Chapter 7
For young ladies of status comparable to Freya, clothing served its purpose once tailored to their bodies by a seamstress summoned to the estate; once the novelty faded, the garments were gifted to a maid or discarded at a charity gala.
Some found the very act of tallying the monetary value of their own worn clothes an insult.
Thus, Madam Pernel questioned Freya’s intentions in striking such a deal, one that defied the rigid conventions of the upper class.
‘Though that is surely not all there is to it.’
In truth, Madam Pernel’s question was a polite, roundabout way of refusing to do business with Freya.
It was a natural reaction. In Luthes, the capital of Grandcen, there was not a single woman who wished to be voluntarily associated with Freya Russell.
Perhaps it would have been different had she remained Freya Blanc.
But Freya Russell, who had chosen to be the wife of a commoner and abandoned her family name, was a laughingstock to the high nobility, a traitor to the average aristocrat, and a hypocrite to the bourgeoisie and commoners alike.
Following her marriage, the derogatory epithet of a woman obsessed with her husband spread throughout the empire. She was not only looked down upon by every imperial citizen, but she had even graced the pages of a newspaper in disgrace just last year.
Given this, the fact that Madam Pernel had chosen to show up rather than send a polite letter of refusal to Freya’s request meant she had shown her the utmost courtesy.
“I will be brief.”
Now, it was Freya’s turn to show her own.
“I intend to inherit the title within two years.”
At the sudden bombshell, Inès’s mouth fell open. Freya elegantly lifted her teacup, tilted it, and added, “And, as goes without saying, this is a secret.”
As Freya looked at her with a smile that masked the inner thoughts of a woman at least ten years her junior, one word crossed Inès’s mind: a crossroad.
She stood at a turning point. Jackpot, or financial ruin. Faced with only two options, she couldn’t react for a moment, her mind racing.
The declaration that Freya Russell would return to being Freya Blanc and inherit the title within two years. And the fact that she was proposing a deal of such magnitude.
‘She’s trying to build a support base among businesspeople.’
She was preparing for a power struggle. Should she take the hand offered?
Whatever this woman’s ultimate goal was, the moment she achieved it, those who supported her would have the next head of the Blanc Family as their patron. If Inès acted now, she would become a key contributor, someone who empowered Freya Blanc at her most vulnerable moment.
Conversely, if Freya failed, those who supported her would fall into the abyss alongside her.
This was not a simple investment. If she were not careful, she might become the laughingstock of the entire empire, never to recover.
Her internal debate halted at the sound of a cool, clear voice.
“You are planning a new method of garment production, aren’t you?”
“Th…!”
How? Inès, nearly forgetting her composure, managed to steady herself. “You… who are you? A fortune teller?”
“Is it important how I know?”
Seeing Freya’s nonchalance, Inès gritted her teeth.
“…It is important. Only I and my contracted seamstress know of that project. I have never spoken to you about it, and she is not one to talk… You have discovered information that should have been impossible to obtain.”
“Madam Pernel, they say walls have ears. There is no secret in this world that can be hidden forever. And right now, you would do better to take an interest in my proposal rather than dwell on such trivialities.”
Her business instincts screamed: *listen.*
“…Fine. Let’s hear it.”
The tone of Madam Pernel, who had maintained a posture of humble distance, shifted. It was a good sign; she had begun to view Freya not as a difficult, disgraced noblewoman, but as an equal partner.
Freya wore a triumphant smile and leaned in to whisper.
“It is nothing grand. I simply intend to reappear in society. Very actively. Fully enjoying the rights afforded to the only daughter of the Blanc Family.”
‘Actively.’ ‘Rights of the Blanc Family.’ Even before she finished her opening statement, Inès’s heart was pounding.
“I acknowledge your excellent business sense, Madam Pernel, but there must be realms that were difficult to enter with that alone.”
For instance, Versailles. The word drifted into her ears like a devil’s promise.
Inès gazed at the young, beautiful woman before her as if bewitched. Freya sat with perfect posture, staring directly at her, and spoke with a languid air of authority.
“As you know, Madam, no matter how much I roll in the mud, become a mess, or harbor flaws, I am still a Blanc.”
Who said Freya Blanc was a fool who cared for nothing but love?
Freya Blanc was a fox. An arrogant, cunning fox who knew exactly how to make herself shine.
With a smile that could bewitch anyone, she continued as if stating a fundamental law of nature.
“And within this empire, there is no one who dislikes white (Blanc).”
The truth of this was proven by the very fact that she had come to this estate on her own feet.
“What do you think of my proposal?”
Freya tilted her head, her expression bordering on innocent. Inès suppressed a dry laugh.
‘Has she been intentionally deceiving everyone until now?’
The thought was fleeting, countered by the memory of the scandal Freya had caused last year. But the confusion did not last long. Inès had cut her teeth in the business world; she knew how to recognize a shark when she saw one.
“One thing is certain,” Inès said, her smile sharpened by long experience. “I think I’m going to like the color white much more from now on.”
For a moment, their gazes locked. Each wore a meaningful smile.
It was Freya who broke the silence.
“Then, shall we go see the dresses?”
“That…”
Just as Inès rose, the drawing room door swung open without warning.
Mathilde strode in, leaving a visibly flustered Milla behind.
“Freya, you could have told me if you had a guest.”
Though she forced a calm tone, tiny beads of sweat dotted Mathilde’s forehead.
Sweat in this weather? As Freya imagined Mathilde’s panicked rush to the second floor, a spark of amusement lit within her. Perhaps that was why her voice sounded so generous.
“Mathilde, Madam Pernel didn’t come as a social guest, but to do business. I’m looking to dispose of some dresses I no longer wear.”
“Madam.”
Following the introduction, Madam Pernel gave a light, formal acknowledgment to Mathilde.
“Madam Pernel, we weren’t able to have a proper conversation at Madam Halévy’s salon last time, so I am pleased to have this opportunity.”
Mathilde glanced at Freya while mentioning the salon. Freya found the situation droll. Madam Pernel had clearly arrived before her; why had Mathilde shown up so late, and in such a way that made it obvious she hadn’t been invited?
Freya could not yet discern what Mathilde hoped to gain by interrupting, but a smile she couldn’t quite hide seeped into her gaze.
If Mathilde knew that she was actually grateful for the interruption, would she faint from shock?
Compared to the others Freya would have to face in the future, her mother-in-law was refreshingly transparent in her greed and envy.
“Freya, disposing of dresses? What on earth…!”
After her brief greeting, Mathilde had been about to vent her anger, but she caught herself after a sharp look from Madam Pernel and cleared her throat.
“Ahem. I’m… a bit taken aback. It would have been nice if you had given me a word in advance.”
Watching Mathilde act with such brazen hypocrisy, as if she hadn’t forgotten their previous conversation entirely, Freya responded with icy nonchalance.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I needed Mathilde’s permission to manage my own affairs.”
As overt hostility crept into her calm voice, Mathilde’s eyes widened, locking onto Freya’s gaze.