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Chapter 68
Betty thought that life in the Prowell Marquisate wouldn’t be all that different from before.
But within just a day, she had to admit that she had been mistaken.
“Betty. What about this one?”
“It’s fine.”
“Don’t just say it’s fine. Pick one you actually like.”
The Marchioness of Prowell’s tone and manners hadn’t changed.
She was, no matter what, the most dignified of ladies. Her gentle yet precise manner of speech was the same as always.
As was her decisiveness and firmness, almost to the point of being unyielding.
“Then… I think I like the green one.”
“Yes, green is quite elegant. You have excellent taste.”
But Betty couldn’t help wondering if choosing a single curtain deserved that much praise.
Thinking back, the Marchioness had never been particularly stingy with compliments, even back when Betty had only been her conversation companion.
Just as Betty was about to recall those times, the Marchioness, who had been looking around the wide room, suddenly frowned in dissatisfaction.
“This room looks so empty. We’ll have to bring in new furniture as well. What Janine used before is far too old.”
“I really don’t mind…”
“Yes, that would be best. I’ll have the butler arrange it.”
That was the problem—her decisiveness would suddenly appear like this, in the strangest of ways.
And so, all day long, attempts to heap gifts and possessions onto Betty continued.
So much that Betty began to wonder if the Marquis family’s wealth might be exhausted because of her.
The Marchioness had said she wanted to give her everything she hadn’t been able to before—but it was too much. Truly too much.
“…Thank you.”
Still, Betty couldn’t protest. Because she knew she would never forget the way the Marchioness had greeted her yesterday.
‘So, you were my granddaughter. You were… And how could I, as your grandmother, fail to recognize you? You must have resented me greatly.’
‘Not at all.’
‘No, I am so sorry.’
If the Marquis of Prowell’s reaction had been one of joy and relief, the Marchioness had been the opposite—overcome with grief, dabbing at her tears with her handkerchief again and again.
It was the first time Betty had seen her looking so pitiful and fragile.
Even more so than the day the Marquis had nearly died.
‘I should have recognized you at once.’
The Marchioness had kept caressing Betty’s face, repeating the same words. That she should never have dismissed the familiarity she had felt upon first seeing Betty.
‘It’s all right, Grandmother.’
‘But if I couldn’t even recognize you, how can I call myself your grandmother…’
At last, Betty had had to repeatedly console her, telling her not to blame herself, before the tears finally ceased.
And still, she had held Betty’s hand tightly, refusing to let go, endlessly saying how precious she was, how beautiful, how grateful she was that Betty had grown up so well.
But the Marchioness of Prowell was no ordinary woman.
She was someone who had wielded influence in society for decades.
And to her, Betty’s appearance clearly mattered a great deal. That morning, after seeing Betty, she had suddenly declared that things could not remain as they were.
Which had led to redecorating rooms, like they were doing now.
“Grandmother. Why don’t we go and have some tea now?”
Betty had, fortunately, already discovered a way to persuade her grandmother within a day.
“…Shall we?”
Whenever Betty addressed her affectionately as “Grandmother,” the Marchioness always relented.
“Yes. Aren’t you thirsty, Grandmother?”
“Perhaps a little.”
“Then let’s go.”
Betty noticed the maids behind them smiling at the blatant favoritism.
She practically had to push her grandmother out of the room.
“I’ll just tidy things up and join you soon.”
“Why not come together—”
Betty exchanged glances with the maids nearby and, smiling awkwardly, asked,
“Then, please tidy this up for me.”
“Please lower your words more, my lady.”
“It still feels more comfortable this way.”
It was difficult to change her habits overnight. She was still used to being treated as a guest whenever she visited, which at least made adapting a little easier.
“Yes, there is quite a mess. Just gather everything up—I’ll sort out the rest myself.”
“You can leave it all to us, you know.”
“If I leave everything to you, I’ll feel like someone who can’t even manage her own things.”
Even Vivian had always preferred to manage the belongings she kept close to herself, despite her difficult personality.
So Betty thought that noble or not, it was better to handle her own things herself.
She was just about to step out when she caught her grandmother waiting for her with a warm, proud smile.
“What is it?”
“I’m just proud. How can both my granddaughters be so kind-hearted?”
Betty could only laugh awkwardly.
Of all things, it seemed she would never get used to the constant stream of praise.
Especially since her grandmother was quick to shower her with compliments even for something as simple as holding a teacup correctly.
Betty understood, though, that this attitude came from guilt over all the years she hadn’t been able to be there for her.
So instead of brushing it off, she simply decided to change the subject.
“…Does Her Majesty the Empress also know about me?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t she? This morning I received a reply brimming with joy. She wants to meet you in person.”
“Me?”
“Of course. Who wouldn’t be thrilled to learn they have a cousin they never knew about?”
It was then that Betty truly felt it sink in—she was now related to the Empress of the Empire. She was the Empress’s cousin.
“Yes. You are family to the Empress. Remember that—especially when someone tries to belittle you. People like that enjoy trampling others with their power, and you must answer them in kind.”
The Marchioness’s gentle tone was laced with authority as she walked arm in arm with Betty.
This wasn’t just etiquette—this was guidance on how to survive as “the young lady of House Prowell.”
“Never hesitate when someone tries to use your bloodline as a weakness against you. You owe them no understanding or mercy.”
“…Yes.”
Betty straightened her back without realizing it. She knew that by joining the Prowells, she had also taken on the weight of that responsibility.
She could have cut ties and lived apart—but she didn’t want that.
“That doesn’t mean I expect you to bear any responsibility. I say this only because I worry for you. If things are too hard, you can always lean on us, even act spoiled. You’re the youngest in this family, after all.”
Betty had never been treated this way before. To be told this as a fully grown adult was bewildering.
She had grown up deeply loved by her mother, and had lived happily with her aunt and Rowen, but there had always been an underlying sense of responsibility.
That she had to be mature, always.
Having lost her father early, and seeing her mother’s struggles, and her aunt’s hardship in managing the household, Betty had had no choice but to shoulder it.
“Though I doubt it’s in your nature, your uncle would gladly step in if you ever went running to him with troubles.”
“…Just hearing that is enough. Thank you.”
To have someone she could fully rely on was still strange to her.
She wondered if it was truly all right.
The Marchioness, knowing Betty couldn’t yet bring herself to lean, simply patted her arm as they walked.
“My lady. You have a visitor.”
Just then, the butler approached and spoke.
“A visitor? For Betty? I told you to keep your tongue sealed so nothing would leak.”
“I don’t believe that’s the case.”
Betty already guessed who it was before the butler, Dan, even explained.
“His Highness the Grand Duke has sent one of his knights.”
“Sir Cain, you mean?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“What is it about?”
The Marchioness’s sharpness was already softened. Her trust in Ian Dayban was, in some ways, even greater than in Betty herself.
“He only said it was a matter he needed to discuss with the young lady privately.”
It was surely something concerning Vivian.
Betty started to explain, but stopped. Any public mention of Vivian “Scharte” now had to be handled carefully.
“I think I know what this is about. I’ll go see him. Where is Sir Cain waiting?”
“In a reception room near the entrance.”
“Very well. Go on, then.”
With her grandmother’s permission, Betty hurried off. Her steps quickened with her racing heart.
She already knew the layout of the Marquis’s residence, so it didn’t take long to arrive.
“My lady—oh, I mean, Lady. My greetings.”
Sir Cain greeted her with his usual energy, then caught himself, and brought her hand up as if to kiss it.
“There’s no need for such formality.”
“Please take it as a gesture of congratulations. You look as though you’ve belonged here all along.”
“Then I’m glad to hear that.”
Betty smiled brightly as she replied, but Sir Cain’s smile faltered slightly.
“My lady… has something happened to the Lady?”
The sudden sharpness in his tone immediately made Betty’s chest tighten.
Her worry rose at once, and she quickly asked—
