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Chapter 18
War of the Roses
The atmosphere of the ball had reached its peak.
Olivia and Elaine were soon surrounded by gentlemen holding champagne glasses.
Elaine chatted with ease, occasionally bursting into laughter, while Olivia quietly listened to their stories, offering a polite smile now and then.
Just as the well-mannered gentlemen were about to express their curiosity about Duke Johann Leopold’s former wife, the background music shifted into a dance tune.
Elaine accepted a dance invitation from one of the men she had been talking with.
“Would you care for a dance?”
“I shouldn’t have worn these new shoes.”
Using her sore feet as an excuse, Olivia declined the string of dance offers and stood awkwardly alone for a moment before deciding to head to the cocktail table.
Waiting for Elaine at the bar seemed less awkward.
As Olivia passed the brightly lit statues and walked beneath a large tree, a group of women approached and surrounded her.
“Do you come to these parties often? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
A striking woman with red hair spoke. Though her tone was friendly, her eyes were anything but.
Among the women standing a step behind her, Olivia recognized a few familiar faces.
“This is my first time,” Olivia replied with a soft smile, searching her memory. The woman wasn’t someone she knew.
“I figured as much. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be wearing that necklace.”
At the puzzling remark, Olivia instinctively touched her necklace.
“Why would you say that? And—may I ask who you are?”
Goodness. How rude. Someone nearby clicked their tongue as if in disbelief.
“Mind your manners. You’re speaking to Her Highness, Princess Amblin of Britt.”
Why was the Princess of Britt here…?
Olivia’s expression flickered with confusion before she offered a polite bow.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Blanchet. I’ve only heard rumors—this is the first time we’ve met.”
The Princess looked at Olivia kindly, but her gaze soon returned to the necklace.
“I wore that last year. I didn’t expect to see it again so soon.”
“Ah!”
Only then did Olivia understand the hostile stares and why a foreign princess had taken an interest in her.
“Have I committed a breach of etiquette?”
Olivia asked sincerely.
“It’s an unspoken rule. An unwritten tradition out of respect for others.”
The implication was clear: Olivia had disrespected a royal princess. Her eyes were cold and composed.
The aristocratic world, it seemed, had its own intricate rules. Though she didn’t fully understand them, Olivia decided to honor their customs.
“I wasn’t aware. I apologize if I offended you.”
By now, not only the ladies who had recognized the necklace but also their partners and other onlookers had gathered around.
“No need to apologize, Miss Blanchet. It’s a world where anything can be yours—if you have the money.”
With graceful composure, the princess continued.
“But wearing the same necklace doesn’t make us the same.”
With those words, the princess drew a clear line between her noble birth and Olivia’s lowly illegitimacy.
Princess Amblin had attended the Lancelot Hotel’s Rose Ball every year, both before and after her loveless marriage to Edgar.
The red dress she first wore had become her signature. Since then, red had been hers alone.
Last year, when she wore the Anne Gilbert Collection, Edgar had kissed her hand and, for the first time since their reunion, complimented her:
“It suits you well.”
Before this year’s ball, Amblin had summoned Madame Loren to finalize her look.
“I’ll wear Gilbert again this year.”
She had planned to make both the legendary Anne Gilbert jewelry and the color red her personal trademarks.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but someone has already reserved it.”
“Even if I’m requesting it myself?”
“My apologies, Princess.”
“Who is it?”
After a long pause, Madame Loren replied with an unexpected name:
Edgar Lanchester Lancelot.
She hadn’t expected that name at all.
In that moment, Amblin was convinced.
He did it for me.
It couldn’t be anyone else. Edgar had no official partner and wasn’t the type to gift jewelry to scandalous flings.
Amblin had chosen a modest red dress to complement the necklace Edgar would give her, accessorizing with only a small pearl tiara. But then—
He had betrayed her. The tender skin beneath her eyes twitched in anger.
“Did your new lover give you that necklace?”
The woman before her was stunning—so much so that the necklace faded into the background. That made it even harder to endure.
“…Excuse me?”
Olivia was taken aback.
“It’s a difficult piece to rent. Who is he? This incredible lover of yours?”
The spectators murmured.
Olivia now fully understood—the princess intended to humiliate her. She met the attack calmly.
“I don’t have a lover yet, Your Highness. I was looking forward to the ball, but I haven’t found the right one.”
The princess’s brow furrowed, but Olivia didn’t flinch.
“The necklace was chosen by Madame Loren. A maid recommended the designer, and I simply appreciated her design philosophy.”
Looking straight at the princess, Olivia gave a radiant smile.
Lady Carol and the other noblewomen of Rondo went pale.
The Olivia Blanchet who once shrank under malice was no longer. The illegitimate child who hid in the shadows to cry had vanished.
What on earth happened to change her so much?
The waltz began again, but no one left the scene.
Those who knew Olivia’s past silently judged the winner of this battle sparked by a necklace.
On that May night, amid the heady scent of roses, the ball took an unexpected turn.
Princess Amblin’s once serene eyes cracked.
Liar.
Madame Loren wouldn’t lie, so the one being untruthful must be Olivia Blanchet.
And that smile—clearly meant to mock her.
Amblin felt utterly humiliated.
Fury welled up as her fingers curled tightly. The veins on her clenched hand stood out.
The crowd’s murmurs swelled again as a tall man, elegantly dressed in black eveningwear, approached.
It was Edgar Lanchester Lancelot.
In the instant of his arrival, Amblin forgot Olivia’s existence and called out instinctively with a smile.
“Ed.”
Edgar had been greeting guests when the rumor reached him—from the rose garden to the gazebo: the Princess of Britt and the former Duchess of Leopold had clashed.
With a slight frown, Edgar decided he couldn’t ignore it.
He walked slowly toward the scene, eyes fixed on Amblin.
She looked at him with anticipation, and he nearly scoffed.
Once beautiful lovers, their relationship had ended with her marriage. Now that she was divorced, pretending they had rekindled something was a nuisance to him.
“It’s an honor to have you with us, Your Highness,”
He bowed politely, then gave Olivia a quick glance.
If she had any sense, she would quietly leave.
Under the rosy lights of the garden’s stained-glass lanterns, all eyes were now on Edgar and Princess Amblin.
The violin melody riding the cool breeze felt romantic to Amblin—it was Edgar’s magic.
Suppressing her nervousness, she reached out her hand.
Edgar, out of habit, kissed her hand.
Rising, he turned to where Olivia had stood—but only darkness remained.
He smiled. And the princess mistook that smile as meant for her.
Meanwhile, Olivia, having walked quite a distance to find solitude, sat on a bench and tried to calm her breath.
Though there were no lanterns in the dome-shaped white marble pergola, the evenly spaced lampposts lit the area sufficiently.
As tension ebbed, pain flared in her heel. She had walked too much.
She slipped off her shoes with a grimace.
Her heel was scraped and lightly bleeding. She took a handkerchief from her clutch and gently pressed it to the wound, then looked up.
She could still see the glowing lights of the ball. But she couldn’t return—not with this necklace around her neck.
She at least needed to tell Miss Elaine she was leaving, but Elaine was nowhere in sight.
A wave of exhaustion washed over her.
With a soft sigh, Olivia peeled the handkerchief from her now dry wound and hugged her knees, burying her face in her arms.
The cool night breeze rustled the chiffon sleeves of her dress and brushed her skin. Olivia ran her hand down her slender arm.
Madame Loren.
She repeated the name in her mind.
Last year’s client was the Princess of Britt. So this couldn’t have been a mistake. How could such an error happen? It didn’t make sense.
Yet Madame Loren had no reason to wrong her. She could’ve ignored the illegitimate daughter’s request outright.
She should’ve been angry—but instead, she felt bitter.
The distant sounds of music and laughter seemed to belong to another world.
She longed to return to her room and lie down in her soft bed. If she just fell asleep, maybe this night would pass.
That’s when deliberate footsteps echoed down the stone path.
Startled, Olivia shot up.
Climbing the steps with leisurely grace was none other than—
Edgar Lanchester Lancelot.
