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Chapter 12
Eric spoke again.
“It’s not me who’s hurt it’s you.
And yet no one asked if you were all right.”
“Well… that’s nothing new.”
For Amelia, it was so expected that she hadn’t even bothered to hope otherwise.
Eric turned his back to me as he put the medicine box back into the drawer, his voice cool and detached.
“If I had fallen and gotten hurt, Father would’ve been secretly pleased.
Then, in front of everyone, he pretended to be worried sick.”
When he turned back, his face showed no sign of bitterness, as if it were the plainest truth.
“Pleased?
Why?”
“Why else
It’d give him the perfect excuse to owe the Tower a debt.”
Eric looked at me like I was slow for even asking.
So, the Duke even viewed his child’s injury as a convenient opportunity.
Oddly enough, realising that was… comforting.
At the very least, it confirmed what I already suspected: his humanity was even more rotten than I’d thought.
“What about you?
What will you do when you’re grown?”
“Leave.
I have no intention of staying in this miserable house.”
Oh, that’s exactly what I thought too.
Maybe someday, if the chance comes, I should ask him to leave together.
I let out a quiet chuckle, and Eric gave me a suspicious stare.
A grand white carriage with golden trim rolled to a halt before the gates of the Duke’s estate.
From horseback, a silver-haired knight dismounted in one smooth motion and gave me a small, formal bow.
“Please, step inside the carriage.”
He was the escort sent by the Crown Prince.
His name was Derek Crafton, with silver hair and piercing blue eyes.
In the original story, he had been one of the secondary male leads.
Secondary, yes but compared to Vincent, the main male lead, his presence was never quite as significant.
And as for me Amelia?
Well…
If Derek had been dispatched as the Crown Prince’s watchful eye, then he was hardly someone I could feel at ease with.
“Before we head to the Imperial Palace, take me to Fifth Street in the Midrun District.”
I gave the order through the carriage window.
Derek, riding alongside, turned to glance at me his expression faintly startled.
I knew why.
Amelia had never shown courtesy to anyone unless they were of unmistakably higher rank, royalty, or dukes.
Derek had been no exception. Until not long ago, she’d barked at him with condescending familiarity.
So, of course, it was strange that I now addressed him politely.
But I had no choice.
He was one of the Crown Prince’s closest men.
I couldn’t risk offending him.
“Sir Crafton?”
At last, he inclined his head slightly.
“Yes.”
The surprise vanished quickly, replaced by a businesslike composure.
His clipped tone alone made it clear he did not particularly like Amelia.
At least I had Amelia’s memories to guide me.
She had grown up in the back alleys of the bustling district, and she knew the streets intimately.
Even better for me: while her recollections were faint and long buried, for me they surfaced in sharp clarity like pages of an encyclopedia.
Of course, that meant I also knew far too much about Amelia’s miserable past.
But unless I forced myself to dwell on it, the memories didn’t weigh me down.
Soon the carriage pulled up to Fifth Street in the Midrun District, a glittering avenue of boutiques.
I stepped down and strolled along, scanning sign after sign.
Amid the towering, flamboyant displays, one small and modest sign caught my eye.
“Lo—ra.”
The lettering sparked recognition as I sounded it out.
Ah, yes.
This was the very boutique the story’s heroine would one day visit and from that visit, the shop’s fortune would soar.
That spoke to real talent.
I hesitated briefly, then walked toward it.
“Well, it’s only a clothing shop.
I can afford to share this much with her.”
After all, the heroine would take so much more in the future.
“You’ll wait here.”
I told Derek, who had been trailing behind, then pushed open the door.
A bell jingled as I stepped inside.
The woman who looked to be Madam Lora herself glanced at me with a startled expression.
“Ah—ah… welcome.”
Her makeup was heavy, her eyes sharp as they swept me up and down.
A flicker of unease crossed her face.
“I… I’m not sure if we have anything that would suit a customer like you.”
Of course.
I was dressed as befitted a duke’s daughter, entering the Imperial Palace, with floral patterns, lavish lace, frills upon frills.
It was Amelia’s style, and yes, it was pretty.
But I lifted my hand and pointed at a dress hanging on the wall.
“That’s fine.
I came for that one.”
It was a dark navy dress, plain at first glance.
But the fabric gleamed with a subtle sheen, its simplicity offset by tasteful trim cut from the same cloth.
Unadorned yet elegant, it was exactly what I needed.
Perfect for me and perfect for Amelia’s features, which could carry even such understated beauty.
Madam Lora tilted her head uncertainly.
“Are you sure?
That doesn’t quite seem to match your usual taste.”
“Of course.
I’m pressed for time, though could you hurry?”
“Ah, yes.
This way, please.”
She lifted the dress from the wall and guided me behind a curtain.
There, she dressed me in it and marked the fabric with pins and chalk.
Naturally, it wasn’t ready to be worn as is.
Several days of adjustments would be needed.
“When it’s finished, have it delivered here.”
I handed her the address.
She blinked, checking it several times.
“Um, miss… this address… surely it isn’t… the Imperial Palace?”
“It is.
The Crown Prince’s residence.
Just give my name Amelia Wentworth.”
The moment I said it, her eyes went wide. She bent into a shallow curtsey.
“My deepest apologies for not recognising you sooner.
Allow me to introduce myself again. It is an honour to meet you, Lady Wentworth.”
So, she had known I was nobility, but not how high.
Clearly, the Wentworth name carried tremendous weight.
Her demeanour shifted instantly, reverence replacing hesitation.
Inside the Duke’s house, I was the bastard, the burden.
But outside… the title alone commanded respect.
No wonder Amelia had always been able to hold her chin high at society gatherings despite the whispering scandals.
“No need for honorifics.
Just finish it quickly.
How long?”
“Would four days be acceptable?”
“Four days… That will do.”
“Yes, my lady!
At once.”
As she bowed deeply, an image flickered in my mind.
Another scene another possibility.
Could it be happening again?
“……”
I should’ve left quickly.
But if I wanted to be sure… I couldn’t.
I sat down on the sofa.
“Hopefully it won’t take too long this time.”
After all, if that ‘scene’ was about to unfold, I couldn’t simply walk away.
“My lady?”
“Would you mind serving me a cup of tea?
My throat is suddenly dry.”
She hesitated, caught off guard by my abrupt change of pace, but finally nodded.
“Yes, just a moment.”
As Lora brewed tea on a small brazier, I glanced toward the door.
Derek was still standing there, a silent sentinel.
With him here, things wouldn’t get out of hand.
Any moment now…
“Oh, here he comes.”
Through the glass door, a man staggered toward the boutique, clearly drunk even at this hour.
As Lora set the teacup before me, her face drained of colour.
“Him again… already drunk in broad daylight.”
“You wretch!
I told you to buy me liquor before you left!”
His slurred shout carried inside as he lurched to push open the door only to be blocked by Derek.
“You may not enter.”
“And who the hell are you?”
The man faltered at Derek’s icy gaze, his bravado crumbling.
“I… I’m her husband!
This is my wife’s shop!”
“Regardless.
You will not enter now.”
“Why the hell not—”
He craned his neck, peering through the window.
Inside, he saw me calmly lifting my teacup.
His ey
es narrowed.
Recognising a highborn guest, he stepped back with a scowl.
He muttered something under his breath, but the words didn’t carry inside.
He paced back and forth before the shop, restless, until finally he drifted away.
The moment he disappeared from sight, Derek stepped in through the door.
