21.
The Duke, dressed in a sharp black frock coat and bow tie, bore little resemblance to Freya.
His light brown hair, bordering on blonde and threaded with the first faint traces of white, and his dark brown eyes were relics of a monarchical era that would never return. Even for a man with “blue blood” coursing through his veins, his face was unnaturally pale, and the arrogance he had carefully cultivated over long years was etched as a deep, permanent furrow between his brows.
“Father.”
Freya approached the Duke with practiced ease, brushing her cheek against his in a fleeting gesture of affection.
“Russell, glad you could make it as well.”
Once the flawless greeting between father and daughter concluded, the Duke bestowed the same smile upon Max. A shameless hypocrite. Judging him silently, Max mirrored the expression with a smile just as insincere.
“Your Excellency, it has been a long time.”
“Let’s not stand here. Let’s head up.”
The Jockey Club was a strictly forbidden zone for women, but at this moment, no one dared to voice a complaint against the three of them.
Even if the Duke had not been one of the founding members, the situation would likely have been no different. At this point, Duke Blanc was the most powerful figure in the empire, save for the Imperial Palace itself.
And he, Max, was destined to be toyed with, exploited, and finally discarded by that very power.
Ever since that day he had been foolish enough to reach out to the little princess of Blanc Castle.
“Child, do you think white suits you?”
Fifteen years ago, the Duke had asked. Without even understanding the implication, Max instinctively realized what his answer had to be. The look on the Duke’s face had been too terrifying.
“No, Your Excellency.”
“…You are a smart child, not at all like your father.”
Not long after that, he became the princess’s fiancé. Inside the carriage on the way back, his father had said:
“Max, this is a heaven-sent opportunity. Stick close to that naive princess. I will take care of the rest.”
And so, Max became the princess’s playmate, wearing the label of “fiancé.” For fifteen years, he had known the Duke as long as he had known Freya.
“I hear you visited the salon exhibition some time ago.”
“Ah, yes. I purchased a painting as well.”
“I am glad to hear you are doing well.”
“Haha, of course. I’ve even been visiting Max’s office lately.”
“Is that so? That’s unexpected. What business do you have there?”
“What could I possibly do? I’m just there to watch my husband work.”
Even he, who could usually manage his expressions with ease, found the exchange between the father and daughter bizarre.
Six months ago, when news articles about Freya flooded the papers day after day, the Duke had made his stance known by taking absolutely no action.
*Duke Blanc has finally abandoned his mad daughter.*
Even when people who were convinced of this began to drive Freya into a corner, the Duke remained silent.
When Freya eventually locked herself away, not a single letter of concern arrived from the Blanc mansion. For reasons unknown, she, too, had not reached out to the family first.
Just like that. Freya Blanc, abandoned by her own blood, had withered away inside the Russell mansion, waiting for him—the man who had effectively stopped visiting after the scandal—to return.
…And yet, these two were conversing as if that six-month void had never existed.
To be precise, it was like two rivals searching for weaknesses, hiding their true colors behind smiles while prodding one another with barbed words.
He had expected that attending this meeting might reveal something, and it seemed his suspicion was correct. But the more Max watched, the more his confusion deepened.
✦ ✦ ✦
If his feelings toward Erle Tristan were clear, unwavering hostility, Freya’s feelings toward her father were far more complex.
If Max Russell was a son who, fortunately, took after nothing but his handsome appearance from a father who had nothing else to show for himself, Freya Blanc was a daughter of whom people said one could not deceive the bloodline, even if she didn’t look like him in the slightest.
Especially in love, they resembled each other like reflections in a mirror.
And so, just as her love had driven Max to his death, her father’s love had driven her to hers.
But such a tragedy would not happen again. Not to Max, not to her, and not to her father.
Freya tilted her head slightly and said to Duke Blanc:
“Oh, I almost forgot. I intend to attend the Imperial Ball this year. I trust I may ask you for the invitation, Father?”
Invitations to the Imperial Ball did not arrive at the Russell residence. Unless one held a seat in Parliament, it was impossible for a commoner—not a noble—to receive one.
Of course, this was a trivial fact to this father and daughter. In any case, Freya Russell could return to Blanc whenever she pleased.
Even so, instead of readily agreeing, Duke Blanc answered her question with one of his own.
“…The Imperial Ball. Are you saying you wish to step out into high society?”
“I am 22 years old now, after all. I cannot act like a reckless child forever.”
“It is well enough to go. But with people’s eyes on you… I think next year would be a more suitable time.”
It was the first time since the three began their conversation that there was an allusion to the events of six months ago, but Freya shook her head lightly, wearing an expression that suggested she knew nothing.
“No. I like this year, Father.”
Implicitly, the history of a woman who had not yet debuted was being treated as if it had never happened.
It could never be entirely erased; people would whisper behind closed doors, but it was a long-standing custom of high society to remain silent regarding scandals that occurred before one’s debut.
For example, if a woman who married without having debuted, like Freya, were to enter society after a divorce or bereavement, etiquette dictated that she be treated as an unmarried woman.
Let alone if it were whispered that the marriage had never even been consummated….
Freya had once thought she had given up her debut on her own. But that was her own delusion.
It was only after her husband died and she saw the proposals pouring into Blanc Castle that she realized her father’s intent.
That although he had allowed the marriage because of her stubbornness, her father had never for a single moment acknowledged them as a married couple.
And that to every other noble family except her, Freya Blanc was still a pure “maiden.”
The five years that had been a living hell vanished without a trace. In that way, Freya lost the only time that had sustained her after her husband’s death.
In this, her final spring at the age of 22, Freya decided to protect the traces that the marriage of the atrocious Max Russell and Freya Russell would leave behind. Even if it had been nothing but pain, she would ensure that everyone remembered they were once a couple who had sworn vows before God.
“I like this year, Father.”
Freya repeated, and,
“…If that is what you wish, then so be it. I shall have the invitation sent to the Russell residence.”
As he always had, the father granted Freya’s wish.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I have matters to discuss with Russell, so leave us for a moment.”
After the Duke sent Freya away, he took a cigar from a display case.
“Would you like one?”
“No, thank you.”
When Max declined, the Duke didn’t press him further; he cut the cigar and lit it with practiced motions before speaking.
“You and Freya don’t seem to be on bad terms.”
His tone was distinctly different from when he was with his daughter.
“Surely you haven’t forgotten our agreement.”
Smoke blew directly into Max’s face. More than the insulting demeanor, it was the reprimand from the Duke’s lips that scraped at his nerves.
That godforsaken agreement. His hand, hidden beneath the table, tightened. Max’s jaw hardened as he gritted his teeth.
Duke Blanc was a piece of human trash, just like his own father, beyond all salvation. What kind of father would make such a deal regarding his own daughter’s marriage?
Of course, he, the one who had accepted that deal, was also a piece of trash like no other in this world.
“The princess is… as promised, still pure.”
*Maintain the marriage until the princess is tired of him. Do not consummate the marriage.*
These were the conditions of the deal five years ago that allowed him to inherit a steel mill on the brink of collapse and a canal project accused of fraud.
He should have just gone to prison back then.
If he had known what the Duke’s true plan was, he would have forgotten the deal and walked through the prison gates himself.
But regret always arrived too late. The only way left for him now was to escape this inhuman life, even if only now.
“Why are you going to the office? There is no need to indulge such whims.”
At the Duke’s question, Max felt as if he had been doused in ice water, his senses suddenly snapping into focus.