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Chapter – 24
I clenched my fist in secret and swallowed my irritation.
Something was wrong. I could no longer tell what on earth Susan was thinking when it came to Marquis Orelleuno.
Until now, she had clearly avoided him after hearing all the rumors behind his back, yet somehow, just because I stepped out for a moment, her attitude had become so welcoming.
What on earth did they talk about while I was gone?
After Susan left with the maids, only silence filled the room.
And the sky just had to be spiteful. Once again, thick sheets of rain poured down. If I tried to throw the marquis out now, Susan would scold me for kicking out a guest on such a stormy day.
I sat there sulking, arms crossed tightly as I glared out the window. Eventually, Marquis Orelleuno was the first to speak.
“Is my presence in this mansion truly that displeasing? You don’t know how urgently I came because I was thinking of you, Lady.”
“And why exactly were you thinking of me? Are you really here to discuss a donation matter?”
The marquis looked at me with a puzzled expression.
“Today, the serialization of Baron Chérne’s Misfortune resumed.”
“I know. I read it earlier.”
“Did it never occur to you that I might have come bearing news about Writer Ibur?”
Whenever he wielded news about Writer Ibur as a weapon, I knew all too well that his gloomy inner thoughts were watching me intently—yet I still fell apart helplessly.
My eyelids began trembling uncontrollably, as though I were magnesium-deficient.
If he came all the way here for it, then it must be something serious. Don’t tell me the author plans to rush the ending? The first arc isn’t even finished yet…!
My heart tightened painfully. All I could do was clasp my hands together atop my knees, squeezing them as if in prayer.
The marquis watched me quietly before saying something unexpected.
“At last, you’re actually looking at me.”
… I had no words.
Just before, I had been avoiding his gaze simply because he made me uncomfortable, and the moment Writer Ibur was mentioned, I couldn’t help turning toward him.
Maybe that annoyed him. For the marquis suddenly brought up a subject completely unrelated to the one before.
“Do you have no friends, Lady?”
“No. I don’t.”
I wondered how he took my honest answer. His expression shifted subtly.
“Why don’t you have any?”
With a painterly elegance, he lifted his teacup and sipped without a sound. His Adam’s apple moved once, and behind the cup, his pale green eyes fixed on me with unsettling persistence.
Had he lost weight? His eyelids seemed a little more sunken, and the springlike vitality in his gaze was now clouded over as though dark storm clouds had settled inside.
I realized what those eyes were saying.
He wants something in exchange for news about Writer Ibur.
And what might that be? I considered for a moment as I drank my now lukewarm tea.
“…”
The answer was simple. He wanted my story as payment for the author’s.
Should I talk about love, since this man—despite how he acts—is oddly fond of romance?
Or perhaps…
Perhaps I should dig a little trap—one small snare that would tighten around his neck should he ever let his tongue slip.
Father would probably approve of me holding someone’s weakness like that.
The atmosphere had grown heavy the moment Susan left, matched perfectly by the gloomy weather.
“I used to be bullied,” I said at last, taking a brief sip of the lukewarm tea and tossing the bait.
The marquis set his teacup down silently and crossed his legs deeply, watching me without expression. Whatever. I continued.
“Lady Vivian Forte of House Forte once crept up on me by exploiting a vulnerability I had as a child. I was lonely back then, with no friends at all, so I ended up becoming a receptacle for her emotions—the trash bin for all her baggage.”
“An… emotion what?”
The marquis’s brows knit together in a neat frown.
Why? For some reason, I felt an urge to poke that little crease with my finger.
Even though it’s been about three years since I transmigrated, expressions I used before slipping into this world still come out sometimes.
Like the time I said someone must have ‘taken a bullet to the head.’ Tasha and my nursemaid were nearby then and reacted as if I were an alien.
When that happens, the best thing to do is act brazenly.
“An emotion trash bin. Meaning someone used me to dump all the negative feelings they’d bottled up—like throwing out garbage.”
“…”
“I stayed still like a porcelain doll as Lady Forte poured her verbal abuse on me, and I took it all. I didn’t mind. After all, it felt like I had finally made my first friend, and that excitement blinded me from seeing myself.”
That was why, in the original novel, she even followed Vivian down the road to the afterlife. I wonder what that journey looked like for them.
Only the author would know.
I spoke like an actor performing a monologue, pulling out each soggy scrap of my dreary past.
The faint scent of herbs dissipated slowly, thinning until it vanished, leaving only a cold cup of tea.
During all that time, Marquis Orelleuno said nothing.
“…And to top it off, Father scolded me, saying I behaved disgracefully for someone from a ducal house, letting the count’s daughter drag me around. I understand why. I was a member of a ducal family.”
“But the memory still lingers, doesn’t it?”
Finally, the marquis spoke quietly.
“That memory must remain as shards that pierce your heart even when you close your eyes.”
For once, a rare bit of sincere comfort from him.
Strangely enough, it left a bitter aftertaste. I had talked with the marquis enough times to pick up on the emotions behind his expressions and tone.
“Yes. If I die suddenly in an accident someday, it’ll probably be part of the montage of my life.”
I found myself staring at him before forcibly tearing my gaze away and stirring my tea idly with a spoon. The undissolved sugar rose reluctantly to the surface.
“But I’m no magician. I can’t go back and unload all the words I wished I had said back then.”
“Does it seem like that memory is really buried? I heard from Baroness earlier that you hardly go outside.”
“That’s not something you need to know.”
I cut him off coldly. Fortunately, he was someone who respected boundaries. He didn’t ask further.
“By the way, this is the first time you’re hearing this story related to House Loire, isn’t it?”
I probed subtly. The marquis, who stood out starkly in the parlor, stroked his chin in deliberation before asking:
“If I knew, that would mean the Loire ducal house and the retainers of House Forte failed to keep their mouths shut… In which case, Duke Loire wouldn’t have stayed still. Am I wrong?”
“No.”
“In other words, even if I got drunk off whiskey one day at some salon I was invited to, I’d have to keep my mouth sealed tight.”
“Correct.”
Quick-witted as he was, he grasped the implication immediately. He looked rather wronged.
“Isn’t this essentially a trap you set to ensnare me? If I ever find myself sitting face-to-face with Duke Loire in a serious discussion, I’ll feel quite falsely accused.”
“Hmm.”
“Ah—perhaps…”
What now? Why did his eyes suddenly change?
“Could it be that you intentionally wanted to give Duke Loire a reason to keep me around—so that future meetings between us would be guaranteed?”
“Excuse me? Why would I ever do that?!”
“Because I’m handsome.”
I had briefly forgotten that Marquis Orelleuno was a type of person I had never once encountered in my previous life—
Specifically, someone handsome who openly bragged about it, and in his case, with justification. Which left me completely speechless.
Watching me, the marquis let out a small, annoyingly smug laugh and lifted his teacup again.
Then, without warning, he finally addressed the issue I had been wanting to hear most.
“Writer Shell Ibur personally asked me to convey her apology and gratitude to you, Lady Loire.”
