The moment Olivia said to bring her robe, Masha lunged at her.
“Madam, please don’t go. Please?”
“Masha, the robe.”
“Madam……!”
“Dorothy, would you hand me the robe.”
Olivia, who immediately took the robe from Dorothy attending her, draped it over herself and turned to Masha, who stood with a tearful face.
“If I don’t go this time, they will pressure me in some other way.”
“She’s inviting you. That woman, inviting you, Madam! Why is she acting like the mistress of the house? Please!”
Olivia had nothing to say to that either, but she did not want to avoid a fight that had already come to her. If there was one problem, it was that she had underestimated both Rose and Madam Brown. Only after entering the dining room did Olivia realize she had been caught by them.
“Wasn’t dinner supposed to start at eight?”
“Oh dear. It seems the maid made a mistake.”
At Rose’s words, Dorothy, who had followed behind Olivia, clutched her apron with a shocked face.
“And I didn’t think you would really come. If it were me, I wouldn’t have had the courage to come here.”
Olivia gave a small smile as she looked at Rose, whose bright face was putting on a tearful act. Perhaps Rose had not thought she would smile, for her face crumpled unpleasantly for a moment.
“How ridiculous. With that kind of mindset, it won’t be easy to sit in this seat.”
“Olivia!”
“If you found those words uncomfortable, you should have restrained that woman, not me.”
“I-I’m sorry. I was just……. Sob.”
“Where did you learn to evade situations with tears like this?”
First this, then that—her acting was so clumsy that to Olivia it was laughable. But to those who had already embraced Rose as one of their own, this situation seemed to be seen as very pitiful. Madam Brown, who had not so much as glanced at her all along, finally set down her fork and raised her voice.
“Olivia, that’s enough.”
“Did you condone this low-level harassment, Mother?”
“If doing even this can set the name of Brown straight again, what wouldn’t I do?”
“……Again, straight.”
Mulling over Madam Brown’s words, Olivia looked at her with a hollow heart.
“Then what was the name of Brown, which was your shadow for the past three years?”
“A clever girl like you would know better. Here, shall we bring out dessert now?”
It was unmistakably a sarcastic remark to anyone listening. Olivia kept silent for a moment, then opened her mouth.
“Since I’ve come this far, surely I can share at least a cup of tea.”
“I’m sorry, but that will be difficult. Sophia, guide Olivia to her place.”
Sophia let out a small sigh and bit her lip. Olivia’s gaze turned to Sophia. Only then did Olivia confirm her place through Sophia’s eye signal. It was an empty spot in the middle of the lined-up servants.
At Madam Brown’s attitude of not even intending to offer her a chair, Olivia wanted to run out of the dining room right then, but she could not. Everyone here knew that no matter what treatment she received, holding her place to the end was the only way to protect a noble lady’s pride.
“Rose, being soft-hearted, suggested inviting you, but my heart is not generous enough to seat an uninvited guest at the same table. Now that I’ve finally come to live a life similar to others.”
Madam Brown, as if wanting Olivia to hear, poured out the feelings she had been hiding in a low voice.
“Rose, Martin. You have no idea how happy I am that you came here.”
“If it weren’t for this person, I wouldn’t be who I am now either, Mother.”
“Of course. Of course. Not only did she save Alex’s life, but she even gave me an heir so splendidly.”
Madam Brown no longer even cared much about the fact that Rose was a commoner. Compared to the stigma of living with an eccentric noble lady, at least this side had people beautifying and packaging their love as something beautiful.
“When I think of the humiliation I felt among the other noble ladies all this time, truly……!”
The Duchess who had once dominated southern society shuddered at the mere thought of the past three years. She had grabbed onto Olivia as a lifeline because she had nowhere else to lean, but if she had to live like that for the rest of her life, she might have died of exhaustion long ago.
“I will feel relieved only when the paperwork is finished as soon as possible and I can hold a grand party.”
The reason Madam Brown had helped with Alex’s divorce suit was solely that. To show that she was different from Olivia. A perfect noble lady with a husband who died a Duke, a son who became a Duke, and even his heir.
Madam Brown, with a still serene face, brought out the last gift she had prepared for Olivia, who stood holding her place.
“Oh, Rose. That necklace suits you well.”
At those words, Olivia’s gaze turned to Rose. Olivia’s eyes, recognizing that necklace, wavered finely. If she had not known what it was, the situation would have been a little better. Olivia could read Madam Brown’s intention in her sharp gaze.
Face your position, your reality. Having stood beside Sophia like a borrowed scarecrow throughout dessert, Olivia finally, as she left the table, offered Rose a refined remark.
“The necklace is very pretty.”
That dazzling diamond necklace was the ducal family’s treasure that Madam Brown had said she would personally place around Olivia’s neck on the day she was granted the position of Acting Duke.
“Ah, Old Madam gave it to me. As a token of welcome.”
To someone, it was something so easily obtained. A long shadow fell behind the four people leaving the dining room. In that moment, Olivia realized. That holding on any longer was something she could not do even to the Olivia Brown of the past, who had struggled so hard to protect this place.
* * *
“Your Highness the Grand Duke.”
“Come in.”
Dale, the butler, headed to Winston’s office to begin the morning routine that had continued for years. Only half a year since the war ended, and even that had been spent dealing with postwar matters, so today marked only about fifteen days since Winston had entered the Grand Duke’s residence.
Dale still could not quite believe that Winston and his aide Victor had returned to this mansion. In that sense, this morning routine was an extremely important matter to him.
“Here are the mail and newspapers that arrived today.”
“Thank you, Dale. Victor, organize them.”
Even the order—Winston always saying thank you first, and Victor, after taking a sip of coffee, receiving the mail and newspapers from him—was no different from when he had first started working here.
“Dale, look at this. How on earth is the world going round? Now they don’t even watch their surroundings and just take a mistress, no, and besides, where was he when he was hiding for three years, and now that he’s won, he crawls out like this!”
Victor, scanning the newspaper, vented heatedly.
“Dale, you may leave now.”
“That shameless bastard is the only one gaining momentum,”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
No one paid any attention to Victor’s words. Dale left the office, and Victor, looking at the closed door with a regretful expression, turned toward Winston standing by the window.
“We were in the middle of a conversation, why did you send him out?”
“Was that a conversation?”
“What is it that displeases you this time? Ugh, please stop smoking.”
He said that, but Victor already knew well why Winston was like this. Even without that, there was a mountain of work not yet properly handled because of the Brown ducal family, who had dipped their feet into every business in the North over the past year, and now the mistress problem—which was like Winston’s reverse scale—had gotten tangled in, so his stomach must be burning.
Shaking his head at Winston, who had taken out another cigarette, Victor handed him the newspaper first, then examined the senders of the considerable number of letters one by one.
“Hm? Your Highness the Grand Duke. A letter from Rafael Russell.”
Rafael? Why him? Reading the question on Winston’s face, Victor shrugged.
“Weren’t you and he only seen each other two or three times during the war?”
“That’s right.”
“What business does he have?”
Winston’s face as he read the letter was as calm as usual. Just as Victor was about to lose interest, thinking it must not be a big deal, Winston set his cigar down in the ashtray and spoke a single line.
“It’s not Rafael Russell.”
“Then?”
“Madam Brown is coming to Libien to see me.”
The name Madam Brown was written in Victor’s mind. At the same time, the name Olivia Russell as well. Because these days, due to various incidents, the names were used interchangeably, he could quickly recall that the two were the same person. At this tremendous event, Victor’s eyes widened enormously.
“Arriving at 2 p.m. on the 27th.”
“That’s today! Your Highness, is this real? Really?”
“Whether it’s real, we’ll have to go to the train station to find out.”
Having somewhat grasped the situation through their conversation, Winston traced Olivia’s neat handwriting on the letter. She had not revealed the purpose of her visit, but he unintentionally knew her circumstances, so hearing her out and then sending her away would not be a bad idea.
