Home/How a Terminally Ill Woman Distances Herself from Death/ch 9

Chapter 9

“What should we send?”

The butler, Grace, who had been listening, bowed slightly and asked. When proposing marriage, it was customary to give the other party a meaningful gift—something like a ring or necklace passed down to the lady of the house through generations.

After a moment of thought, Larjen finally spoke.

“Is my mother’s necklace still around?”

“It is, but if you could tell me which one you mean, I’ll have it prepared.”

“Any of them. Just spread the rumor that it was a keepsake of the late Grand Duke.”

What he sent didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the fact that it was a ‘keepsake of the late Grand Duke.’

The rumor spreading widely enough for all the nobles in the capital to know was equally important. That way, Brünhelt would feel the pressure of this proposal, and Larjen could easily obtain the outcome he wanted.

Larjen, who had been nodding, let out an “Ah,” and looked at the butler.

“While you’re at it, send something famous or expensive. That way, this proposal will look sincere.”

“……Understood.”

“Has Brolleta returned?”

“Not yet.”

Larjen frowned at that answer. If Brünhelt didn’t give a response to the proposal, he would have to go to their estate himself.

Before that, the mage Brolleta needed to return so he could receive the control device. If things went wrong, he could even eliminate the entire family of his betrothed. But that wouldn’t happen, would it?

With a displeased expression, Larjen fidgeted with his right earlobe. A small, black square earring glinted there.

“Tell him to come to me the moment he returns. Phillion, are you done with that?”

“Ah, yes. Would you like to read it over?”

“No need.”

Larjen said in a flat tone and sat on the sofa, waiting for the ink on the paper to dry. Phillion, who had been waiting with him, suddenly interjected as if he’d just remembered something.

“But how did that young lady know about Your Highness’s plan and act first?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m going to slowly dig into that secret now.”

Astier Brünhelt—who knew things others didn’t, yet didn’t seem to know everything. Larjen grew more curious about her.

The look in Larjen’s eyes as he thought of Astier was chilling and sharp.

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The greenhouse, remodeled from a conservatory, was one of the few in the capital—and the only one in the Brünhelt estate—making it a source of pride for its mistress, Yelena.

A small tea party was being held there that day.

While enjoying the sunlight streaming through the expensive glass ceiling, one of the ladies present called out to Yelena.

“Duchess Seuss, have you heard the rumor?”

Yelena, who had been fluttering a splendid fan made of blue feathers from a redstart—said to live only on the southwestern islands of the Empire—and white starling feathers, responded.

“I’m not much for gossip. Is this something I should know?”

“Of course. It’s about none other than your own family’s young lady.”

“Who on earth has been talking about our Astier?”

Her tone suggested she was asking, ‘Who dares spread rumors about my daughter?’

But none of the noblewomen seated here genuinely believed Yelena cared for her stepdaughter.

They didn’t show it, but those gathered knew how greedy she was, and how cruel she could be when it served her purpose.

“Oh, it’s not all bad. In fact, if the rumor is true, congratulations are in order. A proposal from none other than His Highness the Grand Duke—what an honor for your house.”

“What are you—?”

What followed was enough to startle even Yelena, a lady well-versed in the arts of social grace.

A proposal—and from a Grand Duke, no less. In Bellest, there were only two men called Grand Duke.

Between the Ronenfeld Grand Duke and the Darsiliam Grand Duke, the one most likely to be at the center of such a rumor was, of course, the unmarried Darsiliam Grand Duke.

The Emperor’s nephew—a collateral imperial relative—proposing marriage! Yelena failed to control her expression at the news.

“Ah, judging by your reaction, the rumor must be false after all?”

“Of course it is. How could His Highness the Grand Duke propose to a young lady who’s grown so crooked, even with such a devoted stepmother?”

Once Astier’s name came up, another lady nearby chimed in.

“I heard she tore up a Breldi doll and gave it as a gift to the young Lady Brünhelt? How spiteful can one be?”

“Good heavens! Is that true?”

“It must be because the family has coddled her for being ill. I always felt sorry for her when I heard she had a limited time, but this is truly disappointing.”

At the flood of gossip that poured out as if they had been waiting for it, Yelena couldn’t hide her fluster.

The story about the Breldi doll was an incident that had occurred inside the estate. Unless someone had deliberately leaked the family’s affairs, outsiders shouldn’t have known about it.

Surely one of the ignorant servants was the culprit. Behind her open fan, Yelena chewed her lips anxiously, while the ladies, reading the mood, exchanged glances. One of them folded her fan.

“Oh my, is it already this late?”

“Indeed. Madam, I’ll take my leave now. I hope to see you at the next gathering.”

“Take care.”

The noblewomen, having gracefully bid farewell to Yelena—the highest-ranking person present—rose from their seats all at once, as if by prior arrangement. When they had been lounging about admiring the greenhouse, they’d had all the time in the world, but they couldn’t leave fast enough now.

Yelena watched them go, barely managing a smile, and only after the place had fallen silent did she return to the main building.

Then, with a face flushed with rage, she shrieked hysterically.

“Summon the head maid! Where is the butler?!”

The servants nearby, pale with fright, scurried off to find the head maid and butler.

Watching them scatter, Yelena climbed the stairs with furious steps. Not only was the household matter troubling, but she also needed to verify the truth behind the rumor that a marriage proposal had come for Astier.

Just then, her eyes caught the Duke emerging from his study.

“Dear.”

Yelena forced a smile, approached her husband, and lightly grasped his arm.

“Do you know what I heard today? There’s an absurd rumor going around that His Highness the Darsiliam Grand Duke has proposed to Astier.”

“It’s true.”

“……Pardon?”

Yelena’s face twisted in bewilderment.

“True? So, you mean—really.”

“His Highness’s messenger came about an hour ago. He sent a letter expressing his wish to formally become engaged to Astier. Along with a proposal document.”

“Th-that is……”

“Weren’t you already thinking about Astier’s marriage? This is hardly a bad thing.”

Yelena stared at her husband’s face, her own marked with bewilderment. The Duke, stroking his red goatee, had eyes that gleamed with insatiable greed.

The moment she saw those eyes, she knew. Her husband had every intention of accepting the Grand Duke’s proposal.

Unfortunately for Yelena, he was envisioning a future where he restored the family’s standing by marrying his daughter to a Grand Duke.

Though a collateral line, the Grand Duke held succession rights, and it was a time when talk of the Crown Princess’s qualifications was constant.

If fortune favored them and the Crown Princess was deposed, the Grand Duke would most likely become the Emperor’s heir—and even if not, a marriage to the imperial family would surely be a great opportunity for the house.

“If a child is born between them, perhaps one could inherit the Grand Duchy and the other the Duchy.”

At her husband’s words, the corner of Yelena’s mouth twitched. She had even considered sending Astier away through marriage, but this was not what she had in mind.

“But, dear. Astier is far too frail. What if she becomes a burden to His Highness?”

“Everyone knows she’s unwell—what are you talking about? Do you think His Highness would have proposed without knowing that?”

The Duke said, as if Yelena were being pathetic.

“Besides, with the rumor already spreading, are you suggesting we refuse the proposal? A Duke? Refusing an imperial relative’s proposal?”

Yelena could not answer that question. It would be absurd by any common sense. The Duke clicked his tongue.

“I know you find it hard to be harsh with Astier, but not this time. She’ll be of age next year—it’s time she played her part.”

The Duke, completely unaware of how his wife truly felt about her stepdaughter, shook his head.

Yelena was dumbfounded. How a man with such a mind could lead a family and engage in politics was beyond her.

The Duke, indifferent to what his beloved wife was scheming with her small head, had already begun pondering how to exploit this proposal.

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