’s too late to overturn the story that was established back then. However, you know, half a year is a long time. Long enough for new events to occur, wouldn’t you say?”
The Lady Blanc’s tone was dangerously ominous, but Madam Rossignol remained dismissive.
“If you are talking about the things you’ve been doing in the meantime, I am well aware. I hear you are still fretting because you cannot win the heart of Monsieur Russell? It’s pathetic. Being unable to give up on the impossible and clinging to it. It makes you look like a fool.”
*Why don’t you just give up already?* As Madam Rossignol delivered the words, Freya gave a short, bitter laugh. It was not directed at herself.
“Ah, was that the reason?”
“…What is?”
“Did you feel foolish and pathetic for clinging to someone who wouldn’t give you his heart? And so, you took it out on me?”
“What kind of… what an absurd thing to say!”
“Back then, I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t meet me, or why you would frame me. I was just desperate and afraid. I couldn’t think of anything else. But thinking about it now, it’s like a thief screaming ‘thief!’ while wearing a burning hat.”
A sneer etched onto Freya’s face.
“The other ladies happily accepted my proposals because they lacked nothing. But you were different. I didn’t know the reason then, but now I see it clearly. Madam Rossignol, you actually held feelings for my husband back then, didn’t you?”
“It is you who is framing me right now!”
Madam Rossignol surged to her feet.
“That I was clinging to your husband? Have you forgotten that I am a woman with a husband of my own? If you insult me any further, I will not let it slide this time…”
Freya cut her off with a flat, cold tone.
“You’re in the middle of divorce proceedings, aren’t you?”
“…What?”
Stunned by the abrupt statement, Madam Rossignol’s face turned bright red.
Freya offered a calm clarification for the benefit of the table.
“Madam Rossignol, you were in the middle of divorce proceedings when you were eyeing my husband, when I was trying so hard to meet you, and even when you turned me into a kidnapper. And you are still in the middle of them now.”
“H-how did you find out about that…!”
Their divorce was being conducted in total secrecy. No one, not even their own parents, knew. How had this naive Lady Blanc unearthed the truth?