49.
“A guest? But everyone who was supposed to arrive has already checked in.”
“That is….”
The butler leaned in, whispering discreetly into the Duke’s ear.
Freya quickly regained her composure, pulling her hand—which the Marquis had been holding—away with a casual grace, as if nothing had transpired. The Marquis merely let out a faint laugh and released her without protest.
After the Duke muttered under his breath, his expression darkening at the news, he issued a sharp command to the butler.
“…Show them in, and prepare another seat.”
The butler bowed and retreated. It was only moments before he returned, leading the new arrival into the dining hall.
Upon seeing the guest’s face, Freya was so startled she nearly jumped from her chair. The Duke, casting a sidelong, watchful glance at her, spoke with practiced indifference.
“My son-in-law has made time for us, despite his hectic business schedule. Everyone, greet him.”
“Thank you for the warm welcome, Your Grace, even though I arrived without notice.”
Max Russell offered a polite nod to the Duke, his face a mask of calm as he walked forward.
Taken aback by the unexpected appearance, the guests scrambled to maintain a façade of indifference, though their eyes glinted with sudden, sharp curiosity.
Max, naturally gravitating toward the empty seat beside Freya, stopped dead when he caught sight of Erle Tristan.
“It seems, unfortunately, that is my seat.”
Lake-blue eyes locked with sharp violet ones. After staring at Max for a long, heavy moment, the Marquis pulled his lips into a thin, tight smile and rose from his chair.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Russell.”
“And I didn’t expect to see you in a place like this, Marquis.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“Max, why are you here?”
After finishing a hasty dinner, Freya brought her husband upstairs. Max crossed his arms, his voice tinged with dissatisfaction.
“Did I come somewhere I’m not allowed to be?”
“Aren’t you busy with the company right now?”
He was busy. Freya continued, not waiting for a response, her expression genuinely perplexed.
“I thought my staying in Luthes would only feed your suspicions. That’s why I deliberately stepped away. You knew that, too. So why go to the trouble of….”
Why follow her? He had told himself he had a clear reason when he left Luthes, but looking at her now, he wasn’t sure if it was his true motive.
*Why does it… bother me so much that you are trying to distance yourself from me?*
As Freya had noted, the company was on the verge of total chaos, preparing for the aftermath of the 1.5 Sekt bill passing. Yet, Max hadn’t been able to stop his feet from carrying him to Blanc.
He had fed Auguste excuses about coordinating with the Duke, but the sound of her voice—the one that had begged him to trust her—kept echoing in his mind.
It wasn’t that he lacked trust. He couldn’t even explain the impulse to himself. He only knew that when he saw the Marquis’s face, he felt his arrival was justified.
“Why is the Marquis here?”
“I don’t know about that either….”
Freya, who had answered absentmindedly, felt her expression harden.
“I don’t know what you’ve been thinking since last time, but I have no intention of going to the Marquis. Never.”
Her eyes locked onto his, searching for acknowledgment of her sincerity. The wife asked, her tone a brittle mix of indignation, frustration, and confusion.
“Max, why on earth did you come here?”
Max, who had been brushing a stray lock of hair from her face out of habit, suddenly realized.
“To check.”
“Check what?”
*To see if anyone else is snatching away the sour grapes I can’t reach myself.*
✦ ✦ ✦
The summer at Blanc Castle, marked by two unexpected additions, settled into a routine sooner than anyone anticipated.
The guests who had hoped for a scandal were inwardly disappointed by the peaceful, uneventful passing of the days.
However, they did arrive at one shared conclusion: the rumors of the Russell couple’s poor relationship were absolute nonsense.
As if the tension at that first dinner had been a collective hallucination, from the very next day, the pair was inseparable, showing off an enviable intimacy everywhere they went.
Watching the Russells sit beneath a tree some distance away, a noblewoman remarked with a feigned air of indifference.
“Aren’t they tired of being stuck together like that?”
“It’s truly something. To see them getting along so well after all the chaos last winter….”
“Ah, you must not have been in the capital, so you haven’t heard. Not long ago at the Russell salon….”
Those nobles without the wealth to maintain a home in Luthes were consistently in the dark about capital news.
Viscount Ortoli, an unexpected guest at Blanc Castle this year, was eager to capitalize on the rumors circulating in the city. At first, he had found it uncomfortable being trapped among the wives, but he soon decided it was for the best.
While he had successfully purchased a title among the new nobility by donating a fortune to the Emperor, the established social circles were not nearly as forgiving as the Imperial family. There was so much to learn—from the correct gait and gesture to the nuances of aristocratic speech.
Still, the hardship felt worth it. He had even received a secret request from the Duke to bring the Marquis of Tristan to the castle. Being in the Duke’s favor, the true power holder of the Empire, was a golden opportunity. But….
‘Damn those wretched nobles.’
The Viscount, conveniently forgetting that he was now one of them, grumbled inwardly.
The men could think of nothing but hunting and horseback riding, refusing to emerge from the forest, while the women spent their time exchanging slander. If he wanted to build a profitable connection, he should be in that forest right now.
But for him—who could barely mimic riding or shooting—being forced to handle a rifle on horseback was no different than expecting a newborn to run.
So, he had no choice but to satisfy himself by keeping the women entertained with his “exclusive” capital gossip.
*Bang!*
The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed from the woods. All heads turned toward the sound.
“I don’t understand why men love hunting so much.”
“I know. It’s dangerous, barbaric, and quite unsanitary. I don’t know what they see in it, doing it every single day….”
“In that regard, it must be nice for the Viscountess Ortoli and Lady Blanc. Their husbands are quite gentle and affectionate.”
The Viscount, who had been busy consoling himself, felt his brow furrow tightly. No matter his background, how could they dare compare him to a mere commoner!
Unaware of how she was piercing the Viscount’s pride, the woman continued to twist the knife.
“Seeing this, perhaps marrying a commoner isn’t so bad. Instead of dangerously roaming the woods and shooting, they spend their time here with their wives. Don’t you think?”
There was no doubt. The woman was mocking him. And looking around, the others wore the same thin, disparaging smirks.
They dared to put on airs as “old nobility” when they couldn’t even afford a house in the capital?
The corners of the Viscount’s mouth trembled as he forced a smile.
“It is true that I am a gentle and affectionate man, but one must remember, a man is still a man. Since the ladies seem bored, how about I show you some target practice?”
Viscount Ortoli’s gaze shifted toward the couple sitting intimately on the grass.
“After all, I happen to have a suitable opponent for a match.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Sitting on a picnic mat beneath a large linden tree, Freya felt the cool breeze brush against her cheeks.
Lifting her head to enjoy the wind, her eyes fell upon the lake bordering the grassy field.
“Reading a book even while out on a picnic?”
At the sound of his voice, laced with mild dissatisfaction, Freya laughed softly and closed her book.
“It’s… a habit. In the past, the only moments I could truly escape the castle walls were when I was reading or when I was with you.”
She met his clear, blue eyes, feigning a touch of playfulness.
“Certainly. Reading a book doesn’t exactly look like a couple getting along.”
“That’s what I think, too.”
Max, who had been lying with his head resting on his hands, rose halfway and reached out toward her. He tucked a stray, fluttering lock of hair behind her ear.
Just like at the Imperial Ball, they were playing the part of the affectionate couple perfectly. Freya lowered her eyes, blushing at his touch.
“How long do you intend to stay?”
“Until I can confirm.”
Freya couldn’t fathom her husband, who repeated the same answer for the nth day in a row.
“Max. You know, if I were really plotting something with my father, it wouldn’t matter where we were.”
I suppose so. Max’s hand moved, trailing through her hair like silk.
“So what I mean is, there is no need for you to be here… are you even listening to me?”
“Freya.”
“…Why?”
From the very day he first met her, his life had been swayed by her will. Even now, with a divorce pending.
He had longed for the moment of escape, thought he was nearly there, but every time he regained his senses, he found himself dragged back to her side.
*As if I’m some kind of tamed dog.*
Letting out a dry, self-deprecating laugh, Max rose fully.
Under the shade of the tree, his sturdy frame leaned toward her, whispering near her ear as if to kiss her.
“You should be careful with such talk. We have eyes watching us, you know.”
Max’s cool eyes, his arms wrapped around her as if shielding her from view, were locked onto Viscount Ortoli, who was approaching them with an arrogant, forced stride.
“Ahem.”
What a shameless sight in the middle of the day. The Viscount clicked his tongue inwardly at the couple who lacked all sense of propriety. However, as soon as Freya turned to look, he plastered a refined, oily smile on his lips.
“Madam Russell, the weather is fine and you seem a bit bored, so would you mind if we gentlemen had a target shooting match?”
The intention behind asking her for permission—ignoring Max entirely—was too transparent. The faint blush on Freya’s face quickly vanished, replaced by a guarded coldness.