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Chapter 16
A Decision to Destroy
Because of the grim weather, darkness had fallen early over Greathill, casting an eerie atmosphere.
Diane, who had been staring down at Johann’s shoes, slowly lifted her gaze.
He hadn’t even spared a glance when the portrait had been hanging.
He really was a strange man. Of course, that was part of Johann Leopold’s charm.
She had no choice but to take drastic measures.
“It’s a painting by that artist.”
His well-shaped eyebrows rose, as if to ask, Who?
“Andreya Nikolai. The painter I mentioned before.”
The painter I mentioned before…
Johann furrowed his brow and stared at the spot where Olivia’s portrait once hung. In its place now hung the Duke of Edinburgh, whose dignified expression seemed to say, What an idiot.
“Ah. That artist.”
He vaguely recalled the name—just one of the many he’d dismissed, so long as it wasn’t Edgar Langaster Lancelot.
It had been about three months after their wedding. The prince had recommended the artist after clicking his tongue at the bare, historyless walls of the Leopold estate.
The painter had graduated top of his class at the Royal Academy of Art and had won the grand prize at the Salon. A skilled artist, apparently.
It hadn’t mattered who. Johann hated such bothersome affairs. So, he left everything to Maurice.
He was simply informed that he had commissioned three paintings and signed a contract allowing the painter to stay in a detached building on the estate for five months to complete them.
Johann turned his gaze from the wall, as if chasing the remnants of Olivia, and looked at his own portrait.
He recalled the face of the man who had painted him.
If memory served, the artist had a refined, delicate appearance—like someone who only understood art. Johann had judged him to be talented after seeing the completed work.
Five months in the detached house…
Ha! Johann sneered.
What a fool he had been.
“Those things.”
His eyes darted toward the paintings again, clearly irritated.
“Get rid of them.”
Without betraying a single emotion, Johann turned and headed up the stairs to his study.
The broad leaves of the ornamental tropical plant at the landing cast heavy shadows, as though trying to pull him back by the ankle.
“I love you.”
A wave of emptiness struck him.
His wife’s “I love you” might never have been meant for him at all.
A woman sold for money, trapped by a dirty scheme set by her grandfather. From Olivia’s perspective, Johann was just the buyer who had taken damaged goods for the sake of gaining a title.
There had never been a reason for her to love him.
Not long after the minor commotion about the portrait, Maurice summoned Diane Brook to his office.
“Please, have a seat.”
Is there anyone who can mask their expression completely? If there is, it might be Diane Brook, Maurice thought, watching her sit across from him.
Whether she realized she had overstepped or not, her brazen attitude—as if nothing had happened—was infuriating.
Even when the Duchess was present, she had always behaved like the true mistress of the house, which Maurice had found distasteful.
“I called you because I have a few things to confirm.”
“Please go ahead.”
“That day—the day of the lake incident.”
Diane looked surprised.
“That day? Why bring it up now?”
“Could you recount your activities that day, in order?”
Diane calmly erased her stiff expression and asked nonchalantly,
“I can, but… it’s a bit sudden. Did something happen?”
“The Duke requested it.”
“The Duke?”
Maurice nodded.
“That’s odd. Why would he be interested in that day, after all this time?”
Her gaze dropped slowly, as if reminiscing, but her heart was racing. In her mind’s eye, she saw the shadowy lakeside once more. The air had been heavy. The mist over the water damp and thick.
Olivia never knew. When Diane had seen the newspaper ad for a secretary at the Duke’s estate, she had already made her decision.
To utterly, completely destroy her.
“…It rained that morning.”
Diane began slowly.
“Because of a carriage accident on the wet roads, traffic was terrible, and I arrived about thirty minutes late. It was my first time being late since starting work at the estate, so I remember it clearly. But otherwise, it was a normal day. For the Duchess as well.”
She continued her account carefully, and Maurice took notes while occasionally glancing at her.
“When I arrived, there were two letters for the Duchess—one a casual note from the Count’s family, the other without a sender listed. I think that second one upset her.”
“Do you have any idea who it might’ve been from?”
“I do. But for the sake of the Duchess’s honor, please don’t ask. It’s just speculation on my part. My opinion doesn’t matter, does it?”
She was hinting at Olivia’s alleged lover. Maurice, quick-witted, would surely catch on.
“This wasn’t the first time, so I didn’t think too much of it.”
“Unsigned letters?”
“Yes. It had happened once or twice before.”
Diane had intentionally made it seem as if the letters were break-up notes from secret lovers. She was skilled at twisting any situation in her favor.
“She skipped lunch that day, so I brought her something. But she seemed to be crying, so I didn’t go in.”
“Was that letter preserved?”
“No. She burned it.”
“I see…”
Maurice trailed off, disappointed.
“She stayed in her room all afternoon. Later, she called me in to say she needed a new summer dress.”
“Was she alone?”
“With a maid.”
“Anything unusual?”
“She always had emotional ups and downs. Nothing seemed too strange. You know how she was.”
“The maid—was she the same one who later left with the Duchess?”
“Yes. Her name was Anne, I think.”
“What time did Madame Gabrielle arrive?”
“Around three. She showed the new catalog, the Duchess picked a dress, and Madame commented she looked thinner than before. She left before five, I think.”
“Hm,” Maurice hummed, tapping his pen against his temple.
“Then the incident occurred three hours later. What were you doing during that time?”
“As I said before, I was sorting receipts in the office. I left shortly before six.”
“Then you wouldn’t know what happened after that.”
“Unfortunately. I should have stayed…”
Diane furrowed her brows, as if blaming herself.
“I thought you usually stayed overnight when it rained—like the other day.”
“Normally, yes. But I had some urgent business at home that day.”
A short silence fell. Maurice reviewed his notebook. The deeper he dug, the more inconsistencies surfaced.
“Don’t you think it’s strange?”
Diane swallowed dryly and asked, trying to sound casual,
“What is?”
“That someone planning suicide would order a dress.”
It didn’t make sense to Maurice. Perhaps that’s what bothered the Duke, prompting him to start this investigation. And his doubts were valid.
“Maybe she wanted the dress, and the suicidal thoughts came later. The Duchess was hard to read.”
Her tone was subtly mocking, as if dismissing the matter entirely.
Right. This is exactly why I disliked this woman, Maurice reminded himself and continued his questioning.
“A few days after the incident, one of the maids quit. Do you know anything about her?”
One of the kitchen assistants who helped Mrs. Hannah.
“They say she ran off in the night. The other maids suspect she was pregnant. Isn’t that a common story?”
It wasn’t rare for servants to fall in love. If the man was married, such maids often disappeared overnight.
“Phew…”
Maurice let out a long sigh.
He had questioned the butler, the head maid, and now the Duchess’s secretary. None of them had provided any solid leads.
“You may go.”
Diane stood up. As she turned to leave, Maurice called out.
“Is it Delight?”
She turned back to look at him.
“The perfume.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
Maurice noticed the flicker in her composed mask.
“I chose the Duchess’s birthday gift. A department store clerk recommended it.”
“…”
“The Duke is a very busy man, after all.”
He offered a light smile.
Diane smiled in return, bowed, and left the office. She walked down the corridor with perfect posture and graceful steps.
Once inside her room, her face turned crimson with rage. Storming over to the vanity, she snatched up the blue perfume bottle and hurled it into the trash.
Madame Lauren barged in again, this time with the finished dress. It was around five o’clock, an hour before the ball.
“Good heavens! Yves Lauren?!”
Elaine exclaimed in awe.
The green dress lay elegantly atop the bed, its jeweled waist sparkling in the golden light of the setting sun.
Olivia, who had requested a simple silhouette with minimal exposure, looked at it with mild discomfort. Somehow, there had been a miscommunication with the designer.
“What are you doing? Hurry and get dressed. You’ll be late!”
Elaine, already dressed, gestured firmly to Marie and Anne.
“But…”
“Come now. Quickly.”
Elaine grabbed Olivia’s arm and passed her to Anne with a commanding presence.
A few moments later, Olivia emerged from the dressing room.
As expected.
Gasps of admiration echoed around the room. The dress was utterly perfect.
Bathed in golden sunlight, Olivia was radiant.
