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Chapter 36
It had been something she’d made up on the spot, but in short, it was a way of saying thank you—that thanks to his meddling, a problem that hadn’t been going anywhere had finally been resolved.
The eyes of the Countess of Bryce, who had suddenly found herself reduced to a mere stepping-stone, went pale around the edges.
Helena smiled brightly and lightly pointed in Benjamin’s direction.
“Besides, seeing as the castle’s been cleaned up so nicely, that person over there seems pleased too.”
Only then did the Countess of Bryce notice Benjamin, and her face turned as though her eyes might pop right out.
Benjamin, apparently having recovered his mood somewhat, was mingling with the southern nobles, conversing with his usual charming, crooked smile.
Among the so-so nobles, Benjamin—with his tall stature and sculpted good looks—stood out unmistakably, like a crane among chickens.
Seeing the Countess of Bryce’s expression, Helena laughed inwardly.
‘He’s a lunatic who’s completely lost his marbles on the inside, but on the outside he’s not easy on the eyes. Might as well make use of him at times like this.’
Letting out a long, sweet sigh, Helena spoke.
“I’m happy since my honey is happy. I’ll think of this as a small gift from you, Countess Bryce, for the harmony of our marriage.”
Marital harmony.
At those words, the wine in the Countess of Bryce’s glass sloshed as though it were about to spill over.
Seeing her expression, Helena smiled sweetly and continued.
“Marital relationships are important, you know. Once they go wrong, it’s hard to fix them. Come to think of it, I heard of a man who kept two mistresses in his castle even though his wife was perfectly alive and well, with both eyes wide open. Can you believe that?”
At her words, the Countess of Bryce looked as though she might truly faint.
“H-how… how could that possibly…?”
Helena clicked her tongue inwardly.
Somehow she’d suspected as much—apparently the story Meriel Russell had mentioned in passing had been about the Bryce household.
Some gourmet once said something like this:
“Tell me what you eat, and I’ll tell you what kind of person you are.”
If so, Helena—who had grown up steeped in high society—would say this instead:
“Tell me what kind of gossip you spread, and I’ll tell you what kind of person you are.”
She had seen it countless times: when people spoke ill of others, they used their own complexes and inferiority as ingredients.
If she had to give an example, there was Uncle Plon, who constantly harped on about contributing to the family and chipped away at his young nephews’ self-esteem at every opportunity.
Plon’s older brother—Helena’s father, Adrian Winston—might not have been a once-in-a-generation prodigy, but he was widely acknowledged as capable in many areas and a man of excellent character.
Living his entire life in Adrian’s shadow, constantly compared to him and steadily accumulating an inferiority complex, Uncle Plon eventually became a bitter, middle-aged man who tore others down and crushed their self-worth—just like those who had once tormented him.
Likewise, the Countess of Bryce—who had come to another household’s banquet and seized upon the couple’s marital harmony as her lone point of attack—seemed to have her greatest complex rooted in her relationship with her husband.
‘I’d like to tease her a bit more, but at this rate she might start crying.’
Helena patted the Countess of Bryce on the shoulder and said,
“My lady, you don’t look well. Shall I have someone show you to the lounge?”
“I—I—I’m f-f-fine.”
The Countess of Bryce replied, her whole body trembling like a leaf caught in a gale.
“I-I-I’ll excuse myself now.”
“Oh dear, you don’t look well at all. Yes, please do.”
Helena fluttered her hand at the back of the Countess of Bryce’s head as she staggered away.
‘Honestly, why did you have to mess with me?’
Helena bore no particular grudge against her, but remembering the unnecessary trouble she’d gone through because of her, it felt like a waste to let her go so easily.
‘Let’s hit her just once more.’
Spinning around, Helena delivered the final blow.
“Honey—!”
At her cheerful voice, the Countess of Bryce stumbled, her knees buckling, while Benjamin looked as though the god of death had just called his name.
Helena offered Benjamin the wine she had carefully chosen.
“Honey, this is the wine I picked. Do try it.”
Benjamin accepted the glass with a dubious expression, glanced around at the others, and whispered quietly.
“What is this?”
“Wine.”
“I meant besides that.”
Helena beamed.
“Oh—honey?”
At her words, Benjamin’s face went pale—then bluish.
“What is it?”
“What do you mean, what? I’m calling you honey because you’re my honey.”
Helena’s green eyes sparkled with playful malice more than ever.
“You should call me that too.”
By contrast, Benjamin’s face was utterly drained of color.
Looking completely at a loss, he first gulped down the wine in his hand as though it were cold water.
The low chuckles of the surrounding people, amused by his flustered expression and stiff movements, reached his ears.
“Oh my, how adorable…”
“Newlyweds really are something.”
“Honey, it reminds me of when we got married.”
Benjamin wanted to shout for them all to shut up and get lost. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.
As though his lips had been glued shut, he finally forced them apart.
“H-hu…”
His jaw trembling, Helena watched him spin in place with a look that said she was enjoying this to death—truly the very embodiment of a femme fatale leading a man to ruin.
“…ny.”
Those watching them with affectionate eyes broke into happy smiles and light applause.
“Ohohoho!”
As Helena laughed gaily, she heard Benjamin muttering under his breath.
“…comb.”
She assumed it was a groan that had slipped out as he failed to contain his anger.
But that faint “comb” followed her throughout the entire banquet.
“Honey, shall we dance together?”
“Shall we? Honey… comb.”
While dancing.
“Honey, how’s the food?”
“It’s perfect. Honey… comb.”
While eating.
“Honey, then please enjoy your conversation with the gentlemen.”
“I will do so. Honey… comb.”
Even near the end of the banquet, right up until Benjamin left to mingle with the men who lingered until the very end.
That faint moan—whether it was “comb” or “home”—was irritating, but Helena leaned in as though to give him a farewell kiss and whispered sweetly.
“Honey. Don’t you think we looked like a perfectly fine married couple?”
Benjamin whispered back in a voice just as sweet and sticky as caramel.
“If I look like a fine married couple with you, I’ll choose death.”
Helena grinned.
“You do know how to say nice things.”
Returning alone to the marital bedroom, Helena sat before the vanity and removed her makeup.
“But what was that home-or-comb thing?”
Only now, with the chaos over, did it finally start to bother her.
“Honey… home? Comb? Honeycomb?”
At last, realization struck.
“That lunatic—he was calling me a beehive all evening?!”
Helena slammed the oil-soaked cloth she’d been using to remove her makeup onto the table and glared.
* * *
The banquet was quite a success.
Nobles whose homes were relatively close returned by carriage, while those who had attended as couples were shown to guest rooms prepared for them to stay the night.
As always, it was the energetic young men who remained behind, smoking and playing poker until the very end.
And entertaining them fell to the host—Benjamin.
During the game, one man said to him,
“I never had any illusions about marriage, but tonight changed that.”
The others voiced their agreement.
“That’s right. Your Excellency has truly gained a wonderful wife.”
“The way the two of you were tonight must have inspired many people. You looked like a married couple straight out of a painting—truly beautiful.”
Someone asked Benjamin,
“Your Excellency, are you happy?”
With his customary crooked smile, Benjamin replied,
“Of course. I’m very happy.”
“Ooooh!”
“I hope none of you hesitate before marriage.”
Amid the admiring men, he thought to himself,
‘I can’t be the only one who suffers.’
Don’t Touch It
“Ughh—.”
Early dawn.
An unpleasant sensation in her lower abdomen woke Helena before daybreak.
“Damn it…”
Dragging herself weakly out of bed, Helena headed straight for the bathroom.
Benjamin, who had been sleeping curled up with his back turned at the edge of the bed, opened his eyes and looked at her.
“…?”
His gaze fell on the spot she had just left.
“…!”
Benjamin’s body immediately sprang upright. He hurried after Helena, who was staggering forward, and in an instant grabbed her arm.
Helena glared at him with her face twisted in irritation.
“What?”
“What is it?”
“What do you mean, what?”
“B-blood—what is that?”
