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Chapter 6
Meanwhile, Walter kept his eyes fixed obsessively on the woman’s retreating figure. In that extravagant chapel, Grace seemed to shine alone. Perhaps it was because of her shimmering silver wedding dress, or maybe it was her rare golden hair.
Joseph, on the other hand, was thoroughly enjoying the chaos within the chapel.
This is the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in years!
All that time barely escaping death, battling monsters and invisible enemies—there hadn’t been a single moment to laugh. But this—this was thrilling!
“Oh! The Countess just fainted clutching her neck! And the Duchess too… yes, just as expected, down she goes! Wait! Now the Young Count of Sachsen is swinging his fist at Lord Taylor?! Oh man, what a weak punch! Is that a feather duster or what?”
It was a rare spectacle no one had ever seen before, and none of the distinguished guests could bring themselves to leave the chapel.
Walter glanced sideways at the excited Joseph, as if finding him pitiful, then straightened up from his casually leaned posture. That simple movement completely changed his demeanor. Just as Joseph turned to Walter for his next round of commentary, Walter was already descending the chapel steps.
“Ah… you’re leaving already?”
Joseph glanced longingly back toward the commotion, but by the time he looked at Walter again, his face was back to its calm, composed self.
Walter passed by Rosette, who was furiously pointing and shouting at the servants, and stepped into the corridor. Even amid the fluttering view of the Taylor family’s crest—golden stalks of wheat etched into the walls—one image lingered vividly in his mind.
Golden hair twisted as elegantly as those curved stalks of wheat.
And with that image came the memory of a letter disguised as a wedding invitation.
[To the Esteemed Duke of Richmond,
Should you honor my wedding with your presence, Your Grace shall obtain the sharpest blade to protect your greatest secret.
This blade will be the most useful tool in the hunt you have so long prepared.
— From Grace Taylor]
The sharpest blade to protect his greatest secret.
That one sentence had brought him here. A glint like that of a predator before its prey lit up Walter’s dark eyes, sharp under his furrowed brows.
“My secret,” is it?
The sharpest blade—she was undoubtedly referring to herself. Which meant… what exactly did Grace Taylor know?
Meanwhile, Rosette, still furious and yelling at the servants, spun around just as the Duke and Duchess of Taylor stormed out of the chapel with flushed, angry faces.
“Father! Mother!”
Rosette ran toward them, skirts flaring, and shouted excitedly.
“You have to catch that insolent girl Grace, right now!”
The Duke, face reddening further, growled at the butler standing beside him.
“Seize that girl at once. Lock her in her room, don’t let her take a single step outside! No… forget it. I’ll go myself.”
He was determined to drag her back and beat some sense into her if he had to. Rosette nodded vigorously beside him.
“Do you know what that brat said to me? She told me to marry the Young Count of Sachsen in her place!”
“What?!”
The Duchess’s voice rose as she trembled in rage, just as the Countess of Sachsen emerged behind them, loudly proclaiming:
“Dear! That debt we forgave the Taylor family—wasn’t it originally due last month?!”
“That’s right!”
“Then let’s collect it today! Right now!”
Their fury at Grace evaporated as panic took hold of the Duke and Duchess.
Today?! How could they possibly prepare that kind of money on such short notice?
As if reading their thoughts, the Countess pursed her lips and added coldly:
“If there’s no cash, then pay in goods! Jewelry, dresses, porcelain—whatever you’ve got! If you don’t pay today, I’ll appeal to Her Majesty the Empress herself to raze your entire duchy to the ground!”
The threat left the Duke in utter shock. Young Lord William, watching from afar, quickly disappeared.
“Butler…”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“How much do we owe today? Wait—do we even have any cash in the treasury?”
His voice cracked. The butler leaned in close and whispered.
“My apologies, but we are well short. As the Countess said, you’ll need to hand over valuables just to scrape by…”
At that moment, the Duke’s eyes landed on Rosette, who was adorned in jewelry from head to toe. His brows furrowed sharply.
“Rosette! Why in the world are you wearing so many jewels?!”
“This isn’t even that much…”
“What do you mean it’s not?! Take it all off—now!”
“Father!”
“Silence!”
As the Duke shouted and clutched his head, the butler hurried to support him.
“Your Grace, let us move to your office. Too many eyes are watching.”
“What are you talking about?! We need to catch Grace first and punish her!”
“We must deal with the immediate fire, Your Grace. I will send servants to capture the Lady.”
“Father, make Grace kneel in front of Count Sachsen and finish the wedding! Then we won’t have to repay the debt!”
Rosette sobbed as she shouted, but the Duke, already dazed, allowed the butler to lead him away.
Being a Duke was no easy task. There was always too much to deal with. At times like this, all he could think about was liquor. If only he could drink and sleep, and wake up to find it all magically resolved…
“Dear!”
“Enough! You too—hand over your jewelry.”
“Honestly! And where on earth is that Lady Cornwall in times like this?!”
As the Duchess and Rosette followed the Duke, both ashen-faced, the butler quietly looked toward a distant direction.
In contrast to the Duke’s orders, Grace was stealthily moving through one of the manor’s secret passages.
Dark, damp, and reeking, the underground was suffocating—but Grace didn’t falter. Even by dim lamplight, her steps remained confident.
At the end of a straight tunnel, she turned right and found stairs. These led outside the manor grounds.
Clutching her cumbersome dress in one hand, Grace stepped onto the stairs. A thin beam of light shone from above. She looked up and saw a silhouette.
As she climbed further, her lamp revealed the face of an older woman with gray hair and deep gray eyes—Lady Cornwall.
“Lady Cornwall.”
Head maid of the Taylor family, Cornwall had been waiting and preparing with Grace for the past thirteen years.
At Grace’s call, Cornwall quickly closed the secret door behind her. She helped her out of the wedding gown and into a plain navy dress, finishing with a black hooded cloak. She whispered urgently:
“He is staying at the Maxwell Inn at the top of Alley 4. He still has a few things there, so he’s likely to return.”
“Understood.”
“My Lady, if the situation becomes dangerous…”
“There is no if.”
Grace cut her off with calm finality. In the soft glow of the lantern, their eyes met. Grace stared at the woman’s weathered face and reached out to take her hand.
“Lady Cornwall.”
“…”
“You know. There’s no if.”
“My Lady…”
Cornwall’s eyes welled with tears. Grace squeezed her hand, then smiled—a gentle, innocent smile that revealed her kind heart. Cornwall stifled a sob.
“At this rate, they’ll find out I’m gone soon. It’ll cause an uproar. Please take care of those who remain.”
“Don’t worry. Jessie will be right behind you soon.”
Grace nodded and turned away. Cornwall opened the exit door. Bright, piercing light poured in—blinding at first, but Grace didn’t flinch. A familiar coachman opened the carriage door for her.
Cornwall watched Grace’s small, delicate figure ascend the steps. Tears slipped down her cheeks.
Lady Cornwall, I will take back Taylor. Please help me.
After the sudden deaths of the previous Duke and Duchess, when everyone else despaired, Grace alone had risen. Cornwall had stood beside her then, holding the hand of a ten-year-old girl.
From that moment, Grace had been her true mistress.
One by one, the loyal hands and eyes of House Taylor had gathered once more, planning and waiting. Cornwall becoming Emma Taylor’s confidante was part of the grand scheme.
As the carriage carrying Grace disappeared into the distance, Cornwall bowed deeply. When she rose again, her face had returned to its usual cold, emotionless expression.
She closed and locked the hidden passage door, stuffed the abandoned wedding dress into a black sack, and stepped into the darkness of the underground tunnel—
—praying earnestly for the rightful heir of House Taylor to return safely.
