TPB 9

Chapter: 9

“I trust you didn’t write that vulgar porn—no, that erotic novel yourself.”

“Mother, your son is a naval commander. A proper commander wouldn’t even have time to write love letters.”

Ian, suddenly recalling the apricot-colored envelope, added,

“And now Ernest wasn’t enough—you lot as well…. Ian, I’m exhausted.”

Violet whispered, sounding as though she might vanish into thin air.

“I’m holding on out of sheer stubbornness, but at this rate, Edward seems ready to renounce his right of succession. Of course, I’ll try to persuade him somehow….”

When his mother summoned him to Windsorbell Palace, Ian had expected the topic of succession to arise.

“Ian, fulfill your duty.”

He had anticipated it—yet the words still felt like a hand tightening around his throat. It was a command to prepare to inherit the throne in Edward’s place.

“You know what I always tell you. You were born to live a life others would envy—a life of value.”

Value. A word Violet drilled into her children like a mantra.

“To destroy one’s own value with one’s own hands. I’m deeply disappointed in Edward.”

“……”

“Please don’t disappoint me as well.”

Even the way she deliberately used the word disappointment—it was flawless.

“So I want this rumor dealt with first. I will not tolerate my children becoming the subject of scandal over something obscene.”

Violet gestured with her eyes toward <Noble Cut> lying on the table. Her blue eyes were icy.

“I trust you’ll take care of it cleanly.”

With that look, Ian had no choice but to comply.

Misfortune never announces itself beforehand.

“Natalie!”

“Ugh….”

Still hungover, a groan escaped her even in her sleep.

And who was shouting her name so loudly this early in the morning?

“Wake up. Get up now.”

“Ah… Mary, just a little more—”

She instinctively burrowed deeper under the covers—only for them to be yanked away without warning.

“I said get up!”

Before she could fully come to her senses, she was grabbed by the collar and hauled upright. Blinking dazedly—

“W-What? …Bianca?”

Standing before her was her younger sister, impeccably dressed even at dawn—Bianca.
Not the ever-elegant and composed Countess Rutherford, but Bianca Dawes, sharp-tempered and fierce. For a moment, Natalie felt as though she’d been dragged back to being fifteen.

“Why are you here so early without even sending word—let go of me first!”

“What exactly have you done?”

“What?”

Bianca glanced sharply over her shoulder, checking whether the door might have been opened, then roughly released Natalie’s collar.

“You’ve really managed to keep that temper of yours buried. Does the Count know?”

“Lower your voice, you damn woman.”

Grinding her teeth, Bianca yanked a bundle of papers from her coat and hurled them at Natalie’s face.

“Hey!”

“Read.”

Her face was rigid.

What is wrong with her?
That expression—Bianca only wore it when she was truly furious. Anxiety crept in as Natalie obediently picked up one of the scattered pages.

As her eyes moved down the page, her face drained of all color.

She didn’t even have time to feel the shame of having her secret diary exposed. When she finally looked up, her fingers were trembling—out of fear.

“H-How did you get this…?”

The papers Bianca had brought were compiled evidence proving that David was, in fact, Natalie Dawes—handwriting analyses of letters exchanged with the publisher, bank records, and more.

“…You’re not denying it.”

Bianca twisted her face and turned away, staring into empty space for a long moment before speaking calmly.

“My husband didn’t tell me right away, so I found out late too. It looks like the prosecution has already decided to put David on trial. The police could show up today.”

Natalie could only stare at the papers with a bloodless face as Bianca gathered them briskly.

“First, we’re meeting a lawyer.”

“Wait—just a moment.”

She had already decided to stop everything. She was going to seriously look for a husband now, to submit to that cursed life of a proper lady.

So why?

Seeing Natalie unable to pull herself together, Bianca shouted,

“We don’t have time for this, Natalie! Get up!”

“No… but prosecution—”

“The Noble Assembly charged David with serious obscenity, and the prosecution has already decided to indict him. So hurry—”

“Me…?”

Natalie murmured blankly.

At the same time, Bianca—who had been pulling her arm—froze. Her face twisted into something wretched.

“…Yes. You.”

She whispered weakly.

“You’re about to go to prison, Natalie.”

So burying the past wasn’t enough. Serious obscenity? Me?
Natalie felt like she was dreaming.

“…Why would you do something like this?”

Bianca asked, her voice on the verge of tears.

I only wrote down my fantasies. If you ask why…

Natalie’s lips trembled as if she wanted to say something—but no words came. Seeing that, Bianca finally raised her voice.

“Oh, enough! Don’t say anything. I bet it’s that ‘special life’ nonsense again!”

She spun around sharply, as if sick of it all.

“I’m so tired of your half-heartedness. I don’t even know what you want anymore.”

Half-hearted—that was accurate.

Natalie had never truly intended to become a writer. Writing erotic stories in secret was just a way to relieve her suffocating frustration.

After debuting in society and meeting Christina, she rediscovered erotic fiction and, half as a joke, sent a manuscript to a publisher.

That was how it started.

So even when her work went from magazine serialization to a published book, Natalie couldn’t quite grasp that she was David.

What good is David if she’s an unmarried lady?

She had unconsciously kept “David” completely separate from herself.

The publishing world still insisted that writing was not a woman’s work. To avoid prejudice and scorn, female authors hid behind male pen names.

That was the world they lived in.

But a lady—writing erotic novels, no less. She knew the condemnation that would follow if her identity were revealed.

“It was just because I felt trapped. I wanted to do something other than becoming someone’s bride, someone’s wife, someone’s mother—”

Terrified, Natalie stammered before abruptly shutting her mouth.

Ah. What are you rambling about, Natalie Dawes?
Look at Bianca’s expression. Look at that disgust in her eyes.

Yes—that was what she feared. And yet, writing was the only time she could breathe, so she couldn’t stop. This disaster was entirely her own half-hearted fault.

“So you wrote filthy trash for that reason? If you wanted to write so badly, you should’ve written criticism or essays! Not stories you can’t even admit you wrote!”

What’s wrong with pursuing pleasure and stimulation? Is it really that evil? Everyone devoured it eagerly—yet the moment they learned a young woman wrote it, it became a ‘serious obscenity.’

But Natalie couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

“What kind of thoughts do you have to live with to write something like that? An unmarried girl—how could you! What do you think people will say now? How do you think they’ll curse the Dawes family?”

Natalie’s eyes trembled more violently than before.

“And what about our sister? What about Dorothy’s life? You might not have thought of anyone else sneaking around like this, but Dorothy dreams of marriage. You should’ve ruined only your own life!”

As Bianca said, this wouldn’t end with Natalie Dawes being expelled from society. At this rate, the Dawes family wouldn’t be able to set foot in Dwane again.

Dorothy… she hasn’t even debuted yet. What do I do?

Tears welled rapidly in Natalie’s pitch-black eyes and began falling onto the white sheets. Bianca scrubbed her face dryly.

“Natalie, do you think everyone else is stupid?”

Her voice was full of anguish.

No. That’s not it.
But Natalie only held her breath and let the tears fall.

If she had stopped writing just a little earlier, would things have been different? She couldn’t even begin to imagine how to fix the catastrophe her carelessness had caused.

“But Natalie, I didn’t submit to a lady’s fate because I’m stupid. I fulfilled my duties because I enjoyed what I had, because I faced reality. How long are you going to live in a dream?”

“Bianca, I—”

“I thought you were just complaining, but at least you were doing something. No—this is worse. You should’ve done nothing at all.”

At the moment Natalie’s breath caught, the door opened. A dark, ominous shadow stretched across the floor to the foot of the bed.

Both sisters turned instinctively toward the doorway.

Mrs. Heaton stood there. Backlit, her expression was unreadable.

“Get out of my Heaton Park immediately.”

It was the coldest voice Natalie had ever heard from her.

Only then did she notice the newspaper crushed mercilessly in Mrs. Heaton’s hand. Bianca shut her eyes tightly.

Shocking Revelation of David’s Identity.
A Lady’s Shame: Miss Natalie Dawes.

It was only some time later that Natalie fully registered the headline splashed across the newspaper’s front page.

Her world began to collapse at terrifying speed.

Marcus Pibble, aide to Prince Ian, stood straight and began his excuse.

“David was classified as an erotic novelist, so the critics were certain he was male—”

Though he had served the prince for nearly ten years, the prince’s return to military duty had drastically reduced their time together. Perhaps because of that, Marcus still hadn’t grown used to his uniquely cold gaze.

Even so, fearing for his livelihood, Marcus hurried to add whatever he could.

“So naturally, everyone assumed it was the Earl of Nobe—Humperwood, the famous critic—”

“It wasn’t.”

“I apologize, Your Highness.”

A crease formed between the prince’s brows at last.

Marcus bowed deeply, mortified. At times like this, lying flat was the only survival strategy.

The man he served always wore the face of an angel and a blissful smile—but that did not mean he possessed an angel’s heart.

A Lady’s Shame: Miss Natalie Dawes.

Ian stared at the headline dominating the newspaper’s front page as one would look at a troublesome problem that had slipped beyond control.